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SCARLET BORDER EDITION. 

COMPLETE 

POETICAL WORKS 



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.K "Walter Scott. 

WITH ALL THE AUTHOr's 

INTRODUCTIONS AND BIOGRAPHICAL AND 
HISTORICAL NOTES. 

TOGETHER WITH HIS 

FOOTNOTES EXPLANATORY OF THE TEXT. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED 

AN INTERESTING LIFE OF THE POET. 
WITH 

Engraved by G. P.Williams, 



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PHILADELPHIA: 

WILLIAM T. AMIES, 

No. 1420 Chestnut Street. 



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Copyright, 
George R. Fagan. 

1S78. 



COU-INS PRINTING HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 



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PUBL ISHER 'S A NNO UNCEMENT. 



Ix issuing the present ''Scarlet Border Edition" of the Poetical 
Works of Sir Walter Scott, the Publisher believes the Volume to 
contain a much more complete Collection of his Poetry than has 
ever before appeared. In addition to the great Metrical Romances, 
and the Miscellaneous Pieces now given, the book includes the 
Songs and Fragments scattered over the author's Novels, and vari- 
ous Specimens, both Serious and Comic, which were originally 
printed in his Memoirs. 

Tlie main object in the present Collection has been to adhere to 
the original productions of Sir Walter. The old parts, therefore, 
of the Romance of Sir Tristrem are not given, nor the Contributions 
to the Minstrelsy by other pens than that of the great author. 

The references to the Life of Sir Walter Scott apply to the 
Second English Edition, 1839, 

The Author's longer Notes, so rich in historical and biographical 
interest, are given m Appendices to the several Romances and the 
other larger pieces ; the short notes, explanatory chiefly of ancient 
words and phrases, are placed at the bottom of the page. 



Philadelphia, July, 1878. 




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Portrait and Autograph of Sir Walter Scott Fi-ontispiece. 

Scott's Home at Abbotsford Page v. 

Dryburgh Abbey, the Burial-Place of Scott " xx. 

• The Rescued Boy The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

The Meeting of King James, Lord Marmion, and Angus . . Marmion. 

^■Marmion's Escape from the Castle Gate " 

■Ellen and THE Aged Harper The Lady of the Lahe. 

Bearing the Fiery Cross " " " 

'The Bronze Sentinels Vision of Don Roderick. 

Bertram Watching his Pursuers . .* Rokeby. 

The Fatal Meeting " 

The Warrior and the Princess The Bridal of Triennain. 

King Arthur and Guendolen " " " 

■Bruce Meeting Isabel The Lord of the Isles. 

The Finding of the Ring " " " 

Metelill at the Fountain Harold the Dauntless. 

The Erl King's Victim The Erl King. 

' The Lover's Flight Jock of Hazeldean. 

Rebecca Singing Rebecca's Hymn. 

Dundee Riding through the Town The Doom of Devorgoil. 



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*#* The Pieces marked with a dagger (f), it is beliei'ed, have not been included 
inany former edition of ISir Walter Scott's Poetical Woi-ks. 



LIFE OF SCOTT. 



TiiE Lay of the last minstrel 

Advertjsemeut to Edition 1833 

Introduction to Edition 1830 

Dedioaiion 14 

Preface to the First Edition 160S 14 

Introduction 

Canto I 

Canto II 19 

Canto III 23 

Canto IV 27 

Canto V 32 

Canto VI 37 

Appendix 42 



MARMION 

Notice to Edition 1833 

Introduction to Edition 1630 

Dediention 

Advertisement to the First Edition 

Introduction to Canto I.— To William Stewart 

Rose, Esq 

Canto I— The Castle 

Introduction to Canto II. — To the Rev. John 

Marriott, A. M 

Canto II. — The Convent 

Introduction to Canto III. — To William Ers- 

kine, Esq 

Canto III.— The Hostol, or Inn «. 

Introduction to Canto IV. — To James Skene, 

Esq 

Canto IV.— The Camp 

Introduction to CantoV. — To George Ellis, 

E-q 

Canto V —The Court 

Introduction to Canto VI. —To Richard He- 

ber. Esq : 

Canto VI —The Battle 

Appendix ^ 



126 



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THE LADY OF THE LAKE 157 

Introduction to Edition 1830 157 

Dedication 159 

Argument 159 

Canto I.— The Chase 159 

Canto II.— The Island 166 

Canto III.— The Gathering 172 

Canto IV.— The r-opUecy 178 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Canto v.— The Combat 1S5 

Canto VI.— The Ouard-Room 192 

Appendix jgg 

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 233 

Preface 233 

Dedication 234 

Introduction 234 

The Vision 235 

Conclusion 242 

Appendix < 342 

ROKEBY 251 

Notice to Edition 1633 251 

Introduction to Edition 1830 252 

Dedication ~. 254 

Advertisement. ...^ 254 

Canto I 2.54 

Canto II „ 2eo 

Canto III , 2C6 

Canto IV 272 

Canto V 278 

Canto VI 2t6 

Appendix 293 

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 321 

Preface to the First Edition ., 321 

Introduction 322 

Canto 1 323 

Canto II 3'27 

Canto III 333 

Conclusion... 3U 

Appendix 341 

THE LORD OF THE ISLES 344 

Notice to Edition 1833 344 

Introduction to Edition 1830 344 

Advertisement to the First Edition 345 

Canto 1 315 

Canton 350 

Canto III 355 

Canto IV Sei 

CantoV 367 

Canto VI 373 

Conclusion 3^ 

Appendix 881 



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CONTENTS, 



THK FfKLD OF WATKRI.OO «0 

Comlusioii 424 

Appendix 425 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 426 

IntrtMluction 427 

Canto I 427 

Canto II 431 

Canto in 434 



IV. 



436 



Canto V 440 

Canto VI 443 

Conclusion 446 

CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MIN- 
STRELSY. 

Introductory Remarks on Popular Poetry 446 

Appendix 459 

Easay on Imitations of tlie Ancient Ballad 461 

Appendix • 474 

Imitations of the Ancient Ballad. 

Thomas the Rhymer, Part 1 478 

" " Part II 41>0 

" Pan III 466 

Appendix 4eS 

Ulentinlas; or. Lord Ronald's Coronach 491 

Appendix 494 



The Eve of St. John 

Appendix 

Cadyow Castle 

A ppendix 

The Gray Brother 

Appendix 

War-Soug of the Royal Edii 



lALl.ADS TRANSLATED OR IMITATED FROM 

THE GERMAN. &c 608 

William and Helen....-.'.).'.;.., 5O8 

The Wild Huntsman 511 

The Fire-King 513 

Frederick and Alice 51.5 

The Battle of Sempach 5I6 

The Noble Morlnger Slg 

t The Erl-King 52i 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, (in 

the Order of their composition or Publication,)... 622 

t Juvenile Lines. From Virgil. 1782 522 

t On a Thunder Slorm 622 

t On the Setting Sun 623 

The Violet 5.23 

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman Wall.... 523 

t Bolhwell Castle 5.23 

t The Shepherd's Tale 624 

<■ Cheviot 526 

♦ The Reiver's Wedding 

The Bard's Incantation 

Hellvellyn 

The Dying Bai-d 

The Norman Horse Shoe 

The Maidof Toro 



626 



Pain 



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The Maid of Neid^iath 530 



Page 
LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Wandering Willie .-^30 

t Health to Lord Melville, 1806 631 

Hunting Song 532 

The Resolve 5S2 

Epitaph, designed for a Monument in Lichfield 
Cathedral, at the Burial-place of the family of 

Miss Seward 532 

Prologue to Miss Baillie's Play of the Family Le- 
gend 633 

The Poacher 533 

Song—" Oh, say not, my love, with that mortitied 

air" 535 

The Bold Dragoon I or the Plain of Badajos 538 

On the Massacre of Glencoe 535 

" For a' that an' a' that."~A new song to an old 

tune 537 

Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the Pitt Club 

of Scotland 5S7 

Pharos Loquitur 538 

Lines, addressed to Ranald Macdonald, Esq , of 

SlafTa 638 

t Letter in Verse, on the Voyage with the Commis- 
sioners of Northern Lights.— To His Grace the 
Duke of Bucdeuch, 1814 638 

VERSES FROM WAVERLEY. 

t Bridal Song 540 

t Waverley 540 

t Davie Cell alley's Song 540 

t Scene in Luckie Macleary's Tavern 641 

t Hie away. Hie away .'>41 

t St. Swithin's Chair 541 

t Davie Gellatley's Song 542 

t Janet Gellatley's alleged Witchcraft 542 

Flora Macivor's Song 542 

t Lines on Captain Wogan..... Mi 

t Follow me, Follow me 644 

t The Author of Waverley 544 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail.— 

From the Gaelic .144 

Imitation of the preceding Song 644 

War-Song of Lachlan, High Chief of Maclean.— 

From the Gaelic 645 

Saint Cloud 546 

The Dance of Death 546 

Romance of Dunois 547 

The Troubadour 647 

From the French 54H 

Song, on the lifting of the Banner of the House of 

Bucdeuch, at a great Foot-Ball Match on Car- 

terhaugh 545 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief 543 

FROM CUY MANNERING 
Songs of Meg Merrilies— 

t Nativity of Harry Bertram 649 

t Twist ye, Twine ye 549 

t The Dying Gipsey Smuggler W.! 

t The Prophecy 

t Sont,s of Dick Hatteraick and Glossiu 54H 



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Page 
LVRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Thi- Return to Ulster 550 

Jnck of Hailedean 550 

I'lbroch of Donald Dhu 551 

Nora's Vow 551 

Macgregor's Gathering 553 

Verse* composed for the occasion, and sung by a 
select band, after the Dinner given by the Lord 
Provost of Edinburgh to the Grand Duke Nich- 
olaa of Russia and his Suite, igth Decemlier, 
1616 56S 

FROM THE ANTIQUARY. 

t Time 552 

t Epitaph OD Jon o' ye Girnell 553 

t Elspeth's Ballad 553 

t Mottoes In the AatJquary, 1—20 5i3 

FROM THE BLACK DWARF. 

t Mottoes, 1, 2 .555 

FROM OLD MORTALITY. 

t Major Bellenden's Song 555 

t Verses found ia Botbwell's Pockel-Book 555 

t Epitaph on Balfour of Burley 556 

t Mottoes, 1,2,3 556 

The Search after Happiness ; or. The Quest of 

SuJtauu SoJimaun 556 

Mr. Kemble's FareweU Address on taking leave of 

the Edinburgh Stage 560 

Lijies writ ten for MLss Smith -< •• 560 

The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 561 

The Monks of Bangor's March 561 

t Letter to his Grace the Bute of Buccleich 502 

FROM ROB ROY. 

t To the Memory of Edward the Black Prince.... 56i 

t Translation from Ariosto 562 

t Mottoes, 1—7 563 

Epilogue to The Appeal 563 

Mackrimmon's Lacaent 564 

DoaaJdCaird's Come agaiu 564 

FROM THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 

t Madge WUdtire's Songs 565 

t Mottoes, 1—7 566 

FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 

t Lucy .\shIoa's Song 566 

t Norman, the Forester's Song i 566 

t The Prophecy 567 

t Mottoes, 1— « 367 

FROM THE LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 

t AiH-ieut Gaelic Melody 567 

t The Orphan Maid 567 

Mottoes, 1, 2, 3 oC8 



Page 
LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
FROM IVANHOE. 

t The Crusader's Return f.6^ 

t The Barefooted Friar StX 

t Saxon War-Song 6<H) 

t Rebecca's Hymn 570 

t The Black Knight's Song 670 

t Son-— The Black Knight and Wamba .S70 

t Funeral Hymn 571 

t Mottoes, 1-9 571 



Epitaph on Mrs. Erskii 



573 



FROM THE MONASTERY. 

Songs of the White Lady of Avenel— 

t On Tweed River 

t To theSnb-Prior 572 

t Halbert's Incantation 57J 

t To Halberl 573 

t Halbert's Second Interview 674 

t To Mary Avenel 675 

t To Edward Glendinning 57a 

t The White Lady's Farewell 675 

t Border Ballad 575 

Mottoes, 1—20 575 



FROM THE ABBOT. 

t The Pardoner's Advertisement, 
t Mottoes, 1—17 



FROM KENILWORTH. 

t Goldlhred's Song 

t Speech of the Porter at Kenilworth Castle., 
t Mottoes. 1—13 



FROM THE PIRATE. 

t The Song of the Tempest ; 680 

t Claud Halcro's Song 5feO 

T Harold Harfager's Song 581 

t Song of the Mermaids and Mermen 581 

T Noma's Song - • 5el 

t Claud Halcro and Noma 581 

t Song of the Zetland Fifhermen 6»2 

t Cleveland's Songs 5M 

t Claud Halcro's Verses 56S 

t Noma's Incantations .• SfS 

t Bryce Snailfool's Ad¥erti»ement 585 

Mottoes, 1—12 685 



On Ettrick Forest's Mountains duo 586 

Farewell to the Muse 5fc6 

The Maidoflsia 587 

Carle, now the King's come, being new words to 

an auld spring 587 

Part Second 5« 



FROM THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL. 
t Mottoes, 1—24 



FROM PEVERIL OF THE PEAK, 
t Motto»?s, 1— 19 



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CONTENTS. 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
KRiiM QUENTIN DURWARD. 

t Song— County Guy 

t Molloes, 1—10 



FKOM ST. RONAN'8 WELL. 
t Mottoes, 1-9 



The Bannatyne Club 594 

Letter in Verae to J. G. Lockhart, E*).. on th<^ 
composition of Malda'a Epitaph 695 

Lines uddressfd to Monsieur Alexandre, the cele- 
brated Ventriloquist 696 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on " St. Ronan'e 
Well." 696 

Epilogue— (Queen Mary,) 697 



FROM REDGAUNTLET. 

t " As Lords their Labourers' hire delay" 597 

FROM THE BETROTHED; 

t Song— Soldier, Wake 698 

t " —The Truth of Woman 698 

t " —I asked of my Harp 598 

t Mottoes, 1-6 598 

FROM THE TAUSMaN. 

t Ahriman 599 

t Song of Blondel— The Bloody Vest 699 



The Bloody Vest— Fytle Second, 
t Mottoes, 1—10 



t Lines— "When with Poetry dealing," 601 

FROM WOODSTOCK. 

t An hour with thee 602 

t Mottoes, 1-3 60a 



t Lints to Sir Cuthbert Shar).. 



t Mottoes from Chronic es of the Cauoogate. 



Pag* 
LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
FROM THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH. 

t The Lay of Poor Louise €03 

t Death Chant 604 

t Song of the Glee-Maiden 604 

t Mottoes, 1-6 ". 604 



t The Death of Keeldar 

FROM ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN. 



t The Secret Tribunal . 
t Mottoes, 1-19 



The Foray 6C6 

Inscription for the Monument of the Rev. George 

Scott 607 

t Lines on Fortune 607 

t Mottoes from Count Robert of Paris, 1—13 607 

t ** from Castle Dangerous, 1—6 ..608 



DRAMATIC PIECES 
HALIDON HILL; A Dramatic Sketch from Scottish 

History 609 

Preface 609 

Act I.— Scene 1 610 

MACDUFF'S CROSS 626 

Dedication 625 

Introduction 625 

Scene 1 625 

THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL 629 

Preface B29 

Act I.— Scene 1 629 



AUCHINDRANE; or the Ayrshire Tragedy 655 

Pnface 665 

Act I.— Scene 1 660 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN 6S1 

AdvertisemeDl 681 

Act 1.— Sceue 1 6&S 



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SCOTTS HOME AT ABBOTSFORD. 



LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



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WALTER SCOTT was born in the city of Edinburgh — " mine 
own romantic town" — on the 15th of August, 1771. His^ 
father was a re.spectable writer to the Signet: his mother, Anne 
Rutherford, was daughter of a physician in extensive practice, and 
professor of medicine in the university of Edinburgh. By both 
parents the poet was remotely connected with some respectable 
ancient Scottish families — a circumstance gratifying to his feelings 
of nationality, and to his imagination. Delicate health, arising 
chiefly from lameness, led to his being placed under the charge 
of some relations in the country; and when a mere child, yet old 
enough to receive impressions from country life and Border stories, 
he resided with his grandfather at Sandy-Knowe, a romantic 
situation a few miles from Kelso. The ruined tower of Smailholm 
— the scene of Scott's ballad, The Eve of St. John — was close to 
the farm, and beside it were the Eildon Hills, the river Tweed, 
Dryburgh Abbey, and other poetical and historical objects, all en- 
shrined in the lonely contemplative boy's fancy and recollection. 
He afterwards resided with another relation at Kelso, and here, at 

xi 

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LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



Nl 



tlie age of thirteen, he first read Percy's Beliques, i» an antique 
garden, under the shade of a liuge platanus, or oriental plane-tree. 
Tliis work had as great an eflect in making liim a poet as Spenser 
had on Cowley, but wit!) Scott the seeds were long in gerniinating. 
The religious education of Scott may be seen in this efllusion: his 
father was a rigid Presbyterian. The youthful poet passed through 
the High School and university of Edinburgh, and made son)e 
proficiency in Latin, and in the classes of ethics, moral philosophy, 
and history. He had an aversion to Greek, and we inay perhai>w 
regret, with Bulwer, that he refused *'to enter into that chamber 
in the magic palace of literature in which the sublimest relics of 
antiquity are stored." He knew generally, but not critically, the 
German, French, Italian, and Spanish languages. He was an 
insatiable reader, and during a long illness in his youth, store«l his 
mind with a vast variety of miscellaneous knowledge. Komances 
were among his chief favorites, and he had great facility in 
inventing and telling stories. He also collected ballads from his 
earliest years. Scott was apprenticed to his father as a writer, 
after which he studied for the bar, and put on his gown in his 
twenty-first year. His health was now vigorous and robust, and 
he made frequent excursions into the country, which he pleasantly 
denominated raids. The knowledge of rural life, character, tradi- 
tions, and anecdotes, which he picked up in these rambles, formed 
afterwards a valuable mine to him, both as a poet and novelist. 
His manners were easy and agreeable, and he was always a wel- 
."come guest. Scott joined the Tory party ; and when the dread of 
an invasion agitated the country, he became one of a band of 
volunteers, " brothers true," in which he held the rank of quarter- 
master. His exercises as a cavalry officer, and the jovial ties of 
the mess-room, occupied much of his time ; but he still pursued, 
though irregularly, his literary studies, and an attachment to a 
Perthshire lady — though ultimately unfortunate — tended still 
more strongly to prevent his sinking into idle frivolity or dissipa- 
tion. Henry Mackenzie, the "Man of Feeling," had introduced 
a taste for German literature into the intellectual classes of his 
native city, and Scott was one of its most eager and ardent 
votaries. In 1796 he published translations of Burger's Lenore 
and The Wild Hunlsman, ballads of singular wildness and power. 
Next year, while fresh from his first love disappointment, he was 
prepared, like Romeo, to " take some new infection (o iiis eye," and 
^ . meeting at Gilsland, a watering-place in Cumberland, with a young y ^ 

--\ 7^ 



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lady of French parentage, Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, he paid 
his addresses to her, was accepted, and married on the 24th of 
Deceniher. Miss Carpenter had some fortune, and the young 
couple retired to a cottage at Lasswade, where they seem to have 
enjoyed sincere and unalloyed happiness. The ambition of Scott 
was now fairly wakened — his lighter vanities all blown away. 
][is life henceforward was one of severe but cheerful study and 
application. In 1799, appeared his translation of Goethe's trag- 
edy, Goetz von Beiiichingen, and the same year he obtained the 
nppointraent of sheriff of Selkirkshire, worth £300 per annum. 
Scott now paid a series of visits to Liddesdale, for the purpose of 
collecting the ballad poetry of the Border, an object in which he 
was eminently successful. In 1802, the result appeared in his 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, which contained upwards of forty 
l)leces never before published, and a large quantity of prose illus- 
tration, in which might have been seen the germ of that power 
which he subsequently developed in his novels. A third volume 
was added next year, containing some imitations of the old min- 
strels by the poetical editor and his friends. It required little 
sagacity to foresee that Walter Scott was now to be a great name 
in Scotland. His next task was editing the metrical romance of 
Sir Tristrem, supposed to be written by Thomas the Rhymer, or 
Thomas of Ercildoune, who flourished about the year 1280. 

Scott's antiquarian knowledge and poetical taste were exhib- 
ited in the dissertations which accompanied this work, and the 
imitation of the original which was added to complete the ro- 
mance. At length in January, 1805, appeared the Lay of the Last 
Minstrel, which instantly stamped him as one of the greatest of 
the living poets. His legendary lore, his love of the chivalrous 
and supernatural, and his descriptive powers, were fully brought 
into play; and though he afterwards improved in versatility and 
freedom, he achieved nothing which might not have been predicted 
from this first performance. His conception of the Minstrel was 
inimitable, and won all hearts — even those who were indifferent 
to the supernatural part of the tale, and opposed to the irregularity 
of the ballad style. The unprecedented success of the poem in- 
clined Scott to relax any exertions he had ever made to advance 
at the bar, although his cautious disposition made him at all times 
fear to depend over-much upon literature. He had altogether a 
clear income of about £1000 per annum; but his views stretched 
beyond this easy competence; he was ambitious of founding a 
1 




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^ \r 

xiv LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. ^ 

family that might vie with the ancient Border names he venerated, 
and to attain tliis, it was necessary to become a landed proprietor, 
and to practise a liberal and graceful ho8})itality. Well was lie 
fitted to adorn and dignify the character! But his ambition, 
though free from any tinge of sordid acquisition, proved a snare 
for his strong good sense and penetration. Scott and his family 
had gone to reside at Ashestiel, a beautiful residence on the banks 
of the Tweed, as it was necessary for him, in his capacity of 
sheriff, to live part of the year in the county of Selkirk, Shortly 
after the publication of the Xay, he entered into partnership with 
his old school-fellow, James Ballantyne, then rising into extensive 
business as a printer in Edinburgh. The copartnership was kept a 
secret, and few things in business that require secrecy are pros- 
perous or beneficial. The establishment, upon which was after- 
wards ingrafted a publishing business, demanded large advances 
of money, and Scott's name became mixed up with pecuniary 
transactions and losses to a great amount. In 1806, the powerful 
friends of the poet procured him the appointment of one of the 
})rincipal clerkships of the Court of Session, worth about £1300 
per annum ; but the emoluments were not received by Scott until 
six years after the date of his appointment, when his predecessor 
died. In his share of the printing business, and the certainty of 
his clerkship, the poet seemed, however, to have laid up — in 
addition to his literary gains and his sheriffdom — an honorable 
and even opulent provision for liis family. In 1808, appeared his 
great poem of Marmion, the most magnificent of his chivalrous 
tales, and the same year he published his edition of Dryden. In 
1810, appeared The Lady of the Lake, which was still more popu- 
lar than either of its predecessors ; in 1811, The Visio7i of Don 
Roderick ; in 1813, Bokeby, and The Bridal of Triermain; in 1814, 
The Lord of the Isles; in 1815, The Field of Waterloo; and in 1817, 
Harold the Dauntless. Some dramatic pieces, scarcely worthy of 
his genius, were also written during this busy period. It could 
not be concealed, that the later works of the Great Minstrel were 
inferior to his early ones. His style was now familiar, and the 
world had become tired of it. Byron had made his appearance, 
and the readers of poetry were bent on the new worship. Scott, 
however, was too dauntless and intrepid, and possessed of too 
great resources, to despond under this reverse. *' As the old mine 
gave symptoms of exhaustion," says Bulwer, " the new mine, ten 
times more affluent, at least in the precious metals, was discovered ; 



4 



]^ N: 

^ LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. xr ^ 

and just as in Rokehy and Triermain the Genius of the Ring seemed 
to flag in itfl powers, came the more potent Genius of the Lamp in 
the shape of Waverley.^' The long and magnificent seriea of his 
prose fictions we will not here advert to. They were poured 
forth even more prodigally than his verse, and for seventeen years 
— from 1814 to 1831 — the world hung with delight on the varied 
creations of the potent enchanter. Scott had now removed from 
his pleasant cottage at Ashestiel : the territoiial dream was about 
to be realized. In 1811, he purchased a hundred acres of moor- 
land on the banks of the Tweed, near Melrose. The neighborhood 
was full of historical associations, but the spot itself was bleak and 
bare. Four thousand pounds were expended on this purchase: 
and the interesting and now immortal name of Abbotsford was 
substituted for the very ordinary one of (hrlley Hole. Other pur- 
chases of land followed, generally at prices considerably above 
their value — Kaeside, £4100; Outfield of Toftfield, £bOOO; Toft- 
field, and parks, £10,000; Abbotslea, £3000; field at Langside, 
£500; Shearing Flat, £3500; Broomilees, £4200; Short Acres and 
Scrabtree Park, £700 ; etc. From these farms and pendicles was 
formed the estate of Abbotsford. In planting and draining, about 
£5000 were expended ; and in erecting the mansion-house — that 
" romance of stone and mortar," as it has been termed — and con- 
structing the garden, etc., a sum not less than £20,000 was spent. 
In his baronial residence the poet received innumerable visitors — 
princes, peers, and poets — men of all ranks and grades. His 
mornings were devoted to composition — for he had long practised 
the invaluable habit of early rising — and the rest of the day to 
riding among his plantations, and entertaining his guests and 
family. The honor of the baronetcy was conferred upon him 
in 1820, by George IV., who had taste enough to appreciate cor- 
dially his genius. Never, certainly, had literature done more for 
any of its countless votaries, ancient or modern. Shakspeare had 
retired early on an easy competency, and also become a rural 
squire; but his gains must have been chiefly those of the theatrical 
manager, not of the poet. Scott's splendor was purely the re- 
sult of his pen : to this he owed his acres, his castle, and his means 
of hospitality. His official income was but as a feather in the bal- 
ance. Who does not wish that the dream had continued to the end 
of his life? It was suddenly and painfully dissolved. The com- 
mercial distresses of 1825-6 fell upon publishers as on other 
classes, and the bankruptcy of Constable involved the poet in 



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^xvi LIFEOPSIRWALTERSCOTT. ^ 

losses and engagements to the amount of about £60,000. His 
wetilth, indeed, had been almost wholly illusory; for he had been 
paid for his works chiefly by bills, and these ultimately proved 
valueless. In the management of his publishing house, Scott's 
sagacity seems to have forsaken him : unsaleable works were 
printed in thousands ; and while these losses were yearly accumu- 
lating, the princely hospitalities of Abbotsford knew no check or 
pause. Heavy was the day of reckoning — terrible the reverse; 
for when the spell broke in January, 1826, it was found that, in- 
cluding the Constable engagements, Scott, under the commercial 
denomination of James Ballantyne and Co., owed £117,000. If 
this was a blot in the poet's scutcheon, never, it might be said, did 
man make nobler efforts to redeem the honor of his name. He 
would listen to no overtures of composition with his creditors — 
his only demand was for time. He ceased "doing the honors for 
all Scotland," sold off his Edinburgh house, and taking lodgings 
there, labored incessantly at his literary tasks. "The fountain 
was awakened from its inmost recesses, as if the spirit of affliction 
had troubled it in his passage." In four years he had realized for 
his creditors no less than £70,000. 

English literature presents two memorable and striking events' 
which have never been paralleled in any other nation. The first 
is, Milton advanced in years, blind, and in misfortune, entering 
upon the composition of a great epic that was to determine his 
future fame, and hazard the glory of his country in competition 
with what had been achieved in the classic ages of antiquity. The 
counterpart to this noble picture is Walter Scott, at nearly the 
same age, his private affairs in ruin, undertaking to liquidate, by 
intellectual labors alone, a debt of £117,000. Both tasks may 
be classed with the moral sublime of life. Glory, pure and un- 
sullied, was the ruling aim and motive of Milton ; honor and 
integrity formed the incentives to Scott. Neither shrunk from the 
steady prosecution of his gigantic self-imposed labor. But years 
rolled on, seasons returned and passed away, amidst public cares 
and private calamity, and the pressure of increasing infirmities, 
ere the seed sown amidst clouds and storms was white in the field. 
In six years Milton had realized the object of his hopes and 
prayers by the completion of Paradise Lost. His task was done; 
the field of glory was gained ; he held in his hand his passport to 
immortality. In six years Scott had nearly reached the goal of his 
ambition. He had ranged the wide fields of romance, and the 



^ am 



A 



V N- 

r LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. xvii > . 

public had liberally rewarded their illustrious favorite. The ulti- 
mate prize was within view, and the world cheered him on, eagerly- 
anticipating his triumph ; but the victor sank exhausted on the 
course. He had spent his life in the struggle. The strong man 
was bowed down, and his living honor, genius, and integrity, were 
extinguished by delirium and death. 

In February, 1830, Scott had an attack of paralysis. He con- 
tinued, however, to write several hours every day. In April, 1831, 
he suffered a still more severe attack ; and he was prevailed upon, 
as a means of withdrawing him from mental labor, to undertake 
a foreign tour. The Admiralty furnished a ship of war, and the 
poet sailed for Malta and Naples. At the latter place he resided 
from the 17ih of December, 1831, to the 16th of April following. 
He still labored at unfinished romances, but his mind was in 
ruins. From Naples the poet went to Rome. On the 11th of 
May, he began his return homewards, and reached Loudon on 
the 13th of June. Another attack of apoplexy, combined with 
paralysis, had laid prostrate his powers, and he was conveyed to 
Abbotsford a helpless and almost unconscious wreck. He lingered 
on for some time, listening occasionally to passages read to him 
from the Bible, and from his favorite author Crabbe. Once he tried 
to write, but his fingers would not close upon the pen. He never 
spoke of his literary labors or success. At times his imagination 
was busy preparing for the reception of the Duke of Wellington at 
Abbotsford ; at other times he was exercising the functions of a 
Scottish judge, as if presiding at the trial of members of his own 
family. His mind never appeared to wander in its delirium 
towards those works which had filled all Europe with his fame. 
This we learn from undoubted authority, and the fact is of interest 
in literary history. But the contest was soon to be over ; " the 
plough was nearing the end of the furrow." " About half-past one, 
P.M.," says Mr. Lockhart, "on the 21st of September, 1832, Sir 
Walter breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It 
was a beautiful day — so warm that every window was wide open 
— and so perfectly still that the sound of all others most delicious 
to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was 
distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son 
kissed and closed his eyes." 



Call it not vain ; they do not err 
Who say, that when the poet dies, 



\ Mute nature mourns her worshipper, . 

^ And celebrates his obsequies; ^r 



^ xviii LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. > 

Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 
For the departed bard make moan ; 
That mountains weep in crystal rill; 
That flowers in tears of balm distil; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 
And oaks, in deeper groans reply ; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 

Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

The novelty and originality of Scott's style of poetry, though 
exhausted by himself, and debased by imitators, formed his first 
passport to public favor and applause. The English reader had 
to go back to Spenser and Chaucer ere he could find so knightly 
and chivalrous a poet, or such paintings of antique manners and 
institutions. The works of the elder worthies were also obscured 
by a dim and obsolete phraseology; while Scott, in expression, 
setUiment, and description, could be read and understood by all. 
The perfect clearness and transparency of his style is one of his 
distinguishing features; and it was further aided by his peculiar 
versification. Coleridge had exemplified the fitness of the octo- 
syllabic measure for romantic narrative poetry, and parts of his 
Christahel having been recited to Scott, he adopted its wild rhythm 
and harmony, joining to it some of the abruptness and irregularity 
of the old-ballad metre. In his hands it became a powerful and 
flexible instrument, whether for light narrative and pure descrip- 
tion, or for scenes of tragic wildness and terror, such as the trial 
and death of Constance in Marmion, or the swell and agitation of 
a battle-field. The knowledge and enthusiasm requisite for a 
chivalrous poet Scott possessed in an eminent degree. He was 
an early worshipper of "hoar antiquity." He was in the maturity 
of his powers — thirty-four years of age — when the Lay was pub- 
lished, and was perhaps better informed on such subjects than any 
other man living. Border story and romance had been the study 
and the passion of his whole life. In writing Marmion and Jvanhoe, 
or in building Abbotsford, he was impelled by a natural and irre- 
sistible impulse. The baronial castle, the court and camp — the 
wild Highland chase, feud, and foray — the antique blazonry, and 
institutions of feudalism, were constantly present to his thoughts 
and imagination. Then, his powers of description were unequalled 
— certainly never surpassed. His landscapes, his characters and 
^ situations, were all real delineations; in general effect and indi- 



:^ 



^ \ 

LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. xix 

raries kad the same picturesqueness, fancy, or invention ; none so 
graphic in depicting manners and customs ; none so fertile in 
inventing incidents; none so fascinating in narrative, or so various 
and powerful in descri[)tion. 

The Lay of the Last Minstrel is a Border story of the sixteenth 
century, related by a minstrel, the last of his race. The character 
of the aged minstrel, and that of Margaret of Branksome, are 
very finely drawn ; Deloraine, a coarse Border chief, or moss- 
trooper, is also a vigorous portrait ; and in the description of 
the march of the English army, the personal combat with Mus- 
grave, and the other feudal accessories of the piece, we have fin- 
ished pictures of the olden time. The goblin page is no favorite 
of ours, except in so far as it makes the story more accordant with 
the times in which it is placed. The introductory lines to each 
canto form an exquisite setting to the dark feudal tale, and tended 
greatly to cause the popularity of the poem. 

Marmion is a tale of Flodden Field, the fate of the hero being 
connected with that memorable engagement. The poem does not 
possess the unity and completeness of the Lay, but if it ha.s greater 
faults, it has also greater beauties. Nothing can be more strikingly 
picturesque than the two opening stanzas of this romance. 

The same minute painting of feudal times characterizes both 
poems, but by a strange oversight — soon seen and regretted by 
the author — the hero is made to commit the crime of forgery, a 
crime unsuited to a chivalrous and half-civilized age. The battle 
of Flodden, and the death of Marmion, are among Scott's most 
spirited descriptions. The former is related as seen from a neigh- 
boring hill ; and the progress of the action — the hurry, impetu- 
osity, and confusion of the fight below, as the different armies rally 
or are repulsed — is given with such animation, that the whole 
scene is brought before the reader with the vividness of reality. 
The first tremendous onset is dashed off, with inimitable power, by 
the mighty minstrel. The hero receives his death-wound, and is 
borne off the field. The description, detached from the context, 
loses much of its interest ; but the mingled effects of mental agony 
and physical suffering, of remorse and death, on a bad but brave 
spirit trained to war, is described with true sublimity. 

AVe may contrast with Marmion the silent and appalling death- 
scene of Roderick Dhu, in the Lady of the Lake. The savage 
chief expires while listening to a tale chanted by the bard or 
minstrel of his clan. 



^: 



LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



^: 



The Lady of the Lake is more riclily picturesque than either of 
the former poems, and the plot is more regular and interesting. 
" The subject," says Sir James Mackintosh, *' is a common Highland 
irruption ; but at a point where the neighborhood of the Low- 
lands affords the best contrast of manners — where the scenery 
affords the noblest subject of description — and where the wild 
clan is so near to the court, that their robberies can be connected 
with the romantic adventures of a disguised king, an exiled lord, 
and a high-born beauty. The whole narrative is very fine." It 
was the most popular of the author's poems: in a few months 
twenty thousand copies were sold, and the district where the 
action of the poem lay was visited by countless thousands of 
tourists With this work closed the great popularity of Scott as 
a poet. Bokehy, a tale of the English Cavaliers and Koundheads, 
was considered a failure, though displaying the utmost art and 
talent in the delineation of character and passion. Don Roderick 
is vastly inferior to Bokehy; and Harold and Triermain are but 
faint copies of the Gothic epics, however finely finished in some 
of the tender passages. The Lord of the Isles is of a higher mood. 
It is a Scottish story of the days of Bruce, and has the charac- 
teristic fire and animation of the minstrel, when, like Rob Key, 
he has his foot on his native heath. Bannockburn may be com- 
pared with Flodden Field in energy of description, though the 
poet is sometimes lost in the clironicler and antiquary. The 
interest of the tale is not well sustained throughout, and its chief 
attraction consists in the descriptive powers of the author, who, 
besides his feudal halls and battles, has drawn the magnificent 
scenery of the West Highlands — the cave of Staffa, and the dark 
desolate grandeur of the Coriusk lakes and mountains — with 
equal truth and sublimity. The lyrical pieces of Scott are often 
very happy. The old ballad strains may be said to have been his 
original nutriment as a poet, and he is consequently often warlike 
and romantic in his songs. But he has also gaiety, archness, and 
tenderness, and if he does not touch deeply the heart, he never 
fails to paint to the eye and imagination. 



/: 



y 



M 




The La y of the Last 3Linstrel. 



A POEM. IN SIX CANTOS. 



Dum relpgo, scripsisse pudet; quia plurlma cerno, 
Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digua lini. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO EDITION 1833. 

The hitrod action to "The Lav of the Last 
Minstrel," written in April 1830. was revised 
by the Author in the autumn of 1831, when he 
also made some corrections in tlie text of the 
Poem, and several additions lo the notes. The 
work is tiow printed from iiis mlerleaved copv 

It is much to tie regretted that the original 
MS of this Poem has not been preserved. We 
are thus denied tiie advantage of cfimparins 
throu^liout the Author's various reudlnss, 
which, III tiie case of Marmion. the Lady of 
the Lake, the Lord of the Isles, <tc. are often 
higlily curious and instructive.— Ed. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

A POEM of nearly thirty years' staiidiiis^i may 
be supposed hardly to need an liitroiliiciion. 
since, without one. it has been able to keep 
itself afloat throush the best part of a sene- 
ralion. Nevertheless, as, in the edition of the 
Waverley Novels now in course of publication. 
[1830,1 I have imposed on myself the task of 
sayins: something C(>iiceriiin?"tlie purpose and 
hi.story of eacli, in their turn, I :iiii desirous 
that the Poems for winch 1 first received some 
marks of tiie public favour, slmiild also be 
accompanied with such scraps of their literary 
history as may be supposed to carry interest 
along with them. Even if I should be mis- 
taken in thinkina; that the secret history of 
what wiis once so popular, may still attract 
public attention and curiosity, it'seeins to me 
not without its use to record the manner and 
circumstances under which the present, and 
other Poems on the same plan, attained for a 
season an extensive reputation. 

I must resume the story of my literary 
labours at the period at which 1 broke otf in 
the Essay on the Imitation of Popular Poetry. 
(see post,] when I had enjoyed the first gleain 



k 



. Publi.-hed in 4to, (U 6«.) January leOd. 



of public favour, by the sucres.s of the first 
edition of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der. The .second edition of that work, pub- 
lished III 1803, proved, in the lane-ua^e of the 
trade, rather a heavy concern. The demand 
ill Scotland had been siip:ilied by the tirst 
edi'.ion. luid the curiosity of the EiisjIinIi was 
not much awakened by poems in the rude 
gaib of antiquity, accompanied with no es re- 
ferrin;; to the obscure feuds of tiaibarous clans, 
of whose very names civilized history was 
ignorant. I' was, on the whole, one ofth(»e 
books which are more praised than they are 
read 2 

At this time I s'ood personally in a different 
position from that which 1 occupied when I 
first dipt my despera'e pen in ink for other 
purposes than those of niv profession. In 1796, 
when I first [iiiltlished the traiislaiions from 
Biirger, I w;is an insulated individual, with 
only my own w;ints to [irovide fur. and haviiis, 
in a great mettsuie. my own mcliiia'ions alone 
to consult. In 1803, when the second eilition 
of the Minstrelsy appeared, I had arrived at a 
period of life when men. however thoughtless, 
encounter duties and circums'ances which 
press cotisideralion and plans of life upon the 
most careless minds I had been for some 
time married— was the father of a risina: family, 
and. thoui^li fully enabled to meet the conse- 
quent demands upon me, it was my duty and 
desire to place myself in a situation which 
would enable me lo make honour:djle provision 
against the various contingencies of life. 

It may be readily supposeii that the aiiempis 
which I had made in liierature fiad been un- 
favourable to my success at the bar. The 
goddess Iheitiis "is, at Edinburgh, and I sup- 
pose everywhere else, of a peculiarly jealous 
disposition She will not readily cdnseiU lo 
share her authority, and sternly demands from 
her votaries, not only that real duly be care- 
fully attended lo and discharged, b'jt that a 



t^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



certain air of hiisiness shall he observed even 
in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, 
if not absolutely necessary, in a youns; bar- 
rister, to appear entiielv engrossed by his pro- 
fession ; however destitute of eniploynient he 
mav in reatitv be, he ou^ht to preserve, if pos- 
sible, the a()pKaranr* of full occupation. He 
should, therefore, seem perpetually engaged 
among his law-papers, dustina: them, as it 
were ; and, as Ovid advises the fair, 

" Si iiullus eril pulvis, tamen cxcute nullum." I 

Perhaps such extremity of attention is more 
especially required, considering the great num- 
ber of counsellors who are called to the bar, 
and how very small a proportion of them are 
fiii;dlv disposed, or find encouragement, to 
follow the law as a profession. Hence the 
nuinhfr of desnr ers is so great, that the least 
lingering look hehuid occasions a young novice 
to be set down as one of ihe iiii end ing fugitives. 
Certain it is, that the 8c<itlisli Themis was at 
this time necudiarly je;;lous of any flirtation 
with the Muses, on the part of those who had 
ranged themselves under her banners This 
was piohably owing to her consciousness of 
the su perior attractions of her rivals. Of late, 
however, she has relaxed in some instances 
in this particular, an eminent example of 
which has been shown in the case of my friend, 
Mr Jeffrt'y, who, after long conducting one 
of the most inlluential li erary periodicals of 
the age, with unquestionable aiiility, has beeiij 
by I he general consent of his bretlireii. recently 
elected to be their Dean of Facully, or Presi- 
dent, — being the highest acknowledgement 
of his professional talents which they had it 
in their power to offer. ■■' Hut this is an inci- 
dent much beyond the ideas of a period of 
thirty years' distance, when a barrister who 
really possessed any turn for lighter literature, 
was at as much pains to conceal it, as if it had 
in reality heen something to be ashamed of; 
and I could mention more than one instance 
in which literal lire and society have suffered 
much loss, that jurisprudence might be en- 
riched. 

Such, however, was not my case ; for the 
reader will not wonder that my open inter- 
ference with matters of light literature 
diminished my employment in the weightier 
matters of the law. Nor did the solicitors, 
upim whose choice the counsel takes rank in 
his profession, do me le.ss than justice, by 
regarding <ithers among my ctintemporaries as 
filter to discharge the dufy'diie to their clients, 
than a young man who was taken up with 
running after ballads, wheiher Teutonic or 
national. My profession and I. therefore, came 
to stand nearly upon the footing which honest 
Slender Consoled himself on having established 
with Mistress Anne Page; "There was no 
great love between us at the beginning, and it 
pleaseci He:iven to decrease it on fan her 
acquaintance " 1 became sensible that the 
time was come when 1 must either iiuckle 
myself resolutely to the " toil by day, the lamp 



1 If dust be none, yet brush that none away. 

2 Mr Jrffrt-y, after comluctina Ihe Edinburgh Review for 
twenly-»even years, withdrew from that offi.J in 1SJ9, on 
beini; rlect«l Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. In 1S30 
under Karl Grey's Ministry, he was nppoinird Lord Ailvo- 
eate of Scotland, and, in 1^34. a S.nalor of the College ol 
Justice by the title of Lord Jeirrey.--liM. 



bv night," renouncing all the Delilahs of my 
iniagination. or bid adieu to the profession of 
the law. and hold another course. 

I confess my own inclination revolted from 
the more severe choice, which might have been 
deemed by many the wiser alternative As 
my transgressions had been numerous, my 
repentance must have been signalized by 
unusual sacrifices. 1 ousrht to have mentioned, 
that since my fourteenth or fifteenth year, my 
health, originally delicate, had become ex- 
tremely robust From infancy T had laboured 
under the infirmity of a severe lameness, but, 
as I believe is usually the case with men of 
spirit who suffer under personal inconveniences 
of this nature, I had, since the improvement 
of my health, in defiance of this incapacitaiins: 
circumstance, distinuuislied myself by the 
endurance of toil on foot or horse-back, having 
often walked thirty miles a-day. and rode 
upwards f)f a liundred, without resting. In 
this manner I made many pleasant journeys 
through parts of the country then not very 
accessible, gaining more amusement and in- 
struction than I have been able to acquire 
since I have travelled in a more commodious 
manner. I practised most silvan sports also, 
with some success, and with great delight. 
But these pleasures must have been all re- 
signed, or used with great moderation, had [ 
determined to regain my station at the bar. It 
was even doubtful whether I could, with per- 
fect character as a jurisconsult, retain a 
situation in a volunteer corps of cavalry, which 
I then held The threats of invasion were at 
this time instant and menacing; the call by 
Britain on her children was universal, and was 
answered Ity some, who, like myself, consulied 
rather their desire than their ability to bear 
arms My services, however, were found 
useful in assisting to maintain the discipline 
of the corps, being the point on which their 
constitution rendered them most amenable 
to military criticism. In other respects, the 
squadron was a fine one, consisting chiefly of 
handsome men. well mounted aiul armed at 
at their own expense. My attention to the 
corps took up a good deal of time ; and while 
it occupied many of the happiest hours of my 
life, it furnished an additional reason for my 
reluctance again to encounter the severe 
course of study indispensable to success in 
the juridical profession 

On the other hand, my father, whose feel- 
ings might have been hurt by my quitting 
the bar, had been for two or three years dead, 
so that 1 had no control to thwart my own 
inclination ; and my income being equal to 
all the Comforts, and some of the elegancies, 
of life, I Wits not pressed to an irksi»me labour 
by necessity, that most powerful of motives : 
consequently. 1 was the more easily seduced 
to choose the employment which wfis most 
agreeable to me. This was yet the easier, 
that in 1800 I had obtained the preferment of 
Sheriff of Selkirkshire, about 'Mil. a year in 
value, and which was the more agreeable to 
me. as in that county I had several friends 
and relations. But 1 did not abandon the 
profession to which I had been educated, 
without certain prudential resolutions, which, 
at the risk of some egotism, I will here mei'.- 
lion; not without the hope that they may oe 
useful to young persons who may stand at 



^; 



^. 



^ 



^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



11 



^ 



circumstances similar to those in wliich I then 

stood 

111 the first place, upon considerinsr the lives 
an i fortunes of persons who hud given them- 
Belves up to literature, or to the task of pleas- 
ini< tlie public, it seemed to ine, tliai the 
circumstances which cluetly affected their 
happiness and cliaraoter, were those from 
which Honice h;is bestowed upon aui ho.s tue 
epithet of tlie Initable Race. It requires no 
depth of philosophic rejection to perceive, 
that the petty warfare of Pope with the Dun- 
res of his |)eriod could not have been carried 
on witliout his suffering the most acute tor- 
ture, such as a man must endure from mus- 
quitroes, by whose stiiiu'S he suffers agony. 
al liouijii he can crush them in his grasp by 
myriads. Nor is it necessary to call to mem- 
ory the many humilia'iug instances in which 
men of the greatest genius have, to avenge 
some pit.ful quarrel, made themselves re- 
diculous during tlieir lives, to become the 
still more degradeil objects of piiy to future 
times. 

(Jfion the whole, as I had no pretensicm to 
the iiemus of the distim;:uished perst)ns who 
liad f illen into such erro.s, I conclude.l tliere 
could be no occasion for iniiiat.ng ihem in 
their mistakes, or wiiat I cons dored as sucli ; 
and in adopting literary pursuits as the princi- 
pal occupation of my fuiure life. I res )lved, if 
p 'ssible. to avoid those weaknesses of temper 
whi(!h seemed to hive most easily beset my 
more celel)iated pre^ece-'S )rs 

s\ ith tins view, if was my first resolution to 
keep as far as was in my power abreast of 
so.'.iety. continuing to maintain my place in 
geneial coaipaiiy, without yielding to the very 
iia Ural tempta'ion of narrowing myself to 
what is called literary society. By doing so 
1 imagined I should escape the besetting sin 
of listemiu' to lamcuage, which, from one mo- 
tive or o her, is apt to ascribe a very undue 
de.;ree of consequence to li erary pursuits, as 
if they were, indeed, the business, rather than 
the amusement, of life. The opposite course 
can only be compared to the injudicious con- 
duct of one who pampers lumself wiih cordial 
and lus aous draughts, until he is unable to 
en^lure wholesome bitters. Like Gil Bias, 
therefore, 1 resolved to stick by the society of 
my commis. instead of seeking that of a 
more literary cast, and to maintain my gene- 
ral interest iii what w;is going on around me, 
reserving the man of letters for the desk and 
the library. 

My second resolution was a corollary from 
the first 1 delerni.ned that, without shutting 
my ears to the voice of true criticism, I would 
pay no regard to taat which assumes the form 
of satire. I therefore resolved to arm myself 
with that triple bniss of Horace, of which 
those of iny profession are seldom held defi- 
cient, against all the roving warfare of satire, 
parody, and sarcasm ; to laugh if the jest was 
a good one. or, if otiierwise, to let it hum and 
buzz Itself to sleep. 

It is to the observance of these rules, (accord- 
ing to my best belief,) that, after a life of 
thirty years engaged in literary labours of 
various kinds, 1 attribute my never havmg been 
entangled in any literary quarrel or contro- 
versy; and. which is a still more plsasing result, 
that 1 iiave been distinguished by the personal 



friendship of my most approved contemporaries 
of all parties 

I adopted, at the same time, another reso- 
lution, on which It may doubtless be remarked, 
that it was well for me that 1 had it in my 
power to do so, and that, therefore, it is a 
line of conduct which, depending upon acci- 
dent, can be less generally applicable in other 
cases. Yet I fail not to record this part of my 
plan, convinced that, though it may not be iii 
every one's power to adopt exactly the same 
resolution, he m.ay nevertheless, by his own 
exertions, in some shape or other, attain the 
object on wliich it was founded, namely, to 
secure the means of subsistence, without rely- 
ing exclusively on literary talents. In this 
respect. I determined that literature should be 
my staff, but not my crutch, and that the pro- 
fits of my literary labour, however convenient 
otherwise, should not, if I could help it, become 
necessary to my ordinary expenses. With 
this purpose 1 resolved, if the interest of my 
friends could so far favour me, to retu-e upon 
any of the respectable offices of the law, m 
which persons of that profession are glad to 
take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are 
judged by others, incompetent to aspire to its 
higher honours. Upon such a post an author 
migiit hope to retreat, without any perceptible 
alteration of circumstances, whenever the 
time should arrive that the public grew weary 
of his endeavours to please, or he himself 
shcmld tire ot the pen. At. this period of my 
life. I possessed so many fnends capable of 
assisting me in this object of ambition, that I 
could hardly over-rate my own prospects of 
oblaming the preferment to which I limited 
my wishes ; and, in fact, I obtained in no long 
period the reversion of a situation which com- 
pletely met them 

Thus far all was well, and the Author had 
been guilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, 
when he relinquished his fo ensic practice 
with the hope of making some ria:ure in the 
field of hterature. But an established charac 
ter with the public, m my new capacity, still 
remained to be acquired 1 have noticed, 
that the translations from Biirger had been 
unsuccessful, nor had the original poetry 
which appeared under the auspices of Mr. 
Lewis, in the " Tales of Wonder," in any great 
degree raised my reputation. It is true, 1 had 
private friends disposed to second me in my 
efforts to obtain po()ularity. But I was sports- 
man enough to know, that if the greyhound 
does not run well, the halloes of his patrons 
will not obtain the prize for him. 

Neither was 1 ignorant that the practice of 
ballad-writing was for the present out of 
fashion, and that any attempt to revive it, or 
to found a poetical character upon it, would 
certainly fail of success. The ballad measure 
itself, which was once listened to as to an 
enchanting melody, had become hackneyed 
and sickenm,', from its being the accompani- 
ment of every grinding hand-oraran ; and 
besides, a long work in quatrains, whether 
those of the common ballad, or such as are 
termed elegiac, has an effect upon the mind 
like that of the bed of Procrustes upon the 
human bodv; for, as it must be both awkward 
and difficult to carry on a long sentence from 
one stanza to another, it follows, that the 
meaning of each period must be comprehended 



K 



^ \xri\h 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



wilhiii four lines, and eqn;»lly so that it must 
be extended so as to till t'liat spiice. Tlie 
alternule dilation and contiaclKiu tlius ren- 
dered necessary is sinijularly unfavourable to 
narrative c()nii)ositioii; and the " Gondibert " 
of Sir William D'Avenant, though containing 
many sinking passages, has never become 
popular, owing chiefly to its being told in this 
s{)ecies of elegiac verse. 

In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, 
the idea occurred to tlie Author of using the 
measured short line, which form the struc- 
ture of so much minstrel poetry, that it may 
be properly termed the Romantic sianza. by 
way of distinction; and which appears so na- 
tural to our language, that the very best of our 
poets have not been able to protract it into the 
verse properly called Heroic, without the use 
of epitliets, which are, to say the least, un- 
necessary.! But, on the other hand, the ex- 
treme facility of the short couplet, which 
seems congenial to our language, and was, 
doubtless for that reasun. so popular with our 
old miiisirels. is, for the same reasim, apt to 
prove a snare U> ihe composer who uses it in 
more modern days, liy encouraging him in a 
habit of' slovenly composition. The necessity 
of occasional pauses ofien forces the young 
poet to pay more attention to sense, as the 
hoy's kite rises highest when the train is load- 
ed by a due counterpoise. The Author was 
therefore intimidated by what Byron calls the 
"fatal facility" of the octo-syllal)ic verse, 
which was otherwise better adap'ed to his 
purpo.se of imitating the more ancient poetry. 

I was not le.ss at a loss for a suliject which 
might admit of being treated with the simplicity 
and wildness of the aiicieni ballad. But acci- 
dent dictated both a theme and measure, 
which decided the subject, as well as the 
structure of the poem. 

'I'he lovely young Countess of Dalkeith, 
afterwards Harriet Duchess of Bu(;cleuch, 
had coii.'e to the land other husband with the 
desire of making herself acquainted with its 
iradilions and customs, as well as Us manners 
and history. All who rememlier this lady 
will agrei ,'lhat the intellectual character of 
Jier extreme beauty, the amenity and cour- 
tesy of her manners, the soundness of her 
understanding, and her unbounded benevo- 
lence, gave more the idea of an angelic visi- 
tant, than of a being belonging to this nether 
world ; and such a thought was but too consis- 
tent with the short space she was permitted 
to tarry among us. 2 Of course, where all 
made it a pride and pleasure to gratify her 
wishes, she soon heard enough of Border lore ; 
among others, an aged gentleman of proper- 
ty, 3 near Langholm, communicated to her 



1 Thus it has heeii often remarkej, ihat, in the opening 
couplels of rope's translation of Ihe Iliad, there are two 
•yllables forinicig a .xuiierflous word in each line, as may 
be observed by atleudu.g to such wonU as are printed in 
Italics. 

"Arhilles wrath to Greece the direful spring 
or woes uiinumber'd, hcavrnjy goddess, sing ; 
That wrath which sent to I'luto's gloom]/ reign, 
The souls of mighty chiefs iu batlle slain. 
Whose hones, unburied on \\i^ desert shore, 
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore." 

2 The duchess died in August 1814. Sir Wallei bcotfs 
lines on her death will be found in a subsequent pa^e of 



SThii 



E,t. 
Mr. Beattie of Mickledale, a man then con- 



lad3'ship the story of Gilpin Horner, a tradi 
tion in which the narrator, and many more (»t 
that country, were firm believers. The young 
Countess, much delighted with the legenti, 
and the gravity and full confidence with which 
it was told, enjoined on me as a task to com- 
pose a ballad on the subject. Of course, to 
hear wtis to obey ; and thus the goblin story, 
objected to by several critics as an excrescence 
iipon the poem, was, in fact, the occasion of 
its being written. 

A chance similar to that which dictated the 
subject, gave me also the hint of a new mode 
of treating it. We liad at that time the lease 
of a pleasant cottage, near Ltisswade, on the 
romantic hanks of the Esk. to which we esca- 
ped whenthe vacations of the Court permitted 
me so much leisure. Here 1 had the pleasure 
to receive a visit from Mr Stoddart. (now Sir 
.lohn Stoddart, J udge-Advotvdte at Malta,) who 
was at that time collecting the particulars 
which he afterwards embodied in his Remarks 
on Local Scenery in Scotland.* I was of some 
use to him in procuring the information which 
he desired, and guiding him to the gcenes 
which he wished to see. In return, he made 
me better acquainted than I had hitherto been 
with the poetic efi'iisions which have since 
made the Lakes of Westmoreland, and the 
authors by whom they have been sung, so 
famous wlierever the English tongue is spoken. 

I was already acquainted with the " Juan of 
Arc," the "Thalaba," and Ihe •' Metrical Bal- 
lads" of Mr. Southey, which had found their 
way to Scotland, and were geniirally admired. 
But Mr. Stoddart, who had the advantage of 
pei-sonal friendship with the authors, and who 
possessed a strong memory with an excellent 
taste, was able to repeat to me many long spe- 
cimens of their poetry, whicn had not yet ap- 
lieared in print. Amonsst others, was the 
striking fragment called Christ abel, by Mr. 
Coleridge, winch, from the singularly irregular 
structure of the stanzas, and the liber:y which 
it allowed the author, to adapt the sound to 
the sense, seemed to be exactly suited to such 
an extravaganza as 1 meditated on the subject 
of Gilpin Horner. As applied to comic and 
humorous poetry, this niescolanza of measures 
had been already used by Anthony Hall, 
Anstey, Dr. Wolcott. and others ; but it vv;is 
in Christahel that 1 first found it used in seri- 
ous poetry, and it is to Mr. Ctilendge that I 
am bound to make the acknowledgment due 
from the pupil to his master. 1 (jbserve that 
Lord Byron, m noticing my obligations to Mr 
Coleridge, which 1 have been always most 
ready to acknowledge, expressed, or was un- 
derstood to express, a hope, that I urn not 
write an unfriendly review on Mr. Coleridge's 
productions. 5 On tins sutiject 1 have only to 

siderably upwards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic 
temper, which he did not at all limes suppres-s as the fol- 
lowing aneidote will show :— .\ worthy clergyman, now 
deceased, with better good-will than tact, was endeavour- 
ing to push Ihe senior forward in his recollection of Bor- 
der ballads and legends, by expressing reiterated surprise 
at his wonderful memory. "No, sir," said old Mickledale ; 
*'my memory is good for little, for it cannot retain what 
ought to be preserved. I can remember all these stones 
about the auld riding days, which are of no earthly import- 
ance; but were you, reverend sir, to repeat your be«i ser- 
mon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you ha f an 
hour afterwards what you had been speaking about." 

4 Two volumes, royal octavo. IHOl. 

6 Medwiii's couveisatious of Lord Byron, p. 30i». 



^: 



^ 



/. 



7 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



^ 



18 



Bay, that I do not even know the review which 
is alluded to; und were I ever to taite the 
nnheconiingr freedom of censnriiia: a man of 
Mr. ColeridKe"s extraordin:ii-y taltnts, it w.)uld 
be on account of llie caprice and indoliMice 
with which lie lias thrown fnjni liiin. jis if in 
mere wantonness, tliose unfinished snaps of 
poet|-y, which, like the Torso of aiUiqui y.dely 
the skill of his poetical l)reMireii to complete 
tlK-m ' 'I'lie (■harming fraa:inenrs which ihe 
auMior ahaiidoiis to ih^^ir fate, are surely loo 
valuable to lu! tieateil like the proofs of care- 
less enifravers, the sweepinu's of whose studios 
often make the forluiie of some painstaking 
collector. 

I did not im mediately proceed upon my pro- 
jecied labour, Ihouirh 1 was now fnrnislnd wiUi 
a subject, and wiih a sfinciure of verse which 
niiV'ht have the ell'ect of novel' y to the public 
ear. and alUnd the auilmr an opportunity of 
varying; his measure with the variations of a 
roinaniic iheme. Un the contrary, it was, to 
the best of my recollection, more than a year 
after Mr. Stod'dait's visit, tha'. by way of ex- 
periment. I composed the first two or three 
stanzas of -'['lie Lay of the Last Minstrel." I 
was shortly afterwards visited by two intimate 
friends, oiie of whom still survives. They 
were men whose talents iimrlit have raised 
them to the inchest station in literature, had 
they not preferred exeriin^ them in their own 
profession of the law. in which they attained 
eiinal prefrrment. I w.as in the habit of con- 
sultiii!? them on my attempts at composition, 
havniif equal conlideiice m their sound taste 
and friendly sincerity 2 In this specimen I 
had, in the phrase of the Hishland servant. 
p>acked all that was my own <il host, for I had 
also included a line of invocation, a little soft- 
ened, from Colendse — 

" Mary, moltitr, shield us well." 

As neither of my friends said much to me on 
the subject of the s'aiizas I showed them be- 
fore their departure. I had no doubt that their 
disg:ust had been meater than their good- 
nature chose to express. Lookinsf upon them, 
tlierelbre, as a failure, I threw the manuscript 
into the fire, and thought as little more as I 
could of the matter. Some time afterwards 
I met one of my two counsellors, who en- 
quired, with considerable afipearance of inte- 
rest, about the progress of the romance I had 
commenced, and was greatly surprised at 
learning its fate. He confessed that neither 
he nor our mutual friend had been at first -able 
to give a precise opinion on a [loeni so much 
out of the common road ; but that as they 
walked home together to the city, they had 
talked much on the subject, and the result 
w:is an earnest desire that I would proceed 



1 



1 Sir Waller, elsewhrre, in alliisini, ic "Colrrldgf'Bh, 
tiful and tantalizing rraL-m'-ni of (-'hrisi.n.lxl." >.av!,, •' 

will de-ire lo summon him from his place of rest, an \ 

'To call up him who left half to'd 
The .•<tory of Cambuscan bold ?• •• 

Allies to the Ahhot.— 

2 One of these, William Erskine, Ksq. (Lord Kiniiedil 
I have often had ocrahion to mention, and th-iut'h I i 
hardly be thankid for di.-closing the name of the nih.-r, 
I cannot hut slate that the neiond is GeTge Cninsif 
K«q., now n Senator of the Cnll.ge of Justice, by the I 
of Lord Corehouse l*-3l —[Mr, Cranstouu resigoed 
neat on the Dcucb in ISSi).] 



with the composiiion. He also added, tliat 
some sort of prologue might be necessary, to 
place the mind of tiie hearers in the situation 
'o uinlersiand and enjoy the poem, and recom- 
mended the adopiion of such quaint mottoes 
as .■^(iriiser has used lo announce ihe contents 
of the chapters of the Faery Queen, such as— 

not be cleuused. 



•* Babe's bloody h iirds may i 
The face of golden Mean 

Her aisicra two. Kxiremitie 
Strive her lo bajiioh clean 



the 



1 entirely a,need with my friendly crit 
necessity of having some sort of pitch-pipe, 
which niigh' make readers aware of the object, 
or raiher the tone, of the publication. But I 
doubted whether, in assuming the oracular 
style of Spenser's mottoes, the interpreter 
might not be censured as the harder to be 
understood of the two. 1 therefore iniroduced 
the Old .Minstrel, as an appropriate prolocutor, 
by whom the lay might he sung, or spoken, 
and the introduction of whom betwixt the 
cantos, might remind the reader at intervals, 
of the time, place, and circumstances of the 
recitation. This species of cadre, or frame, 
afterwards afforded the poem its name of 
'■ The Lay of the Last .Minstrel." 

The work was subsequently shown to other 
friends during its progress, and received the 
imprima/ur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had 
been already for some time distinguished by 
his critical talent. 

The poem, being once licensed by the critics 
as fit for the market, w;is soon finished, pro- 
ceeding at about the rate of a canto per week. 
There was. indeed, little occasion for pause or 
hesitation, when a troublesome rhyme might 
be accommodated by an alteration of the 
stanza, or where an incorrect measure might 
be remedied by a variation of the rhyme. It 
was finally published in 1805, and may be 
regarded as the first work in which the writer, 
who has been sine* so voluminous, laid his 
claim to be considered as an original autlior. 

The book was pulilished by Longman and 
Company, and Archibald Constable and Com- 
pany. 'Ihe principal of the latter firm was 
then commencing that course of bold and libe- 
ral industry which was of so much advaniage 
to his <H)untry. and might have been so lo him- 
self, but for causes which it is needless to 
enter mto here. The work, brought out on 
the usual terms of division of profits between 
the author ;md publishers, was not long after 
purchased by them for 500/, to which Messrs. 
Longman and Company afterwards ailded 
lOOZ. in their own unsolicited kindness, in 
con.sequence of the uncommon success of the 
work. It was handsomely given to supply the 
loss of a fine horse, which broke down'sud- 
denly while the author was riding with one of 
the worthy publishers. 4 

It would he great affectation not to own 
frankly, that the aui hor e.xpecf ed some success 
from "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." The 
attempt to return to a more simi)le and natural 
style of poetry was likely to be welcomed at 
a time when the public had become tired of 
heroic hexameters, with all the buckram and 
binding which belong to them of later days. 



3 Book n. Canto II. 

4 Mr. Owen Keen, here alluded to, retired from the house 
of LouEman * Co.. at Midsummer 1837, and died 5th Sep- 
tember foUowiug, iu Ilia 67th year.— Kd. 



^T 



t^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But wliatever niieht. have been his expecta- 
tions, whether modenile or unreasonable, the 
result left iheni far behind, for amon? those 
who smiled on the adventurous Minstrel, were 
numbered the f?reat names of William Pitt and 
Charles Fox.> Neither was the extent of the 
sale inferior to i he character of the judires who 
received the |)oem with approbation. Upwards 
of thiriy thousand copies of the Lay were dis- 
posed of by the trade; and the aiiilior had lo 



perform a task difficult to human vanity, when 
called upon to make the necessary deductions 
from his own merits, in the calm attempt to 
account for his popularity.2 

A few additional remarks on the author's 
literary attempts after this period, will be 
found in the Introduction to the Poem of 
Marmion. 

Abbotsford, April, 1830. 



The La y of the Last Minstrel, 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONOURABLE 

CHARLES P:ARL OF DALKEITH, 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The Poem, now offrred to the Fubi.ic, is intended to illustrate the customs and manners which 
anciently prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The tnhatntants livino in a state 
partly pastoral and partly warlike, and coinbiniwi habits of constant depredation with the influ- 
enre of a rude spirit of rhiualry, were often ewiaued in scenes highly svsceptible of poetical orna- 
ment. As the description of scenery and manmrs was more the object of the Author than a 
combined and reijular narrative, the plan of tlic A ncient Metrical Romance was adopted, which 
allows (jreater latitude, in this respect, than would be ronsislent with the dignity of a regular Poeni. 
The same model offered other facilities, as it permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, 
m some degree, authorises the chantje of rhythm in the text. The machinery, also, adopted from 
popul'ir belief, would have seemed puerile in a Poem which did not partake of the rudeness of the 
old Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, 
who, as he is suptiosed to have survived the Revolution, myjht have caught somewhat of the refine- 
ment of modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his oriijinal model. The date of the Tale 
itself is about the middle of the sixteenth century, when most of the pcrsoncujes actually flourished. 
The lime occupied by the action is Three Nights and Three Days. 



INTRODUCTION. 
The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray, 
Seem'd to have known a better day ; 
The harp, his sole remaiiiins: joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. " 



ui;h what channe 



vha! 






X made 
have failed lo ascertain. 
Pitt's prai8e, as pxpre«s«i lo his niece, Lady Hesler Stan- 
hope, within II few weeks after the poem appeared, was 
repeated by her to Mr. William Stewart Rose, who, of 
course, communicated it forthwith lo the author; and not 
long after, the Minister, in conversation with Siolt's early 
friend, the Right Hon William Dundas, signified ihat it 
would give him pleasure to find some opportunity of ad- 
vancing the fortunes of such a writer. "1 remember," 
wril.s this gentleman, " al Mr. Pitt's table in 1806, the 
Chancellor asked me about you and your then siluation, 
bikI afler I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed —• He 
can't remain as he is,' and desired me to ' look to't.'"— 
Lock hart. 14fe of Scott, Vol. 11. p. 226. 

2 "The poet has under-esiimaled even the patent and 
tangible evidence of his success. The first edition of the 
Lay was a magnificent quarto, 750 copies; hut this was 
• au^ted. and there followed nn octavo Impression 
IBOO, two more, one of 21 00 copie». another of 






1500; 



The last of all the Bards was he, 
V\"ho sung of Border chivalry ; 
For, welladay ! their date was fled, 
His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 
And he, neglected ant] oppress'd, 
Wjsh'd to be with them, and atrest.3 
No more on pnincing palfrey borne, 
He caroll'd, light as lark at morn ; 



ballads and lyrical pieces beini; then annexe I to it)— an.l, 
another octavo edition of 12 0; in 1811. SOOO ; in lf<12 
3000; in 1816,3000; in lf-2 ■. 1000. A fourteenth impres- 
sion of 2000 foolscap appeared in 1825, and besiiles all 
this, before the end of l«3fi, 11,000 copies had aone forth in 
the collected editions of his poetical works. Thus, nearly 
forty-four thousand copies had been disposed of in this 
couRIry, and by the legitimate trade alone, before he super- 
intended the edition of 1830, to which his hioaraphical 
introductions were prefixed. In the history of British 
Poetry nothing had ever equalled the demand for I he Lay 
of the Last Minstrel."— Lt/'e, Vol. II. p. 226 

3 " Turning to the northward. Scott showed us the crass 
and tower of Smailholme. ana behind it the shaltend 
fragment of Erceliloune. and repealed some pretty stanzas 
ascribed to the last of the real wandering minstrels of this 
district, by name Bum : 



'Sing Erceldoune, and Cowdenknowes, 
Where Homes had aiice commanding. 

And Drygrange. wi' the milk-white ewei^ 
■Twixt Tweed and Le.idet standing. 



\ 



T 



A 



7 



^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



No longer courted and caress'd, 

Higli placed in hull, a welc(.)nie guest, 

He" pour'd, to lord and lady gay, 

The unpremeditated lay: 

Old times were ciiauged, old manners gone ; 

A sti anger fiU'd the Stuarts' throne ; 

T:.e bigots of the iron time 

Had cail'd his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering Harper, sconi'd and poor, 

He begg'd his bre;ul from door touoor, 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 

The haip, a kuig had loved to hear. 

He pass'd where Newark's ' stately tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower, 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye- 
No humbler restmg-place was iiigh ; 
With hesitating step at last. 
The embattled portal arch lie pass'd. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft roll'd back the tide tf war. 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
Tlie Duches.B'- marked his weary pace. 
His timid mien, and reverend face. 
And bade hor page the menials tell. 
That they should tend the old man well : 
For she had known adversity, 
Though born in such a hujh degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's hiooin, 
Had wept o er Monmouth's bloody comb ! 

When kindness had his wants supplied, 
And the old man was gratified, 
Began to rise his minstrel pnde : 
And he began to talk anon. 
Of good Earl Francis.3 dead and gone, 
And oi Earl Walter.* rest him, God! 
A braver ne'er to battle rode; 
And how full many a tale he knew, 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; 



The bir.1 thai 9ee» through RcOpath trwa 

And Gledswood banks inch morro'*, 
May chaunl ami sing— Sujrei Lead'^'t haug?tt 

And Bonny hawmt of Yarrow. 
* But MinHlrel Burn cannot assuage 

His grief while life endureth, 
To see the changes of tliis a^e 

Which Berting time procurelh ; 
For mony a place stands in hard case. 

Where biythe folks kent nae sorrow, 
With Homes ihat dwelt on Leader side. 

And Scottii that dwelt on Yarrow " 

Life, VOL Ti. f. 78. 

1 " This U a massive eqoare tower, now ulfroared and 
ninous, surrounded by an outward wall, defender) by rouud 
flanking turrets. It is most beautifully situated, about 
thiee miles from Selkirk, upon ihe banks of thi- Yarrow, 
a fit-rce and precipitous stream, which unites with the 
Kt:ri('ke about a mile beneaih the caslle. 

• Newark Caslle was built by James II. The royal 



the 



the 



wesiern side of ihe lower. There ».■».< a mmh more an- 
cient castle in its immediaie viiinily. lalled Auldwark. 
founded, it is said, by Alexander 111. Both were designed 
for the royal resideoce when the king was disposed to lake 
bis pleasure in the extensive forest of turicke. Various 
grajits otcur in the records of the Pnvy Seal, bestowing 
the keeping of the Oaslle of Newark upon different barons. 
There is a popular Irailiiion that it wa.s once seized, and 
held out by the outlaw Murray, a noted characier in song. 
who only surrendered Newark upon condiiion of being 
made hereditary sheriff of Ihe forest. A long ba lad, con- 
taining an aci-ount of this transaction, is preseived in the 
Border Minsirelsy.(vnl. i. p. 369.) Upon the marr ase of 
James IV. with Margaret, .sister of Henry VIII., Ihe 
CasUe of Newark, with (he whole Forest of Eilricke, was 
Msignrd to her as a part of her jointure lands. But of 
Ibis she could make little advaiilage ; for, after the death 



And, would the noble Duchess ileij 

I o listen to an old man's strain. 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though 

weak. 
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 

That, if she loved the harp to hear. 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtain'd; 
The Aged Minstrel audience gain'd. 
But, when he reach'd the room of state, 
Where she. with all her ladies, sate, 
Perchance he wish'd his boon denied : 
For, when to tune his harp lie tried. 
His trembling: hand had lost the ease. 
Which marks security to ple;ise ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy. and pain, 
Came wildenng o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to tune his harp m vain ! s 
The pityiner Duchess praised its chime. 
And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full fain 
He could recall an ancient sliaiii. 
He never thought to sinsr again. 
It was not framed for village churls. 
But for high dames and mighty earls; 
He had played it to Ivitig Charles the Good, 
When he kept court in Holy rood ; 
.\iid mar.h he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try 
The long-forgotten melody. 
Aiiud the strings his fingers stray'd, 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And otl he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught ihe measure wild, 
The old man raised his face, and smileti 
And liglilen'ii up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords alons: : 



?t 



ily. 



of her husband, she is found complaii 
Buccleuch had seized upon these lands 
of keeper wa.s latterly held by the family of Bacclmch, 
and with so firm a grasp, thai when the Forest of Eilricke 
was disparked, they obiain&l a grant of the Caslle of New- 
ark in property. It was within the courl-yard of this 
caslle that General Lesly did military execution upon Ihe 
prisoners whom he had taken at Ihe battle of Philiphaugh. 



caslli 



ued to 



Buccleuch family for more than a century; and here, it is 
said, the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuch » as brought 
up. For this reason, probably, Mr. Scoit has chosen to 
make it the scene in which the Lay of the Last Minstrel 
is recited in her presence, and for her amusement."— 
Skhetky's lUuttralions </ the Lay of the List Minstrel. 

li may be added that Bowhill was the favourite residence 
of Lord and Lady Dalkeith, (afterwards Duke and Duchess 
of Buccleuch.) at the time when the poem was composed; 
the ruins of Newark are all but included in the pnrk at- 
tached to Ihat modern seat of the family; and Sir Walter 
Scott, no doubt, was influenced in his choice of the locality, 
by the predilection of the charming lady who suggested Ihe 
subject of bis Lay for ihe scenery of the Yarrow— a beau- 
tiful walk on whose banks, leading from the house to Ihe 
old castle, is called, in memory of her, Ihe Duchas's Wali. 
—Ed. 

3 Anne. Dochess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representa- 
tive of the ancient Lords of Buccleuch. and widow of the 
unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded 
in 1665. 

S Frnncis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father of the Duchess. 

4 Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather of the Duchea 
and a celebrated warrior. 

5 '• Mr W. Dundas, (See Life qf Sa>n, vol. ii. p. 226.) 
savs, that Pitt repeated the lines, describing the old harper's 
embarrassment when asked to play, and said, '• This is a 
sort of thing which I might have expected in painting, but 
could never have fancied capable of being given in poetry." " 



z. 



16 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The present scene, the future lot, 
llis toils. Ins wiiuts, were all forgot: 
Cold diffidence, and ajre's frost, 
In '.he lull tide of sons were lost ; 
Each blank, in faithless irieniory void, 
'I'lie poet's glowing thought supplied; 
And, while his harp res|ionsive rung, 
'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung. 



erije Hap of tl)c ILast iiilfnstrcl. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 

The feast was over in Branksome tower, i 
And the Ladve had gone to her secret liower; 
Her liower llial was guarded by word and by 

spoil, 
Peadly to hear, and deadly to tell — 
Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 
Nil living wislii, save the Ladye alone, 
Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

II. 
The tables were drawn, it was idlesse ai! ; 

Kiiiarlil. and pase, and household -squire. 
Loiter'd through the lofty hall. 

Or crowded round the ample fire : 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, 

Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, 
And urged, in dreams, the forest race. 

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-nioor. 

in. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields m Branksome-Hall ; ' 
Niiie-imd-twenty squires of name 
Brought theni their steeds to bower from 
stall ; 
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all kmailits of mettle true. 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV. 
Ten of them were sheathed in steel. 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
They quitted not their harness bright, 
Neither by day. nor yet by niijht : 

They lay down to nist, 

With corslet laced, 
Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard ; 

They carved at the meal 

With (jloves of steel. 
And they drank the red wine through the 

helmet barr'd. 

V. 
Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail clad men, 
Waited the beck of the warders ten; 



X 



2 See Appendix, Note B. 



4 Si-e Appiiiilix, Noie D, and compare Ihese stanzas 
IhPdesriiplinn of J-jmie Telfer's appearance nt Brank 
Hall, (Bnnler Minslrclsy, vol. ii. p. 5,) lo clain 
proti-ctiou of •' Aulri Buccleuch" — and tlie ensuing i 
(page 9,)- 

"The Scolt-i tliejr rade, ttie Scotts they ran, 

Sae Hlarkly and sae sleadilie ! 
And aye the ower-wnnl o' the Ihrane 

Wa.i — ■• Rise for Branksome readilie," Sec. 



Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 
Stood saddled in stable day and nisht. 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, 1 trow. 
And with Jed wood axe at saddlebow ;3 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome-HaJl. 

VI. 

Why do these steeds stand readv dight ? 
Wity watch these warriors, arm'd, by riisht r— 
They watch, to bear the blood-hound baying: 
riiey watch to hear the war-honi braying; 
To see St. George's red cross stie.-iming. 
W, see the midnight beacon sleinninff : 
They watch, against Southern force and tiruile. 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or IVrcy s powers, 
Threaten Brank.wine's lordly towers, 
From Wark worth, or Nawor'h, or merry 
Carlisle. ■» 

VII. 
Such is the custom of Branksome-Hall — 

Many a valiant knisht is here; 
But he, the chieftain of them all. 
His sword hana:s rustmjr on the wall. 
Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell 
How lord Walter fell!* 
When startled burghers fled, afar. 
The furies of the border war ; 
When the streets of hisli Dunedin" 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, 
And hearil the slogan's ' deadly veil — 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 

vin. 

Can piety the discord heal, 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal. 

Can love of blessed charily ? 
No! vainly to e:icli holy shrine. 

In mutual pilgrimage tiiey drew; 
Implored, iii vain, the grace divine 

For duels, their own red falchions slew : 
While Cessford owns the rule of ('arr. 

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaushler'd chiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war. 

Shall never, never be forgot ! 8 

IX. 
In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 

The warlike foresters had bent ; 
And many a flower, and many a tear, 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent ; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody lner 
The Ladye dropped nor tlower nor tear ! 9 
Vengeance, deep-broodmg o'er the slain. 

Had lock'd the source of softer woe ; 
And burning pride, and high disdain. 

Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, amid his sorrowing clan. 

Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee — 



Compare also the Ballad of Ki 



6 See Appendix, Note E. 



Willie, ivol. ii. p. S3.) 
le lay,"'A;c.--£a. 



7 The war-cry, or gatherinE-word, of a Border-clan. 

8 See Appendix, Note F. 

9 Orig. (l8t Kdition.) "The Ladye droped nor Ugh not 



A 



r. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



And if 1 live to be a nian. 

My father's ileatli reveused shall be ! ' 
Then fast the nmllier's tears did seek 
To dew the lufaiit's kindling cheek. 



All loose her nedisrent attire, 

All loose her golden hair, 
Hun? Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, 

And wept in wild despair, 
Bill not iilone ilie bitter tear 

Had filial urief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her niolhei's alter'd eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, 

With Carr in arms had stood, i 
When Mathoiise-biirn to Melrose ran, 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew, her mother dread, 
Before Lord Cranstouii she should wed.s 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XL 
Of noble race the Ladye came. 
Her failier was a clerk of fame. 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie :3 
He learn'd tiie art that none may name. 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.4 
Men said, he changed his mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when, in studious mofid, he paced 

St. Andrew's cloister'd hall,5 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall !6 

XII. 
And of his skill, as bards avow 

He taught that Ladye fair. 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air.'' 
And now she sits in secret l)ower, 
In Old Lord David's western tower. 
And listens to a heavy sound. 
That moans the mossy turrets round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide. 
That chafes against the scaur's^ red side ? 
Is it the wind that swings the oaks ? 
Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
What may it be. the heavy sound. 
That moans old Branksome's turrets round T 

XIII. 
At the sullen, moaning sound. 

The ban-dogs bay and howl ; 
And, from the turrets round, 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knight. 

Swore that a storm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night? 

But the night was still and clear ; 

XIV. 
From the sound of Tevint's tide. 
Chafing with the mountain's side. 
From the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
From the sullen echo of the rock. 



by ih _. 

u the most ion 
3 See .Append i 



!pel' differently 
the most poetical reading ) 



1 See Appendix, Note G. (The nam- _ ,-. 

families who bear it. Carr is 8el>-cied 



^ 



4 See AFpendu, Note K. 



i See Appendix, Note 



From the voice of the coming storm, 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke. 

And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. 

XV. 

KIVER SPIRIT. 

"Sleep'st thou, brother?" — 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

— •' Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeains play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill pen. 
By every rill, in every glen. 
Merry elves their morris pacing. 

To aerial minstrel.sy. 
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, 

Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 
Up, and list their music sweet !"— 

XVI. 

RIVER SPIRIT. 

" Tears of an imprison'd maiden 

Mix with my polluted stream ; 
Margaret of Bianksome, soiiow-laden. 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale lieam. 
Tell me, thou, who view'si the siai-s, 
When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
What shall be the maiden's fate? 
Who shall be the maiden's mate ?"— 

X\T[. 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

"Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll. 

In utter darkness round the pole ; 

The Northern Bear lowers black and grim, 

Orion's studded belt is dim ; 

Twinkling faint, and distant far. 

Shimmers through mist each planet star; 

III may I read their high decree ! 
But no kind influence deign itiey shower 
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, 

Tiil pride be quelled, and love be free." 

xvin. 

The unearthly voices ceast. 

And the heavy sound was still; 
It died on the river's breast. 

It died on the side of the hill. 
But round Lord David's tf)wer 

The sound still floated near: 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower. 

And it rung in the Ladve's ear 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throhb'd high with pride :- 
'• Your mountains shall bend, 
And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bndu !" 

XIX. 

The Ladye sought the lofty hall. 

Where many a bold retainer lay. 
And, with jocund din. among them all 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper.9 the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode. 
And round the hall, right merrily, 

In mimic foray lo rode. 



M; 



6 First Edition— •' St. Ken/iyeme'j hall."— St. .Muiigo.or 
Kentigerne, iu the patron saint of Glaigow, 
6 See Appendix, Note L. 7 See Appendix, Note M 

8 Scaur, a precipitous bant of earth 

9 See Appendix, Note N. 10 Foray, a | redutnry inroad. 



•^ 



bt 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



Even b«!:irded knights, in arms errown old, 

Share in his frolio sanihols bore, 
Alheil their hearts of rushed nionld. 

Were stubborn as I he sleel they wore. 
For tlie Krey warriors prophesied. 

How the brave bov. in future war, 
Should tame the Uniroru's pride. i 

Exalt the Crescent and tlie Star. 2 

XX. 
The Ladye foreot iier purpose high, 

Due m>>nient. and no more ; 
One moment eazed with a mother's eye. 

As she paused at the arched door: 
Then from amid the armed train, 
She called her William of Deloraine.s 

XXI. 
A stark moss-troopinff Soot was he. 
As e'er couch'd Border hiuce bv knee ; 
TliroU!?li Solway sands, through Tanas moss, 
Blindfold, he knew the paliis to cross; 
By wilv turns, bv desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Perc'v's best bloodhounds;* 
In Eske or [.Idtlel. fords were none, 
But he would ride them, one by one ; 
Alike to him was time or tide. 
December's snow, or July's pride; 
Alike to him was tide or time. 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 
Steady of heart, and stout of liand. 
As ever drove [irey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed had he been. 
By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. 

XXU. 
"Sir William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Mount thee on the wishtest steed ; 
Spare not to spur, nor siint to ride, 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside; 
And in Melrose's holv pile. 
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

Greet the Father well from me ; 
Say that the fated hour is come. 

And to-night he shall watch with thee. 
To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this will be St. Michael's night. 
And. though stars be dim, the moon is bright 
And the cross, of bloody red, 
Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

XXIII. 
" What he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book, 
Into it. Knight, ihou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better had'st thou ne'er beeu born."— 

XXIV. 
"O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed. 

Which drinks of the 'I'eviot clear ; 
Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, 

'• Again will I be here : 

1 Ttiie line, of whicti the metre appears defective, would 
have itH full cnmplemeni of feel atiordini! to the prouuii- 
ciaiion of the poet himself— as all who were familiar with 
hia utterance of the letter r will bear Icstimony.— B-i. 

3 See Api«ndix. Note O. 3 Ibid, Note P. 4 Iliid. Note U. 

6 Hairibee. the plare of executing the Border Marauders 
Bt Carli-le The neck-verte is Ihcr beginning of the 51si 
Pa.ilm. Miterere mti, &-•■„ anciently read by criminals 
rlalming the henefii of ilergy. I" In the rough hut spirited 
■ketch of the marauding Burderer, and in the naivete of hia 



And safer by none may thy errand be done. 

Than, noble dame, by nie; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 

Wert my neck -verse at Hairibee." * 

XXV. 

Soon in his saddle stite he fast. 
And soon the steep descent he fiast. 
Soon crossed I he sounding barbican,* 
And soon the Teviot's side he won. 
Eastward the wooded path he rode, 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ; 
He passed the Pee|7 of Goldiland, 
And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 
Dimly he viewed the Moat hill's mound, 
Where Druid shades still flitted round ;8 
In Hawick twinkled many a light; 
Behind him soon they set in night; 
And .soon he spurr'd his courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.9 

XXVI. 
The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark :— 
"Stand, he! thou courier of the dark."— 
" For Bianksome, ho I" the knight rejoin'd. 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turn'd him now from Teviotside, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill. 
Northward the dark ascent did ride. 
And gained the moor at Horsliehill ; 
Broad on the left before him lay. 
For many a mile, the Komau vuay.io 

XXVII. 
A moment now he slack'd his speed, 
A moment lireathed his panting steed ; 
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-baiid. 
And loosen'd in the sheath his brand. 
On Miiito-ciaKs the inooiibeams glint.n 
V\'here Barnhill hewed his bed of flint; 
Who flung his ouilaw'd limbs to rest. 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest. 
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye 
For many a l.ague his prey could spy ; 
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, 
The terrors of the robber's horn? 
Cliffs, which, for many a later year. 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach the grove, 
Ambition is no cure for love ! 

XXVIII. 
Unchallenged, thence passed Deloraine, 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain, 12 

Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
Down from the lakes did raving come; 
Each wiive was crested with tawny foam. 

Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 

XXIX. 
At the first plunge the horse sunk low. 
And the water broke o'er the saddlebow ; 

last declaration, the reader will recognise some of the mnsl 
Klriking features of the ancient ballad."— Cridca/ Review. \ 

6 Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal 

7 Peel, a Border tower. 

8 See Appendix, Note R. 9 See Appendix, Note 8. 
10 An nniient Roman road, crossing through part of Boi- 

burehshire. 

a See Appendix, Note T. 12 Ihid, Note U. 



^! 



y 



z 



7" 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 



^J 



Above the foamins tide. I ween, 

Scarce lialf the charter's neck was seen; 

For he was barded ' from counter to tail, 

And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 

Never heavier man and horse 

Sremm'd a midnight torrent's force. 

The warrior's very pluiie, I say, 

Was da??led hy tiie (hishiiia: spray; 

Yet, through good heart ami Our Ladye's grace, 

At lengtli he gaiii'd the landing place.. 

XXX. 

Now Bowden Moor the march-man won. 

And s'eriily shook his plumed head, 
As slaiiced his eye o'er Malidon :2 

For on his soul the slaughter red 
Of that unhallow'd morn arose. 
When first the Scott and Carr were foes; 
When royal James heiield the fray. 
Prize to the victor of the day; 
Wlien Home and Douglas, in the van, 
Bore down Biiccleuch's retirmg clan. 
Till gallant Cessfird's heart-hlood dear 
Reek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear. 

XXXI. 

In hitter mood he spurred fast. 

And soon the hated heath was past , 

And far heneath, in lustre wan. 

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran; 

Like some tall rock, with lichens grey, 

Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Ahbaye. 

When Hawick he pa^5s'd, had curfew rung. 

Now midnight lauds 3 were in Melrose sung. 

The sound, upon the fitful gale. 

In solemn wise did rise and fail, 

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 

Is wakeii'd hy the winds alrtne. 

But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence 

all; 
He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 
And sought the couveul's lonely wall.* 



Here paused the harp ; and with its swell 
The Master's fire and courage fell ; 
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed. 
And. gazing timid on the crowd, 
He seoin'd to seek, in every eye, 
If they approved his minstrelsy; 
And, diffident of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
And how old age, and wand'ring long. 
Had clone his hand and harp some wrong. 
The Duchess, and her daughters fair. 
And every gentle lady there, 
Each after each, in due degree, 
Gave praises to his melody ; 
His huii.l w:is true, his v>)ice was clear. 
And much they longed the rest to hear. 
Eiicoiirased thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again began. 



1 Bir-Ze-f or barbed,— applieJ 
defrnnive armour. 

2 Haliilon was an aiioiei 
now ilernoliKlieil. .\hout i 



horse accoulred wilh 

seat of the Kerrg of Cessford, 
luarter of a mile to the north- 



the field of ball le Iwiwixl Burcleuch and Angus, 
thin day the Skirmi»h Field.— See Ap- 



ward I 

which i-^ called 

pendix. Note D 

3 L-iuds. the midnight service of the Catholic church. 

4 See Appendix. Note V. 
6 See Appendix. Note W. 

Uavid I. of ScoU.iUd, purchased the reputalioo of sane 



E\)z JLav of m Hast ijHfnstrcl. 



CANTO SECOND. 



If thou wouldst View fair Melrose aright. 

Go visit it by the pale moonliglit ; 

For the gay beams of lightsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey. 

When the broken arches are black in night. 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 

When tlie cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately. 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 

When silver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;» 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's 

grave. 
Then go— but go alone the while- 
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ;6 
And, home returnin?. soot lily swear. 
Was never scene so sad and fair! 

II. 

Short halt did Deloraine make there; 
Little leck'd he of the scene so fair: 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
He struck full loud, and struck full long, 
The porter hurried to the arate — 
'• Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late ? 
" From Branksome I." the warrior cried; 
And straight the wicket open'd wide : 
For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood. 

To fence the rights of fair Melrose; 
And lands and livings, many a rood, 

Had gifted the slirine for their souls' repose.' 

III. 
Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
The porter bent his humble head ; 
With torch in hand, and feet unshod. 
And noiseless step, the path he trod : 
The arched cloister, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
1'ill, stooping low his lofty crest. 
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest. 
And lifted his barred aventayie.s 
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ; 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee. 

To win the treasure of the tomb" 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd ; 
A hundred years had flung their snows 

Oa his thin locks and floating beard. 



tily. by fonndinE. and liberally endowing, not only the 
monastery of Melrose, but ihoi-e of Kel.<o. Jedburgh, ami 
many others; which led to the well-known observation 
of his sureesoor. Ihai he was a sore taint for Hie crown. 

7 The Bnrcleuch family were great benefactors to the 
Abbey of Meliose. As early a.s the reinii nf Rnnert 11., 
Robert Scott. Baron of Muriiieston and Ranklehiirn, (now 
Buccleuch.) gave to the monks the lands of Hinkery, in 
Ettnck Forest, pro talute animae fua«. — ChartiUart ^ 
Me/roif, 28lh May. 14l.i. 

8 Aventayte, visor of the helmet. 



■T 



7 



^ 



20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



And strangely on the knigrht looU'il he, 

And his blue eyes sfleam'd wild and wide ; 
"And, daiest lliou. Warrior ! seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide? 
My breast, in belt of iron pent. 

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn , 
For threescore years, in penance spent. 

My knees those flinty stones have worn: 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 

Would'st thou tliy every future year 
In ceitseless prayer and penance drie, 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear- 
Then, daring Warrior, follow me !" — 

VI. 
" Penance, father, will 1 none ; 
Prayer know I hardly one. 
For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, 
Save to patter an Ave Mary. 
When I ride on a border foray. i 
Other prayer can I none ; 
So speed my errand, and let me he gone." — 

VII. 
Again on the knight look 'd the Churchman old, 

And aiiain he sighed heavily ; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fouaht in S()ain and Italy. 
And he thousht on the days that were long 

since by. 
When his limbs were strong, and his courage 

was high: — 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way. 
Where, cloister'd rouiui, the garden lay; 
The pillar'd arches were over their head, 
And beneat h their feet were the bones of the 
dead.a 

VIII. 
Spreadins: herbs, and ll(pwerets bright, 
Glisteii'd with ihe dew of night; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there. 
But was carved in the cloisler-arclies as fair. 
The Monk gazed Ions ou the lovely moon, 

Then into the nisht lie lookeil forlb; 
And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the ulowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start ;3 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 
'I'hat spirits were ridins the northern light. 

IX. 
By a steel-clenched postern door. 

They enter'd now liie chancel tall ; 
The ilarken"d roof rose hiirh aloof 

On pillars lofty and lis^ht and small : 
Tiie key-stone, that lock'd eacli ribbed aisle, 
Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quartre-femile ; 



^ 



1 See Appendix, 


Note X. 






2 The doistfm were freq 
ture. An instance or.-ur« 
cloister hau an inscription, 
balAus. 

3 See Appendix, Note Y. 


uently used as place 
n nryhurgh Ahhey, 
bearing. //icjacei/r 


s of sepul- 
where the 
Iter Archi- 


4 CorbeOs, the projections frnm which the arches spring, 
aaually cut in a fanlaslic face, or mask. 


6 " With p:tnlh 


and with 


capital flouri.shM arc 
First 


und." 
E.t,tum. 



The corbells' were carved grotesque and arwn 
And the pillars, with clusier'd shafis so trim. 
With base and with capital flourished around, 
Seein'il bundles of lances which garlands had 
bound. 

X. 

Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind ()f heaven. 

Around the screened altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn. 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant chief of Oiterburne ! 6 

AikI thine, dark Knight of l.iddesdale ! "> 
O fading honours of the dead ! 
O liigh ambition, lowly laid ! 

XI. 
The moon on the east oriel shone 8 
Through slender shafts of sliapely stone, 

By foliaged tracery combined; 
Thiiu would'st have thought some fairy's hand 
'Tvvixl poplars straight the ozier wand. 

In many a freakish knot had twined; 
Then framed a spell, wlien the work was done, 
.And clianged the willow-wreaths to st(uie. 
The silver light, so pale ami faint, 
Sliow'd many a prophet, and many a saint, 

Wlmse imaije on Ihe glass was dyed; 
Full III the midst, his Cross of Red 
Triumphant Michael brandished. 

And trampled the Aposiale's |)rjde. 
The moon-beam kiss'd the holy pane. 
And threw on the pavement a uli(ody slain. 

XII. 
They sate them down on a marlile stone, 9 — 

(A Scottish monarch slept below ;) 
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone : — 

" I was not always a man of woe ; 
For Payniin countries I have trod, 
And fought beneath the Cross of God : 
Now, si range to my eyes lliine aims appear, 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my tar 

XI 11. 
" In these far climes it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott; 

A wizard, of such dreaded fame. 
That when, in Salamanca's cave.n 
Him listed his magic wand to wave, 

The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! H 
Some of his skill he taught to me; 
And, Warrior, 1 could say lo thee 
The words that cleft Eildoii hills in three, '3 

And bridled tlie Tweed with acurb of stone : 
But to speak them were a deadly sin; 
And for having but thought them my heart 
within, 

A treble penance must be done. 

XIV. 
" When Michael lay on his dying bed. 
His conscience was awakened : 



6 See Appendix, Note Z. 7 Ibid. Note -2 X. 

8 See Appendix, Note 2 B. 

9 A large marble s'one, in the chancel of Melro><e, ie 
pointed out as the monument of Alexander 11.. one of the 
greatest of our early kimre ; others say, it is the reslinB- 
place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the 
odour of sanctity. 

11 Ibid. Note 2 D. 



10 See Appendix, Note 2 R. 
12 See Appendix, Note 2 E. 



13 Ibid. No 



■it 



V 



z 



7" 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



21 



\ 



He hethoushi him of his sinful deeil. 
AiiJ he Rave nie a si^ii to come wiMi speed : 
I was ill Spain when the mornins rose. 
But 1 stood hy his bed ere evennig close. 
The words mav not apain be said, 
Tiiat he spolte to me, on death bed laid ; 
They would rend this Abliaye's massy nave, 
And pile it in heaps above his grave. 

XV. 

"I swore to bury his Mighty Bonk, 

That never mortal misht therein look ; 

And never to tell where it was iiid. 

Save at his Chief of Braiiksonie's need : 

And wlieii that need w;i.s past and o'er, 

Auain the volume to restore 

I buried him on St. Michael's nisht. 

When the bell loll'd one, and the moon was 

brishf. 
And I dns his chamber among the dead. 
When the floor of the chancel was stained red, 
That his patron's cross niia:ht over him wave, 
And scare the fiends from the wizard's grave. 

XVI. 
" It was a niffht of woe and dread. 
When Michael in the tomb I laid ! 
Strange sounds alon? the chancel pass'd, 
The banners waved without a blast" — 
— Still spoke the Monk, vvhen tlie bell toll'd 

one ! — 
I fell you. that a braver man 
Than William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed ; 
Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread. 
And his hair did bristle upon his head. 

xvir. 

" Lo, Warrior ! now, the Cross of Red 

Points to the grave of the mighiy dead ; 

Within it burns a wondrous lisht. 

To chase the spirits that love the night : 

That lamp shall burn unquenchahly. 

Until the eternal doom sliall be."— i 

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 

Which the bloody Cross was traced upon : 

He pointed to a secret nook : 

An iron bar the Warrior took ; 2 

And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd 

hand, 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 

XVIII. 

With beating heart to the task he went ; 

His sinewy frame o'er the giave-stone bent; 

With bar of iron heaved amain. 

Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. 

It was by dint of passing strength. 

That he moved the massy stone at length. 

I would you had been there, to see 

How the light broke forth so gloriou.sly, 

Siream'd upward to the chancel mof. 

And ttirouffh the galleries far aloof! 

No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright : 

It shone like heaven's own blessed light. 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Show'd the .Monk's cowl, and visage pale. 
Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail, 

And kiss'd his waving plume. 



^ 



XIX. 
Before their eyes the Wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver roll'd, 
He seem'd some seventy winters old ; 

A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round, 

With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea : 

His left hand held his Book of Might; 

A silver cross was in his right; 
The lamp was placed beside his knee : 
High and majestic v/as his look, 
At which the fellest fiends had shook, 
And all unruffled was his face: 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 

XX. 

Often had William of Deloraine 

Rode through the battle's bloody plain. 

And trampled down the warriors slain. 

And neither known remorse nor awe , 
Yet now remorse and awe he own'd ; 
His breath came thick, his head swam roiinii ; 

When this strange scene of death he saw, 
Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood, 
And the priest pray'd fervently and loud : 
With eyes averted prayed he ;' 
He might not endure the sight to see, 
Of the man he had loved so brotherly 

XIX. 
And when the priest his death-prayer had 

pray'd. 
Thus unto Deloraine he said : — 
'■ Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 
Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue ; 
For those thou may'st not look upon. 
Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" — 
Then Deloraine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the Nlighty Book, 
With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound : 
He thought, as he took it, the dead man 

frown'd ; 3 
But the glare of the sepulchral light. 
Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

xxn. 

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 

The night returii'd in double gloom ; 

For the moon had gone down, and the stars 

were few ; 
And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew. 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain. 
They hardly might the postern gain. 
' Tis said, as through the ai.sles they pass'd, 
They heard strange noises on the blast ; 
And through the cloister-galleries small. 
Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, 
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran. 
And voices unlike the voice of man ; 
As if the fiends kept holiday. 
Because these spells were brought to day. 
I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 
I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 

XXIIL 
" Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 
"And when we are on death-bed laid. 
O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !" 



1 See Appendix, Note C H. 



'^ 



A 



^ 22 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



The monk returu'd him to his cell, 

And iiii'.ny a prayer and penance sped ; 
When the convent met at the noontide bell— 
The Monk otSt Mary"s aisle was dead! 
Before the cross was the body laid, 
With hands clasp 'd fast, as if still he pray'd. 

XXIV. 
The Knipht breathed free m the mornmg wind, 
And strove his hardihood to find : 
He w;is g;lad when he passd the tombstones 

grey. 
Which girdle round the fair Ahbaye ; 
For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, 
Kelt like a load upon his breast ; 
And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, 
Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 
Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
Began to brighten Cheviot grey ; 
He joy'd to see the cheerful light, 
And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. 

XXV. 

The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey. 

The sun had brighten'd the Carter's' side ; 
And soon beneath I he rising day 

Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's 
tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale, 

And waken'd every flower that blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet pale, 

And spread her breast the mountain rose. 
And lovelier than the rose so red, 

Yet paler than the violet pale, 
She early left her sleepless bed, 

I'he fairest maid of Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 
Why does fair Margaret so early awake. 

And don her kirtle so hastilie : 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would 
make. 

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 
Why does she stop, and look often around. 

As slie glides down the secret stair; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood hound, 

As he rou.ses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone. 
Why is not the watchman's bugle blown ? 

XXVII. 

The ladye steps in doubt and dread. 

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread ; 

The ladye caresses the rough blood-hound. 

Lest his voice should waken the castle round ; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown, 

For he wa-s her foster-father's son ; 

And she glides through the greenwood at 

dawn of light 
To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. 

xxvm. 

The Knight and ladye fair are met. 

And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. 

A fairer pair were never seen 

To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 

He wiis stately, and young, and tall ; 

Dre;ided in battle, and h)ved in hall : 



1 A mountain un the Bori 
3 Sc-e Appendix, Note 2 I 
S The icira of the imp domest 



if Kngland, above Jedburgh 






!■ " =..v..ing himnelf with the 

met, and BHbjicIing himKelf to thai r- ' 
perfectly conaonaiit to old opiuions. 



And she. when love, scarce told, scarce hid, 
Lent to ner cheek a livelier red ; 
Wlien the half sigh her swelling breast 
Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
When her blue eyes their secret told, 
Though shaded by her locks of go.d — 
Where would you find the peerless fair. 
With Margaret of Branksome might compare ! 

XXIX. 

And now, fair dames, methinks I see 

You listen to my iiiinstivlsy ; 

Your waving locks ye backward throw, 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow : 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale, 

Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 
To paint his faithful passion strove; 

Swore he might at her feet expire. 
But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blushed, and how she sigh'd 
And, half consenting, half denied, 
And said that she would die a maid ; — 
Yet, might the bhiody feud be slay'd, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and tmly he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 

XXX. 

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain I 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are grey, my limbs are old. 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

1 may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXL 

Beneath an oak, nioss'd o'er by eld. 
The Baron's Dwarf his courser held, 2 

And held his crested helm and spear : 
That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, 
If the tales were true that of him ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 

"I'was said, when the Baron a hunting rode 

1 hrough Keedsdale's glens, but rarely trod. 

He heard a voice cry. " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " 

And, like tennis-ball by racket toss'd, 

A leap, of thirty feet and three. 
Made from the goree this elfin shape, 
Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And ligiited at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 
Lord Cranstoun was some whit disuiay'd , 
'Tis said th.at five good miles he rade. 
To rid him of his company; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran 

four. 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 

XXXII. 

Use lessens maiTel, it is said : 
This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; 
Little he ate, and less he spoke. 
Nor minsled with the menial flock : 
And oft, apart his arms he toss'd. 
And often mutter'd " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " 
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,3 
But well Lord Cranstoun served he : 



Jon^on, in his play of "Tfte Devil it an Ass." has founded 
ihe leading inriilent of that remedy npon this article of 
ihe popular rreed. A fiend, rallrd Pup, is ambitious of 
figuring In Ihe world, and petiiinns his superior for |>ermi8- 
sion to exhibit himself upon earth. The devil grants him 
a day-rule, but clogs it with thiu coiiditiou,— 



"^ 



^ 



7^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



:^ 



23 



^ 



And he of his service was full fain ; 
For oiine he had been ta'en or slain, 
An i* ha 1 not been for Ins ministry. 
All between Home and Herniitaue, 
I'alk'd of Lord Cranstoons Goblin-Page. 

XXXIIl. 

For the Biron went on pilsrima^e, 
And took with hull this elvish Pa^e, 

To Mary's ChHi>el of the Lowes : 
For Ihere. beside our Ladye's lake, 
An offerin? he had sworn to make, 

And he would jmv his vows. 
But the Ladve of B'ranksonie g:ather'd a band 
Of the best that would ri.le at herrommand :' 

The trysting place w;us Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain, 
And thither came John of Thirlestane, 
And thither came William of Deloraime ; 

They were three hundred spears and three. 
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream,^ 
'I'heir horses prance, their lances gleam. 
Ihey came to St. Mary's lake ere day ; 
But the chapel was void, and the Baron away. 
They burn'd the chapel for very rage. 
And cursed Lord Cransloun's Goblm-Page. 

XXXIV. 

And now, in Branksome's good green wood, 
As under the aged oak he slood, 
'I'he Baron's courser pricks his ears. 
As if a distant noise lie hears 
The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, 
And signs to the lovers to part and fly; 
No time was then to vow or sigh. 
Fair Margaret through the hazel grove. 
Flew like the startled cu.«hat-dove : 3 
The Dwarf the slirrup held and rein; 
Vaulted the Kniglit on his steed amain. 
And, pondering deep that mornings scene, 
Kode eastward through the hawthorns green. 



While thus he poured the lengthen 'd tale 
The Minstrel's voice beu:aii to fail : 
Full slyly smiled the observant page. 
And gave the wither'd hand of age 
A goblet, crown'd with mighty wine, 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high, 
And, while the big drop fill'd his ej'e, 
Pray'd God to bless the Duchess long 
And all who clieer'd a son of song. 
The a tending maidens smiled to see 
How long, how deep, how zealously. 
The pretuous juice the Minstrel quaff 'd ; 
And he, enibolden'd by the draiiglif. 
Look'd gaily back to them, and laugh'd. 
The cordial nectar of ilie bowl 
Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul ; 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 
Ere thus his lale again began. 



".SoJan— Only thus more. I bind you 

To si-rve the firsl man that you meet ; and him 

I'll show you now ; observe hirn, follow him ; 

But, once engaged, there you must stay and fix." 

It ia observable that in the same play, Pug allude* to 

the spareneiis of his diet. Mr Scott 'h goblin, though 

'•waapisb. arch, and liiherlie." proves a faithful and honest 

retainer to the lord, into whose service he had introduced 

hirostlf This sort of inconsiKiency seems also to forn 

B prominent part of the diabolic character. Thus, in ih 

romances of the Roimd Table, we tind Merlin, the son of ! 

devil, exerting himself mo^t zealously in the cause of virtue 



2rf)c Hap of t!)e Hast |Hinstrcl. 



CANTO THIRD. 



And said I that my limbs were old. 
And said I that my bloml was cold. 
And that my kindly fire was fled, 
And my poor withered heart was dead. 

And that I might not sing of love ?^ 
How could I to the dearest theme. 
That ever warm'd a minsirels dream, 

So foul, so false a recreant prove ! 
How could I name love's very name, 
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! 

IL 
In peace, love tunes the shepherd's reed ; 
In vvar, he mounts the warrior'.** steed ; 
In halls, in gay attire is seen : 
In hamlets, dances on the green. 
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
And men below, and saints above ; 
For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 



So thought Lord Cran.sioun, as I ween, 

While, pondering deep the tender scene. 

He rode throngli Branksome's hawthorn greea 

But the page shouted wild :iiid shrill. 
And scarce his helmet could he don. 

When downward from the shady hill 
A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-grey. 
Was dark with sweat, aud sploshed with clay, 

His armour red with many a stain : 
He seem'd in such a weary plight. 
As if he had ridden the live long n'glit, 

For it was William of Delorame. 

IV. 
But no whit weary did he seem. 
When, dancing in the sunny beam. 
He markd the crane on the Baron's crest,* 
For his ready spear was in his rest. 
Few were the words, and .stern and high. 
That mark'd the foemen's feudal hate ; 
For question fierce, and proud reply, 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 
Their very coursers seem'd to know 
I'liateacli was other's mortal fi:e. 
And snorted fire, when wlieel'd around, 
I'o give each knight his vantage-ground. 



In rapid round the Baron bent ; 

He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer; 
The prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 



1 See Appendix, Note 1 K. 

2 See notes on The Douglai Tragedy 
•ol. iii. p. 3.— Ed. 



3 Wood-pigeon. 

4 The crest of the Ci 



i, in allusion to their rati 
iiniie in his foot, with 
10, Thou ihttti want ere I wanl. 



\ 



f 24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



Nt 



StoiU iwloniiiie nor siyli'il nor pray'd, 

Nor s.init. nor luilve, culIM to aid ; 

But he si(iii|'M liis lie;id, and coucli'd his spear, 

And spill red Ins steed to loll career. 

The meeiiii^' of llicse cliani(iions proud 

Seemed like llie bursling tliuiider-cloud. 

VI. 
Stern was the dint the Borderer lent ! 
The stately Baron backwards bent ; 
Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 
And his plumes went scattering on the gale; 
The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 
Inio a thousand flinders flew. 
But Cranstoun's huice, of more avail. 
Pierced through, like silk, tlie Borderer's mail ; 
Throusli shield, and jack, :uid acton, past, 
Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 
Still sate the warrior saddle-ftist. 
Till, stumbiing in the mortal shock, 
Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 
Hurl'd on a heap lay man and horse. 
Tiie Baron onward pass'd his course; 
Nor knew — so a;iddy roll'd his brain — 
His foe lay slretcli'd upon the plain. 

VII. 
But when he rein'd his courser round, 
And saw his foeinan on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade Ins (lage to stanch the wound. 

And there beside the wariitn- slay, 
And tend him in his doubtful state. 
And lead him to Branksome ciistle-gate : 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
"I'his shall thou do witliuut delay : 
No longer here myself may stay ; 
Unless the swifter 1 speed away. 
Short shrift will be at my dying day." 

vni. 

Away in speed Lord Cranstonn rode ; 

The Goblin Page behind abode ; 

His lord's command he ne'er withstood, 

'i'liongh small his pleasure to do good. 

As the corslet off he took, 

The dwarf espied the Mighty Book! 

Much he inarvell'd a knight of pride. 

Like a bonk liosom'd priest should ride:i 

He thougnt nut to search orstanch the wound, 

Until the secret he had found. 

IX. 
The iron hand, the iron clasp, 
Kesisled long the eltin grasp: 
For when the first he had undone. 
It closed as he the nexi begun 
Those iron clasps, that iron band. 
Would not yield to uiichrisleii'd hand, 
Till he smeared the cover o'er 
With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 
A moment then the volume spread. 
And one short spell therein he read, 
It had much of glamour'-' might 
Could make a ladye seem a knight; 
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 
Seem tapestry in lordiy hall ; 
A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, 
A sheelins^ seem a palace large, 
.And youth seem a^e. and age seem youth — 
All was delusion, naught was truth.-' 



He had not read another spell. 

When on his cheek a buflfet fell, 

So fierce, it streich'd him on the plain, 

Beside the wounded Delorame. 

From the ground he rose dismay'd. 

And shook his huge and matted head; 

One word he mutter'd, and no more, 

'■ Man of age, thou smitest sore !" — 

No more the Elfin Page durst try 

Into the wondrous Book to pry ; 

The clasps.tiiough smear'dwilh Christian gore, 

Shut faster than they were before. 

He hid it underneath his cloak.— 

Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot 1 thiive ; 

It was not given by man alive. 6 

XL 
Unwillingly he himself address'd, 
To do his master's high behest : 
He lifted up the living corse. 
And laid it on the weary horse ;_ 
He led him into Branksome Haii, 
Before the beards of the warders all , 
.And each did after swear luid say. 
There only pass'd a wain of hay. 
He took him to Lord David's tower. 
Even to the Ladye's secret bower; 
And, but that stronger spells were spread, 
And the door might not be opened. 
He had laid him on her very bed. 
What'er he did of gramarye.o 
Was always done maliciously ; 
He flung the warrior on the ground, 
And the blood well'd freshly from the wound. 

xn. 

As he repass'd the outer court. 

He spied a fair young child at sport ; 

He thought to train him to the wood ; 

For. at a word, be it understood. 

He was always for ill, and never for good. 

Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay 

Led him forth to llie woods to play ; " 

On the drawbridge the warders stout 

Saw a terrier and a luiclier passing out. 

xin. 

He led the boy o'er bank and fell. 

Until they came to a woodland brook ; 
The running stream dissolved the spell,? 

And his own elvish shape he look. 
Could he have had liis pleasure vilde, 
He had crippled the joints of Ihe noble child, 
Or, with his fingers long and lean. 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited ; 
So he but scowl'd on the startled child, 
And darted through the forest wild ; 
The woodland brook he bounding cross "d. 
And laugh'd, and shout.ed,''Lost ! lost ! lost .■"— 

XIV. 
Full sore amazed at the wondrous change, 

And frighten'd as a child might be, 
At the wild yell, and visage strange, 

And the dark words of gramarye. 
The child, amidst the forest bower, 
Stood rooted like a lily flower ; 



I S«c AppeniJix, No 
3 Magical dt-lusioii. 



ISec App 
V 3 Magical 



2L. 



3 K shiiiherd's hut. 



4 See Appendi: 
6 M*<ic 



:2M. 5 Ibid. NolfSN. 

7 See Appendix Note 3 O. 



A 



7 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



And when at leiij h. wi li tremblins; piu-e. 

He sniit;ht to find wliere B aciksoiiie lay, 
He fearM lo see that f;risly lace 

Glare from s >nie Diir.kel on his way. 
Thus, s artiii? oft. he jomiiey'd on, 
And deeper ii t le wood is gone, — 
For ave the more he -ouufht his way, 
The f lit ler still he went astray.— 
Uii'il he heaid the mountains round 
King to tae baying of a h.)uiid. 

XV. 
And hirk ! a-id hark ! the d^ep niouth'U hark 

Comes nigher still, and n gher : 
B irsis on the path a dark hiood hound, 
ll.s tawny muzzle tracix'il the ground, 

And his red eye s!iot fire. 
So.in as the wililer'd child saw he, 
He fliw at him ri^ht furiouslie. 
r wten you would have seen with jt^y 
The hearinu' of ihe sallaiit hoy, 
When, wo thy of his noble sue. 
His wdt clieek l1 >w'd 'iwixi tear and ire! 
He fiotd t e blood-ho iiid ma iiully, 
And hel.J liis l.ttle hat on hi-h ; 
S > fien^e he ^tru k. the dog, air iid, 
A c ut 'Ills dis ancj h > ir ely bay'd, 

But Mill in act t > s ring; 
When da-ii'd an arch r hr mgh t'le gtade. 
And when he saw iie h und was slay'd. 

He ilre-v hisiO'ig i ho a- -s ring; 
B It a lousfh vo ce cried, " Shoot ruit, hoy ! 
Ho ! 8. loot no , Edward— 'i'ls a boy !" 

XVI. 
'I'he snf aker is ued fnun the wor)d. 
And i:he kM his lel ow's surly in od. 

And qu iilM th ■ ban d I's ife ; 
He uasai English \eiimani^ood, 

And horn in L mcas lire. 
Well c.iuUI lie hit a tallow deer 

Five huiidrel fe;t him fro ; 
With hand mo'e true, :iiid eye more clear, 

\o aroiier b.^ided how. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, 

Set oif his sun-huinVI lace : 
01 1 En^flaad's sign. St. George's cross, 

HisttaiTet ca;>dd .rc;; 
H s b ig e hor.i hun,' by his ide. 

All in a wolf s.<iu haldri ! tied ; 
And his sliori falctiii>n. sliarpa'iil clear, 
HaJ pivirceJ tie Uiro.it of many a deer. 

XVII. 

His kirtle.mad ■ of fo e-!f green, 

Keanh'd scin.t.ily to his knee; 
And. a hs belt, of air >ws keen 

A furbish'il sheaf bore he : 
His bucder. s arce in lire idt'i a sjian, 

No 1,1 ise feii^e had he; 
He never coun'e I h;ni a man. 

Would strike hel >w the knee : i 
His slackeii'd how «a- in his hand, 
And the leash that was his blood-hound's 
band. 

XVIII. 
He would not do the fair child harm. 
But held him with his powerful arm. 
Tiiat he might neither fishf nor tlee ; 
For when the Red-Cross spied he. 



1 



I •-•e *.pp«iidix, Noie2P. 
t Bmkitlier, belt for mrrying 



The bi»y strove long and violently. 
" Now, tiy Sr. George." the archer cries, 
"Edward, methiiiks we have a prize ! 
This hoy's fair face, and courage free, 
Show he is come of high-degree." — 

XIX. 

•' Yes! I am come of high-degree. 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
And if thou dost not set me free, 

False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, 
And William of DelniKine, good at need. 
And eveiy Scott, from Esk to Tweed; 
And, if thou dost not let me go. 
Despite thy arrows and thy bow, 
I'll have lliee hang'd to feed the crow !" — 

XX. 

" Gramercy, for thy good-will, fair boy ! 
My mind was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
And art the sou of such a man, 
And evercomest to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good order; 
.My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work up.m the Border 
Meantime be [(leased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken thy father's son." 

XXI. 

Althoush the child was led away. 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay. 
For so the Dwarf his part did play , 
And, in the shape of that young boy. 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleuch 
He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew ; 
Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire. 
And, as Sym H.iU stood by the fire. 
He lighted the match of his bandelier,^ 
And wofully scorch'd the hackbuteer.3 
It may be hardly thought or said. 
The rnischief that the urchin made, 
Till many of the castle guess'd. 
That the young Baron was possess'd. 

XXII. 
Well I ween the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 
Much she wonder'd to find him lie, 

On tlie stone threshold stretch'd along , 
She thouffht some spirit of the sky 
Had done the bold moss-tmoper wrong. 
Because, despite her precept dread, 
Perchance he in the book had read ; 
But the broken lance in his bosom stood, 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 

XXIII. 
She drew the splinter from the wound. 

.\nd with a charm she stanch'd the blood ;* 
She bade the gash be cleansed and hound : 

No longer by his couch she stuod ; 
But she has ta'en the broken lance. 

And wash'd it from the clo'ted gore, 



^t 



H Haekhuleer, musketeer. 
I See .^ipendix. Note 2 Q. 



T 



A 



7 



26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.i 
William of Deloraine, in trance, 
Whene'er she tuin'd it, ronnd and round, 
Twisted as if she |2:all'd his wound. 
I hen to her maidens she did say, 
That he should be whole man and sound, 
Within the course of a nis;ht and day 
Full long she toil'd ; for she did rue 
Mishap to friend so stout and true 

XXIV. 

Sr> pass'd the day— the evening fell. 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm, 
i'lie stream was smooth, the dew wiis balm ; 
K'«n the rude watchman, on the tower, 
p;rijoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone. 
She waked at times the lute's sotl tone ; 
i'ouch'd a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of liawlhorns green. 
Her golden hair stream'd free from bi»nd. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
For lovers love the western star. 

XXV. 
Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
That rises slowly to her ken. 
And, spreading broad its wavering light, 
Shakes its loose tresses on the night? 
Is yon red glare the western star .'— 
O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war ! 
Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath, 
For well she knew the fire of death ! 

XXVI. 
The Warder view'd it blazing strong. 
And blew his war-note loud and long, 
Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river, rung around. 
The bla.st alarm'd the festal hall, 
And startled forth the warriors all ; 
Far downwai d, in the castle yard. 
Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd, 
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; 
And spe:irs m wild disorder shook. 
Like reeds beside a frozen brcxjk. 
'I'he Seneschal, whose silver hair 
Was redden'd by the torches' glare. 
Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 
And issued forth his mandates loud : — 
" On Penchryst glows a bale 2 of fire, 
And three are kindling on Piiesthaughswire : 

Ride out, ride out. 

The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount for Branksonie,3 every man ! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, 

That ever are true and stout — 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
For when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and hfe ! 
And warn the Warder of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our km, and clan, and friends, to raise." * 




1 See Appendix, Note 3 R. 

2 Ser Appendix, Note 1 8. 
Mount /or Branltiome was Ihe eallit 
8cotU>. 



iig word of the 



Fai; 



XXVI II. 
Margaret, from the turret head, 



Heard, far below, the coursers' tread, 

While loud the harness rung. 
As to their seats, with clamour dread, 

The ready horsemen sprung : 
And tram[;lmg hoofs, and iron c<iats, 
And leaders' voices, n)ingled notes, 

And out! and out! 

In hasty route. 
The liorsemen gallop'd forth , 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 
And east, and west, and north, 
To view their coming enemies. 
And warn their vassals and allies. 

XXIX. 
The ready page, with hurried hand. 
Awaked the need fire's o sluml>ering brand. 

And ruddy blnsh'd the heaven : 
For a sheet of flame, from the turret nigh, 
Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, 

All flaring and uneven ; 
And soon a score of fires, I ween. 
From height, and hill, and clitf, were seen , 
Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 
Each from each the signal caught ; 
Each after each they glanced to siglit, 
As stars arise upon the night. 
They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,^ 
Haunted by the lonely earn : ' 
On many a cairn's 8 grey pyramid . 
Where urns of mighty chiefs he hid ; 
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw. 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law; 
And Lothian heard the Regent's order. 
That all should bowne9 them for the Border. 

' XXX. 
The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel ; 
The castle-bell, with backward clang, 

Sent forth the larum peal ; 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar. 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard. 
And walch-word from the sleepless ward ; 
While, v/earied by the endless din, 
Blood-hoimd and ban-dog yell'd within. 

XXXI. 
The noble Dame, amid the broil. 
Shared the gay Seneschal's high toil. 
And spoke of danger with a smile ; 

Cheer'd the young knights, and council sage 
Held with the chiefs of rijjer age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought. 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught, 
Nor what in time of truce he souglit. 

Some said, that there were thousands ten ; 
And others ween'd that it, was nought 

But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men. 
Who came to gather in black-mail : lo 
And Liddesdale, with small avail. 

Might drive them lightly back agen. 
So pass'd the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



4 See Appendix, Note 2 T. 5 Need fire, be 

6 Tarn, a mounlain lake. 7 Earn, a Scottish eagle. 
8 See Appendix, Note 2 U. 9 Bowne, make re(u;y. 

10 Protection money exacted by freeljoolei 






V 



THE LAY OF THE LA8T MINSTREL. 



Cpnsed the hish sound— the listening throng 
Aptdami the Master of the Sons ; 
Anil marvel much, in helpless age, 
So hard should lie his pilsrima^e. 
Had he no friend— no daughter dear, 
His wandering toil to share and cheer; 
No son to he his father's stay, 
And guide iiin> on the rugged way? 
"Ay. once he had— but he was dead !"— 
Upon the harp he stoop'd his head, 
And hiisieil himself the strings withal, 
'l"o hide the tear that fain would fall. 
In solemn measure, soft and slow, 
Arose a father's notes of woe. 



2ri)c JLa^ of tlie Hast iHtnstrcl, 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 

Sweet Teviot 1 on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; 
No longer sieel-dad warriors ride 

A Ions thy w Id and willow'd shore ; 
■Where'er thou wind'.st, by dale or hill, 
All. all is peaceful, all is still. 

As if thy waves, since Time was horn. 
Since first' they roll'd upon the Tweed,! 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 

Nor started at the bugle- horn. 

II 
Unlike the tide of human time. 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
Retains each grief, retains each crime 

Its earliest couise was dooiii'd to know ; 
And. darker as it dowiiwanl bears. 
Is stain'd with past and present te;irs. 

Low SIS I hat tide has ebb'd with me. 
It still reflects to Memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee. ^ 
Why. when the volleying musket play'd 
Against the bloody Highland blade. 
Why was not I beside him laid ! — 
Enough— he died the death of fame, 
Enough— he died with conquering Graeme. 

III. 
Now over border, dale and fell. 

Full wide and far was terror spread ; 
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, 

The peasant left his lowly shed. 3 
The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement; 
And maids and matrons dropp'd the fear, 
While ready warriors seized the spear. 



N 



1 Onf. '• Since fir.-<t Ihey rollcil Ihfir way to Tw.ecl." 
tThe Visiount of Dundee, slaio in the battle of Killi- 
cnnkie. 

»8ee Appendix, Note 2 V. 
4 See Appendix. Note 3 W. 
6 Set Appendix, Note 2 X. 
< " Ami when Ihejr ram to Branksome ha', 
They shouleil a' haiih loud ami hie, 
Till up and ^pak him auld Bucrleurh, 

Said—' Whae'H ihis brinjs the frave to me T — 
' It '« I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dod'he id, 
And a barned man I think I be.' " 6ic. 

Burder Muittrelty, vol. ii. p. 8. 



From Branksome's towers, the watchman's e> e 
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, 
Which, curling in the rising sun, 
Show'd southern ravage was begun.* 

IV. 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried— 
•' Prepare ye all for blows and blood ! 

Watt Tinlinn,5 from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood. » 

Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 

It was but last St. Barnabright 

They sieged him a whole summer night. 

But fled at morning; well they knew, 

In vain he never twang'd the yew. 

Right sharp has been the evening shower, 

Tliai drove him from liis Liddel lower; 

And. by my faith," the gate-ward said. 

•'I think 'twill prove a Warden-Kaid."' 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 

Kiiter'd the eihoing barbican. 

He led a small ;md shaggy nag, 

Tliat through a bog. from hiig to hag,' 

Could bound like any Billhope stag." 

It bore his vvife and children twain ; 

A half clothed serf ip was all the:r tra'D , 

His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, 

Of silver brooch and bracelet proud. >* 

laugh'd to her friends among the crowd. 

He was of stature piissing tall. 

But sparely forni'd, and lean withal; 

A batter'd miiniHi on his brow; 

A leather jack, as fence enow. 

On his broad shoulilers loosely hung; 

A border axe behind was slung; 

His spear, six Scottish ells in length, 

Seeni'd newly dyed with gore ; 
His shafts and bovv. of wondrous strength, 

His hardy partner bore. 

VI. 
Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 
The tidings of the English foe : — 
" Belted Will Howard 12 is marching here, 
And hot Lord Dacre.'3 with many a speaf 
And all the German hackbut-nien,>'» 
Who h;ive long lain at Askerten : 
They cross d the Liddel at curlew hour, 
And burn'd my little lonely tower: 
The tiend receive their soul therefor! 
It had not been burnt this year and more. 
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, 
Served to guide me on my flight; 
But 1 was chased the livelong night. 
Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Grseme, 
Fast upon my traces came. 
Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 
And shot their horses in the bog. 



tt 



7 An inroad commiinded by the Warden in perxo 

8 The broken ground in a bog. 

9 See Appendix, Nole 2 Y. 

10 Bondsman. 

11 An Ihe Borderers were indifferenl about 
of their habiialiona, »o much exposed to h 
plundered, they were proporlio„ally anxioi 
splendour in di-coraiing and ornamenting th< 
See Lesley de Moribut Limitaneorum. 

12 See Appendix, \oie 2 Z. 

13 See Appendix. Nole 3 A. 

14 Mueketeers. See Appendix, Note 3 B. 



Ihe rurnitare 
' biirne.; an'' 
s to displaj 
ir femaleti.— 



A 



7 



28 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Slew Fergus with my Innce outright — 

1 had him long at. high despiie : 

He drove my cows last Fustern's night." 

vri. 

Now weary scouJs from Liddesdale, 

Fiist hurrying in. ronfinn'd tlie tale ; 

As far as they could judge hy ken, 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen— 
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band, 
From Tevioi, A ill. and Ei trick shade, 
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. 
There was saddling and mounting in haste, 

There was prickmg o'er moor and lea; 
He that was last at the trvsting-place 
Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye.i 

VIII. 
From fair St. Clary's sdver wave, 

From dreary Ganiescleuchs dnsky height, 
His ready lances Thirlestane brave 

Arrav'd beneath a banner bright. 
The treasured fleiir-ile-liice he claims. 
To wreathe his shield, since royal James, 
Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave. 
The proud distinction grateful gave. 

For faith 'mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars; 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
Von sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence his high motto shines reveal'd— 
" Ready, aye, ready," for the field.' 

IX. 
An aged Knight, to danger steel'd, 

With many a moss-trooper, came on: 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Without the bend of Murdieston 3 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower, 
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; 
High over Borth wick's mountain flood, 
His wood-enibosom'd mansion stood ; 
Jn the dark glen, so deep below, 
The herds of plunder'd England low ; 
His bold retainers' daily fond, 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the morning fight ; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms, 
In youth might tame his rage for arms ; 
And still, in age, he spurn'd that rest, 
And still his brows the helmet press'd, 
Albeit, the blanched locks below 
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow ; 

Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band ; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne'er belled on a brand.* 

X.5 

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, 8 
Came trooping down the Todshawhill : 






are not in the Isl Ekli- 



^ Auti 



2 Si-e Appendix, Note 3 C. 

3 See Appendix, Note S D. 

K See he«ides the note on tliis Rtania, one in the Border 
MtnKtrelsy, vol ii. p. 10. respecting Wat of Harden, Ihe 
.r'» ancestor, 
utiricil piece, entitled " The Town Eclogue," which 



I By the sword they wtm their land, 
.And hy the swcJrd they hold it still. 

I Hearken, I.adye, to the tale, 

I How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — 

I Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair. 
The Beattisons were his vassals there, 
i'he Earl was gentle, and mild of mood. 

I The vassals we're warlike, and fierce, and rude ; 
High of heart, and haughty of word. 
Little they reck'd of a tanie liege lord. 
The Earl into fair Eskdale came, 
Homage and seignory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriof he sought. 
Saying. "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought." 
— " Dear to me is my bonny white steed, 
Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." — 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire, 
But that the Earl Ihe flight had ta'en. 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur, 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir; 
And it fell down a weary weight, 
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 

XI. 
The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke. 
Saying — "Take these traitors to thy yoke ; 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold. 
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold : 
Beshrew thy heart of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Esk a landed man ; 
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone. 
For he lent me his horse to escape upon." 
A glad man then was Branksome bold, 
Down he flung him the purse of gold ; 
To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain. 
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en 
He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill, 
And bade them hold them close and still ; 
And alone he wended to the plain. 
To meet with the G.illiard and all his train. 
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : — 
" Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head ; 
Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 
For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 
Give me in peace my heriot due. 
Thy bonny white steed, or thou shall rue. 
If my horn 1 three times wind, 
Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.''— 

XII. 
Loudly the Beattison laugh 'd in scorn ; 
" Little care we for thv winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot. 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot. 
With rusty spur and miry boot."— 
He blew his bugle so h)ud and hoarse, 
That the dun deer started at fair Craikcrf)ss ; 
He blew again so loud and clear, 
Through the grey mountain-mist there did 
lances appear ; 



made much noise in EiiiiibiirKh shi 

of the Minstrelsy^ h:in 'hese lines :- 

•• A modern author spends : 

To prove his amestora noti 

6 Stanzas X. xl xii. were not ii 

6 See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

7 The feudal superior, in certa 
the beat horse of the v 



rine appear; 
leaves, 



Kid. 



And the thir>l blast ran? wiih such a din, 

Tliat the echoes answe: d from Peutoun-liim, 

AirI all Ins u l^rs caiiie lialnly in. 

Tlieti had y:iu seen a Kalian; shock, 

Whensadilles were eniiitied.and lances bnike ! 

For each scoriU ul word i he Galliurd liad said, 

A Beattison on the field was laid. 

His own eond sword ilie chieftain drew. 

And he bore the Galliard through and through : 

Where the Beattisons' hlood niix'd with the nil. 

The Galhard's-Haugh men call it still. 

The Sciitis have scaiter'd the Beattison clan, 

In Eskdale tiiey left but one landed man. 

The valley of Kske, from the mouth to the 

source. 
Was lost and won for that boimy white horse. 

XIII. 
Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, 
And warriors inure tiian I may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleiicli to Hindhauafh-swair,' 

From Woodhouselie to Cliester-glen. 
Troop'd man and horse, and how and spear; 

Their g.itherin< word was Bellenden.2 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 
The Ladye mark'd the aids come in, 
And liiih her heart of pride arose : 
She bade her youthful son a' tend, 
Tiiai he might know his father's friend. 

And learn to f;ice his foes. 
"The boy is ripe to lo.>k on war; 

I saw him draw his cross-bow stiff, 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
The red cross c»n a southern bre:ist. 
Is broader than the raven's nest : 
Thou, Whitslade, shall teach hiin his weapon 

to wield. 
And o'er him hold his father's shield." 

XIV. 
Well may you think, the wily page 
Caretl not to face the Ladye sage. 
He counterfeited childish fear. 
And shriek'd, and shed full many a tear. 
And moan'd and plaiii'd in manner wild. 

The attendants to the Ladve told. 
Some fairy sure had changed the child, 
That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 
She blush'd blood-red for very shame:— 
"Hence! ere the clan his faintness view; i 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch I — 
Watt Tinlmn, thou shalt be his guide 
To Rangleburn's lonely side. — ) 

Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, i 

That coward should e'er be son of mine I" — 

XV. 
A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight, 
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight. 
He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, 
Nor heeded bit. nor curb, nor rem. 
It cost Watt Tinhnn mickle toil 
To drive him but a Scottish mile; 

But as a shallow brook they cioss'd. 
The elf annd the ruiinin? stream. 
His figure chansed, like form in dream, 
And fled, and shouted, " Lost ! lost I lost !" 

1 This and Itie three followiug lineH are not in the flrat I 



^ 



Full fast, the urchin ran and lau?h'd. 

But faster sill a cloth-yard sh^fl 

Whistled from s'artled Tin!inn's yew. 

And pierced his .shoulder throu^jh and through. 

Although the imp might not l<e slain. 

And though the wound soon heal'd again, 

Yei as he ran, he yell'd for pam ; 

And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast. 

Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 

XVI. 
So<m on the hill's steep verge he stood. 
That hioks o'er Branksome's towers and wood ; 
And martial murmurs, from below. 
Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe. 
Through the dark wood in mmgled tone. 
Were Border pipes and bugles hlown ; 
The coursers' neighing he could ken, 
A measured tread of marching men; 
While broke at times the solemn hum, 
The A Imayn's sullen kettle-driim; 
And banners tall, of crimson sheen. 

Above the copse appear; 
And. glistening through the hawthorns green, 

Shme helm, and shield, and spear. 

XVII. 
Light forayers first, to view the ?ronnd. 
Spill r'd their tieet coursers loosely round; 

Behind, in cluse array, and fast. 
The Kendal archers, all in green. 

Obedient to the bugle hkist. 
Advancing from the wood were seen. 
To back and ?iiard the archer hand. 
Lord Dacre's hill-men were at hand: 
A hardy race, on Irthin? bred. 
With kirtles white, and crosses red, 
Array'd beneath the banner tall, 
That .streanrd o'er Acre's coiiqiier'd well; 
And minstrels, as they march'd m ord»r, 
Play'd, '• Noble Lord 'Dacie, he dwells on the 
Border." 

XVIII. 
Behind the English bill and bow 
The mercenaries, firm and slow, 

Moved on to fight, in dark arrav. 
By Conrad led of Wolfeiistein. 
Who brought the hand from distant Rhme, 

And sold tlieir blood for foreiffii pay. 
The camp their home, their law the sword, 
They knew no country, own'd no lord :3 
They were not arm'd like Fnsland's sons. 
But bore the ievin-dariin? guns; 
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er. 
And morsin? horiis^ and scarfs thev wore; 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade; 
All, as they march'd. m rusged tongue, 
Songs of Teutonic tends ihey sung. 

XI.X. 
But louder still the clamour e:revv. 
And louder still the minstrels blew. 
When. fro;n beneath the greenwood tree, 
Kode forth Lord Howard's chivalry ; 
His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear. 
Brought up the battle's slittermg rear, 
i here many a youthful kmglit, full keen 
To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; 
With favour in his crest, or glove. 
Memorial f)f his ladye-love. 

2 Sre Apprndix. N'oie 3 F. 

3 See .4|.priidix, Noie 3 O. 4 Po»dri.fla»l 



V 



z 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



So rode tliev forth in fair array. 

'I'll full their leiisftlieii'cl lines display; 

'lluii calld a hall, and made a siand, 

And cried, "'St. George, for merry England!" 

XX. 

Now every English eye, intent 
On Branksonie's armed towers was l)ent ; 
So near they were, that they mieht know 
'I'iie stranniig harsh of each cross-bow ; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleain'd axe. and spear, and partisan; 
Falcon and culver.i on each tower, 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower: 
And flaslniig: armour frequent broke 
From eddyinsr whirls of sable smoke, 
Where upon tower and turret head. 
The seelhm'j piioli and molten lead 
Riek'd. like a witch's calilron red. 
U liile vet thev sjaze, the bridsres fall, 
The wicket o|>es. and from the wall 
K.des forth the hoary Seneschal. 

XXI. 
Armed he rode, all save the head, 
\\i< vvliite heard o'er his breast-plate spread, 
I'liliroke hy age, erect his seat, 
I Ic ruled liis eager courser's gait ; 
Forced hini. with chasten'd fire, to prance, 
And. high curvetting, slow advance: 
In siun of truce, his better hand 
Disiihiv'd a peeled willow wand ; 
His Ncpiire. attending in the rear, 
Hope iiiirh a aauntlet on a spear. 2 
When I hey espied him ridiiiir out, 
L<ird Howard and !-ord Dicre si out 
S|ied to the front of their array. 
To hear what this old knight should say. 

XXII. 
" Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide. 
In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 
Wjih Kendal bo'w. and Gilsland brand, 
And all yon meicenarv band. 
Upon the bounds of fair Scot land ? 
My Ladye reads you swith return; 
And. if but one poor straw you burn. 
Or do our towers so much molest. 
As scare one swallow from her nest, 
St. .Mary! but we'll light a brand 
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland." — 

XXIII. 
A wrathful man was Caere's lord. 
But calmer Howard took the word : 
" May't please thy Dame. Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall, 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came, and when we go." — 
The message sped, the noble Dame 
To the wall's outward circle came ; 
Each chief around lean'<l on his spear, 
'J'o see the pursuivant appear. 



1 .\iirii'ii( pieces of a 

2 A. glove upon a latic 

the aiicieiii Bordi-rerB, w. _ , .. 

hw word, (o i-xpo<e iImk emblem, and pio 
lenK villain ai ihe first Border meeting 
Waa much dreaded. See Laley, 

t An aiiylum for outlaws. 
«.SeeAj.p<'udix,«ote3H. 



illery. 

was the emblem of faith amon» 




All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd, 
The lion argent deck'd his breast; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleugh. 
Obeisance meet the herald made, 
And thus his master's will he said : — 

XXIV. 
''It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the Western Wardenry, 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, 
And hum and spoil the Border-side; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your lowers a flemens-firth.s 
We claim from thee William of Deloraine 
That he may suffer march-treason* pain. 
It was hut last St. Cuthbert's even 
He prick'd to Stapleton on l«ven, 
Harried^ the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widow'd Dame 
These restless riders may not tame. 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundretl of my master's powers, 
Or straight they sound their warrison.8 
And storm and spoil t hy garrison : 
And this fair boy, to Loiulon led. 
Shall good King Edward's page be bred. 

XXV. 
He ceased— and loud the boy did cry. 
And stretch'd his little arms on high ; 
Implored for aid each well-known face. 
And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer, 
Giish'd to her eye the unbidden tear; 
She gazed upon the leaders round. 
And dark and sad each warrior frown'd; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest; 
Unalter'd and collected .stood. 
And tlius replied, in dauntless mood : — 

XXVI. 

"S.iy to your Lords of high emprize,'' 

Who war on women and on bovs. 

That either William of Deloraine 

Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason 

stain, 8 
Or else he will the combat take 
'Gainst Musgrave. for his honour's sake. 
No knight in Cumberland so good. 
But William mav count with him kin and blood. 
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword." 
When Fnglish blood swell'd Ancram's ford;'" 
And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight. 
And bare hiin ably in the flight. 
Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. 
For the young heir of Branksome's line, 
God be his aid, and God be mine ; 
Through me no friend shall meet his doom ; 
Here, while 1 live, no foe finds room. 



6 Plundered. 

6 Note of assault. 

7 r^^ig. " S.iy to tht Lords of high empriae.' 

8 See Appendix, Note 3 I. 

9 Ibid. Note S K. 

10 Ibid. Note 3 L. 






1 



7 



^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



:^ 



Then, if thy [.onls their piiifHise urire, 
T:ike onr ilefiaiure hiuil ami high; 

Our slugHii is their lyke-wiike' ilirse. 
Our moat, the grave where lliey shall lie." 

XXVIl. 

Proud she look'd round, applause to claim- 
Then Ughten'd Tiiirlestaue's eye of flame ; 

His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung. 
To heaven the Border slogan rung. 

" St. Mary for tlie young Buccleugh ?" 
The English war-cry auswer'd >vide, 

And forward bent each southern spear ; 
Eiich Kendal archer made a stride. 

And drew the bowstring to his ear; 
Each niinstiel's war-note loud was blown;— 
Bur, ere a grey-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman gallop'd from tlie rear. 

XXVIII. 
•' Ah !" noble Ix)rds !" he breathless said. 
" What treason has your march betray 'd ? 
What make you here, from aid so far. 
Before you walls, around you war? 
Your foenien triumph in the thought. 
That in the toils the lion's caught. 
Alre:idy on dark Ruberslaw 
The Dougl;is holds his we:;pon-schaw ;2 
The lauces, waving in his train, 
Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; 
And on the Liddel's northern strand, 
To bar retreat to Cumberland, 
Lord Maxwell ranks his merry men good. 
Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 

And Jed wood. Eske, and Teviotdale, 
Have to proud Angus come ; 

And all the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 

An exde from Northumberland, 
In Liddesdale I've wander'd Ions; 

But still my heart was with merry England, 
And cannot brook my country's wrong; 
And hard I've spurr'd all night, to show 
Tlie mustering of the coming foe." 

XXIX. 
•' And let them come !'" fierce Djicre cried ; 
" For soon yon crest, my lather's pride. 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 
And waved in gales of Galilee. 
From Branksome's highest towers display'd, 
Shall mark the rescue's lingering aid !— 
Level each harquehus-s on row; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow; 
Up. bill-men, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die !"— 

XXX. 
"Yet hear,'* quoth Howard, "calmly hear. 
Nor deem my words the words of fear : 
For who, in field or foray slack, 
Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back ? 3 
But thus to risk our Border flower 
In strife against a kingdom's power, 
Ten thousand Scots "gainst thousands three, 
Certes, were desperate policv. 
Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 
Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 
Let Musgrave meet fierce l>eloraiiie4 
In single fight, and. if he gain, 

1 J.ykr wait' the w itching a rotp e previnu.i to interment. 
1 Weapjnuhaw, .lit- military array of a county. 



He gains for us ; but if he's cross'd, 
"I'ls but a single warrior lost : 
The rest, retreating as they came, 
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." 

XXXL 

111 could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother Warden's sage rebuke; 
And yet his forward step he staid, 
And slow and sullenly obey'd. 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Dill these two lords in friendship ride , 
And this slight discontent, men say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 

XXXIL 
The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 
His trumpet cali'd, with parleying stram, 

The leaders of the Scottish band ; 
And he defied, in Musgrave's right. 
Stout Deiorame to single fight; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the terms of fight lie said : — 
'• If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's Lord, 

Shall hostage for his clan remain ; 
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have. 

Howe'er it falls, the English band, 
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm'd, 
In peaceful march, like men unarm'd. 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 
XXXIII. 
Unconscious of the near relief. 
The proffer pleased each Scottish chief. 

Though much the Ladj'e .sage gainsay'd ; 
For though their hearts were brave and true, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew, 

How tardy was the Regent's aid : 
And you may guess the noble Dame 

Durst not the secret pre.^cience own, 
Sprung from the art she might not name, 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed w;is the compact, and agreed 

That lists should be enclosed with speed. 
Beneath the castle, on a lawn : 
They fix'd the morrow for the strife, 
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife. 

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ; 
When Deloraine, from sickness freed. 
Or else a champion in his stead. 
Should for himself and chieftain stand. 
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 

XXXIV. 
I know right well, that, in their lay. 
Full many minstrels sing and say. 

Such combat should be made on horse. 
On foaming steed, in full career, 
With brand to aid. when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
But he, the jovial Harper.^ taught 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought. 

In guise which now I say ; 
He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord Archih;dd's battle laws,6 

In the old Douglas" day. 
He brof>k'd not. he, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong. 



M; 



SSee Appendix. Note 8 M. 
6 See .\i.penilix, Note 3 O. 



4 Ibid. Note i S. 
6 Ibid. Note 3 P. 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^; 



Or call his sonar untrue : 
For this, when they the goblet plied, 
And such rude tuuiU had chafed his pride, 

Tlie Bard of ReuU he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in figriit they stood. 
And tuneful hands were stain'd with hlood ; 
Where still the thorn's white branches wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 

XXXV. 
Whv should I tell the rigid doom, 
Tha't dragg'd my master to his tonib ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, 
And wrung their hands tor love of him, 

Who died at .ledwowl Air? 
He died !— his scholars, one by one. 
To t he cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I. alas ! survive alone. 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 
And grieve that I shall hear no more 
I'he strains, with envy heard before; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled, 
My jealousy of song is dead . 

He paused : the listening dames again 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain. 
With many a word of kindly cheer,— 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvell'd the Duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell— 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, whose memory was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbour now the hare ; 
Of manners, long since changed and gone ; 
Of chiefs, who under their grey stone 
So long had slept, that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name, 
Aiid twined round some new minion's head 
The fading wreath for which they bled ; 
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse 
Could call them from their marble hearse 

The Harper smiled, well- pleased ; for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poet's ear : 
A simple race ! they waste iheir toil 
For the vain liibute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flaiiie expires, 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise. 
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. 

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



S:j)e Hap of tt)e 3la.st IWfnstrcl. 



CANTO FIFTH. 
I. 

Cull it not vain :— they do not err. 
Who say, that when the Poet dies. 

Mute nature mourns her worshipper. 
And celebrates his obsequies : 



Who say. tall cliff, and cavern lone. 
For the departed Baid make moan ; 
That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 
That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh. 
And oaks, in deeper groan reply ; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 

11. 
Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate can mourn , 
But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
Of those, who, else forgotten long, 
Lived in the poet's faithful song. 
And, with the poet's parting breath 
Whose memory feels a seccmd death. 
The Maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 
That love, true love, should he forgot. 
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 
Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier: 
The phantom Knight, his glorv fled. 
Mourns o'er the field he heap'd with dead , 
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, 
And shrieks along the battle-i)lain. 
The Chief, whose antique crownlet long 
Still sparkled in the feudal song. 
Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 
Sees, in the thanedom once his own, 
His ashes undistiiiguish'd lie. 
His place, his power, his memory die : 
His groans the lonely caverns fill, 
His tears of rage impel the rill : 
All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrung. 
Their name unknown, their praise unsung. 

III. 
Scarcely the hot assault was staid, 
The terms of truce were scarcely made. 
When they could spy, from Brank.some's 

towers. 
The advancing march of martial powers. 
Thick clouds of dust afar appear'd, 
And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 
Bright spears,' above the columns dun. 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 
And feudal banners fair display'd 
The bands that moved to Branksome's aid. 

IV, 
Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair Middle Marches came; 
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van. 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name 12 
Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn.s 
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderbunie* 

Their me i m battle order set ; 
And Swintrn laid the lance in rest. 
That tamed f>f yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantasjenct s 
Nor list I say what hundreds more. 
From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war. 
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, 



$. 



I Onf. " Spear-heads above the columns dun."— jEli. 

Q See Appendix, Nole 3 Cl. 

3 In the firxt edition we read— 

*• Vails not lo lell what hundreds more 

From the rich Merse and Lammermore," &c. 
The linea on Wedderburne and Swintou were inseltixl iu 
ti« iMJcond edition.— Brf. 



Dav 



id Home of Wedderhurne, who was slain in tha 
! of Flnd'len. lefr seven sons by his wife, Isabel, 
uhter of Hopprinele of Galashiels (now Pringle of 
litebiink.) They were tailed the Seven Spean of 



S See Appendix, Note 3 R. 



z 



7^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



33 > 



And Hepburn's minded banners ccime, 
Down the steep mountain slitteruiEC far. 
And shouting still, '" A Home ! a Home ! 



Now squire and kniarht, from Branksome sent. 

On many a courteous message went; 

To every chief and lord they paid 

Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 

And toid liiem.— how a truce was made, 

And how a day of fi^ht was ta'en 

'Twixt iMusijrave and stout Deioraine ; 
And how the Ladve pray'd them dear 

That all would stay the fisht to see. 

And deisn. in love and courtesy. 
To t;isie of Branksome cheer. 
Nor. while they bade to feast each Scot. 
\\ ere England's noble Lords forgot. 
Hmiself. the hoary Senesc^hal 
Kiide forth, in seemly :erms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
W;is never duhh'd. more bold in fiirht ; 
Nor, when from war and armour free. 
More famed for stately courtesy : 
But angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 

VI. 
Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, 

How these two hos'ile armies met { 
Deemmg it were no easy task 

To keep the truce which here was set ; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire, 
Breahed only blood and mortal ire. — 
By mutual inro.ads. mutual blows, 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

They met on Teviofs strand ; 
They met and sate them mingled down. 
Without a threat, wiihout a frown. 

As brothers meet in Ibreign land : 
The hands, the spear that lately grasp'd. 
Still in lh« mailed gaun let clasp'd. 

Were interchanged in irret'iiiig dear; 
Visors were raised, and faces shown. 
And many a friend, to fnend made known. 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 

With dice and draughts some cliased the day 
And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, revelry, and rout. 

Pursued the foot ball play.2 

VII. 

Yet. be it known, had bugles blown. 

Or sign of war been seen. 
Those bands, so fair together ranged. 
Those hands, so iranUly interchanged, 

Had dyed with gore the green : 
The meirv shout by Teviot-s;de 
Had sunk In war-cries wild and wide. 

And in the groan of death; 
And whjngers.3 now in friendship bare, 
The social meal to part and share. 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twi.xt truce and war, such sudden change 
W;is not infrequent, nor held strange. 

In the old Border-day A 
But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 
In [teacefu! merriment, sunk down 

The sun's declining ray. 



1 S«r .\ppendij(. Note 3 S. 



2 Ibid Noie3T. 



VIII, 

The blithsome signs of wassel gay 
Decay'd not with the dying day ; 
Soon through the latticed windows tall 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 
Divided square by shafts of stone. 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rans 
With merry harp and beakers' clang : 

And frequent, on the darkening plain. 
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, 

As bands, their stragslers to resrain. 
Give the shrill watchword of their clan ;* 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. 

IX. 

Less frequent heard, and fainter still. 

At length the various clamours died : 
And you nii','lit hear, from Branksome hill. 

No sound but Teviol's rushing tide ; 
Save when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his" watch could tell; 
And save, where, throush the dark profound, 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from tlie nether lawn ; 
For many a busy hand toil'd there. 
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square,* 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare 

Against the morrow's dawn. 



Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 

Despite the Dame's reproving eye ; 
Nor mark'd slie. as she left her seat, 

Full many a stifled sigh ; 
For many a noble warr or strove 
To win tlie Flower of Teviot's love. 

And manv a bolii ally.— 
With throbbing head and anxious heart, 
All in her lonely bower apart, 

In broken sleep she lay : 
Hy times, from silken couch she rose : 
While yet the banner'd hosts repose. 

She view'd the dawning day; 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 

XI. 

She gazed upon the inner court. 

Which in the tower's tall shadow lav; 
Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort. 

Had runs the livelong yesterday ; 
Now still as death ; till stalking slow,— 

The jingling spurs announced his tread, — 
A stately warrior pass'd below; 

But when he raised his plumed head- 
Blessed Mary ! can it be ?— 
Secure, as if in Ousenain bowers, 
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers 

With fearless step and free. 
She dared not sii^n, she dared not spe.ik— 
Oh ! if one page's slumbers break. 

His blood the price mus' pay! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears. 
Not Margaret's yet niore precious tears. 

Shall buy his life a day. 



< See Appendix, Note 3 U. 
6 Till* lioe is not in the first < 



6 Ibid. Note 3 V. 




/: 



l7t 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



XII. 
Yet was his hazard small ; for well 
Von may betliiiik you of the spell 

Of thiitslv uroliui p-.iae; 
This to Ins 1.. id lie did impart, 
And ni;ide lum set^m, by slainour art, 

A kiiiRlil from Hermitage. 
Uncliallensed thus, the warder's post, 
The couit, unchiillenfred, thus he cross'd. 

For all the vassalage ; 
But O ! what masio's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes! 

She started from her seat ; 
While with surprise and fear she strove, 
And botli could sciarcely m;ister love- 
Lord Henry's at her feet. 

XIII. 
Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
That foul malicious uiciiin had 

'I'o bring this meeting round; 
For happy love's a heavenly sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found ; 
And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought 
Their erring p<ission might have wrought 

Sorrow, and sin, and shame : 
And deatli to Cransioun's gallant Knight, 
And to the gentle ladye bright. 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so well. 
True love's the gift which God has gjvea 
i'o man alone beneath I he heaven : 

It is not fantasy's hot fire, 

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; 

It liveth not in fierce desire, 
With dead desire it doth not die ; 
It is the secret sympathy. 
The silver link.* the silken tie. 
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 
In body and in soul can bind- 
Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 
To tell you of the approaching fight. 

XIV. 

Tlieir warning blasts the bugles drew, 

The pipe's shrill porta nroused each clan; 
In haste, the deadly strife to view. 

The trooping warriors easer ran : 
Tiiick round the lists their lances stood. 
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood ; 
To Braiiksome many a look they threw, 
The combatants' approach to view. 
And bandied many a word of hoasf. 
About the knight each favour'd most. 

XV. 

Meantime full anxious was the Dame ; 
For now arose disputed claim. 
Of who should fight for Deloraine, 
'Twixt Harden and 'twixl Thirleslaine :3 

They 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 
And frowning brow on brow was bent; 



In the first tnlition, " the silver cord ;"— 

I litibt from heaven ; 



*• Ye», love, indeed, 

A Kpark of ihat im 

With angels share.l, 1 

To lift from eaith < 



2 

1^ 



The din 
f, adapted to ihe bagpi 



But yet not long the strife— for, lo! 
Himself, the Knight of Deloraiiie, 
Strong, as It seeni'd, and free from paio, 

In armour siieutli'd from t(3p to toe, 
Appear'd, and craved the roinbal due. 
The Dame her charm successful knew,4 
And the fierce chiefs their clauns withdrew 

XVI. 

When for the lists they sought the plain. 
The stately Ladye's silken rein 

Did noble Howard hold ; 
Unarmed by her side he walk'd. 
And much, in courteous phrase, they talk'd 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb— his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of bufl\ 

With satin slash'd and lined ; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur. 
His cloak was all ot Poland fur. 

His hose with silver twined ; 
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 
Hnna: in a broad and studded belt; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
Call'd noble Howard, Belted WiU. 

xvn. 

Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground : 
White was her wimple, and her veil. 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broider'd rein. 
He deem'd, she shudder'd at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight- 
But cause of terror, all unguess'd. 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chairs of crimson placed, 
The Dame and she the barriers graced 

xvm. 

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
An English knight led forth to view; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight, 
So much he iong'd to see the fight. 
Within the lists, in knightly pride. 
High Home and liaughty Dacre ride; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield. 
As marshals of the mortal field ; 
W hile to each knight their care assign'd 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 6 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim. 
In King and Queen, and Warden's name, 

That none, while lasts the strife. 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
Aid to a champion to afford. 

On peril of his life ; 
And not a breath the silence broke. 
Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke :— 



N: 



3 It may be noticed Ihat the late Lord Napier, the repn 
sentglive of the Scolts of Thirleslane, was Lord Liiniirnii! 
of SelkirkKhire (of which the author wan sheiiD-drpuie : 
the 'ime when the poem wan *ritten; the cnmpelilnr !• 
the honour of Kupplying Deloraine'a place was Uit piei 
own ancestor.— £d. 

4 Sne Canto III. Stanza xxiii. 

6 This couplet was added in the second edition. 



A 




-^ 



THE RESCUED BOY. 

' For this fair prize I've fought and won,"— 
And to the Ladye led her son.— Page 35, Verse xxiv. 



y 



z. 



It" 



THK LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



XIX. 

ENGLISH HERALD. 

•* Here slandeth Richard of Miis^nive, 

Good ktiisrht and true, and freely horn, 
Amends from Deloraine to cruvc. 

For foul despiteoiis scitttie and scorn. 
He sayeth, that VViUiani of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
This with his sword he will maintain. 

So help him God. and his good cause !" 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HER.\LD. 

" Here standeth William of Deloraine, 

G »()d kiii?ht and true, of noble strain, 

U ho sayeth, that foul treason's st;vin, 

Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his coal: 

And that, so help him God above ! 

He will on Mussrave's body prove, 

He lies most foully in his throat." 

LORD DACRE. 

" Forward, brave champions, to the fight! 
.Sound trumpets !" 

LORD HOME. 

" God defend the right !"— i 

Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang. 
When busle-sound and trumiiel-claiig 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid li.'<t, with shield poised high, 
And measured step and wary eye, 

The combatants did close. 

XXI. 
Ill would it suit your gentle ear, 
Ve lovely listenei-s, to hear 
How to the axe the helms did soand, 
And blood pour'd down from many a wound; 
For desperate was the strife and long. 
And either warrior fierce aud stroii? 
But, were each dame a listening knight, 
I well could tell how warriors fislit ! 
For I have seen war's lightning fl.ishing. 
Seen the clayniore with bayonet cl:ishing. 
Seen throu?h red blood the war-horse dasliing 
And scorn'd, amid the reelins; strife, 
To yield a step for death or life.— 

XXII. 

'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow 

HiLs stretch'd him on the bloody plain ! 
lie strives to rise— Brave Musgrave. no! 

Thence never shalt thou rise again I 
He chokes in blood— some friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band, 
Infix the gorget's iron clasp. 
And give him room for hfe to ga.sp !— 
O. bootless aid !— haste, holy Friar,'^ 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 
And smooth liis path from earth to heaven ! 

xxni. 

Ill haste the holy Friar sped ;— 
His uaked foot was dyed with red, 

, in the firnt edition, we read only, 
" \l the last words, with deadly blows, 
The ready w»rrior« fiercely close."— fa. 



As through the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high, 
That hail'd the conqueror's victory. 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair. 
As o'er him he kneel'd down in prayer; 
And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye : 
And still he bends an anxious ear, 
His faltering penitence to hear; 

Still props him from the bloody sod, 
Still, even when soul and body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart. 

And bids him trust in God ! 
Unheard he prays; — the death-pang's o'er!' 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 

XXIV. 

As if exhausted in the fight. 
Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands; 
His heaver did he not unclasp. 
Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of erratulating hands. 
When lo! s'rans:e cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands; 
And all, amid the thronsr'd array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man. 
Who downward from the castle ran : 
He cross'd the barriers at a hound. 
And wild and hasgard look'd around. 

As dizzy, and in pain ; 
And all, lipon the armed ground. 

Knew William of Deloraine! 
Each ladye sprnng from seat with speed ; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

" And who art thou." they cried, 
" Who hast this battle fought and won ?" — 
His plumed helm was soon undone — 

'• Ciaustoun of Teviot-side ! 
For this fair prize I've fought and won,"— 
And to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV. 

Full ofl the rescued boy she kiss'd. 
And often press'd him to her breast; 
For, under all her dauntless show. 
Her heart had throbbed at every blow; 
Yet not Lord Granstoun deign'd she greet. 
Though low he kneeled at her feet. 
Me lists not tell what words were made. 
What Douglas, Home, and Howard, said- 

— For Howard was a generous foe— 
And how the clan united pray'd 

The Ladye would the feud forego. 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. 

XXVI. 

She look'd to river, look'd to hill. 
Thought on the Spirit's prophecy. 

Then broke her silence stern and still,— 
" Not vou, but Fate, has vanquish 'd me; 

Their influence kindly stars may shower 

On 'I'eviot.'s tide and Braiiksome's tower. 
For pride is quell'd, and Live is free " — 



35 \ 



f 36 



s 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



She took fair Margaret by the hand, 



And when I lay in dungeon dark, 



w"ho7breathlessrtremhhns:.scarce niiglit stand Of Naworlh'Castle, long months three 



^ 



That hand to Craiistoiin's lord gave she : 
" As I am true to thee and ihine, 
Do thou he true to me and mine ! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
For tins is your betrothing day. 
And all these noble lords shall stay. 

To grace it with their company."— 

XXVII. 

AH as they left the listed plain, 

Much of the story she did gain ; 

How Cranston n fought with Deloraine, 

And of his page, and of the Book 

Which from the wounded knight he took; 

And how he sought her castle high. 

That morn, by help of gramarye \ 

How. in Sir William's armour dight. 

Stolen by his page, while slept the knight 

He took on him the smsle fisht. 

But half his tale he left unsaid. 

And linger'd till hejoin'd the maid.— 

Cared not the Ladye to betray 

Her mystic arts in view of day; 

But well she thought, ere midnight came. 

Of that strange paice the pride to tame, 

From his foul hands the Book to save. 

And send it back to Michael's grave — 

Needs not to tell each tender word 

'Twixt Margaret and 'iwixt Cranstoun's lord ; 

Mor how she told of former woes. 

And how her bosom fell and rose. 

While he and Mnsyrave baiulied blows. — 

Needs not these lovers' joys to tell : 

One day, fair maids, you'll know Lhem well. 

XXVIII. 

William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had waken'd from his deathlike trance, 

And taught that, in the listed plam, 
Another, in his arms and shield. 
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarm'd, he ran, 
And hence his presence scared the clan. 
Who held him for some fleeling wraith,^ 
And not a man of blood and breaih. 

Not much this new ally he loved. 
Yet when he saw what Itap luid proved, 

He greeted him right heariilie : 
He would not waken old debate. 
For he was void of rancoriius hate, 

'I'hough rude, and jcant of courtesy ; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood. 
Unless when men-at-arms withstood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe: 

And so 'twas seen of him e'en now. 

When on dead Musgrave he look'd down 

Grief darken'd on his rugged brow. 
Though half disguised with a frown: 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
His foeiuan's epitaph he made. 

XXIX. 

" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here ! 

I ween, my deadly enemy: 
For. if I slew thy brother dear. 

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me ; 



Till ransom'd for a thousand mark, 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musurave. could our fight be tried, 

And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should ns divide. 
Till one, or both of us did die : 
Yet rest thee God ! for well 1 knovir 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here. 
Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear,^ 
Thou wert the best to follow gear ! 
'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind. 
To see how thou the chsise could'st wind, 
C:heer the dark blood-hound on his way, 
And with the bugle rouse the fray ! 3 
I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again."— 

XXX. 

So mourn'd he. till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland. 
They raised brave Musgrave from the field. 
And laid him on his bloody shield; 
On levell'd lances, four and four, 
By turns the noble burden bore. 
Before, at times, upon the gale, 
V\ as heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail, 
Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 
Suns requiem for the Wiirrior's soul : 
Aroniul. the horsemen slowly rode; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
And thus the gallant knigtit they bore. 
Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave. 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song, 
The mimic march of death prolong; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near. 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear; 
Now seems some mountain side to sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, 
Now the sad requiem, loads the gale; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 
Rung the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell. 
Why he, who touch'd the harp so well. 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, 
Waniler a poor and thankless soil. 
When the more generous Southern Land 
Would well requite his skilful liand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear, 
Liked liot to hear it rank'd so high 
Above his flowiii!; puesy : 
Less liked he still, that scornful jeer 
Misprised the land he loved so dear; 
High was the sound, as thus again 
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. 



1 The spectral apparition of a li' 



S See Appendix, Note 3 W. 



rwick forth do bear, 
ifle, spur, ami spear." 
Poly-Atbian, Son* Ij. 



A 



7" 



^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



2rt)e llfiD of t\)z Hast Ittfnsttel. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



Breathes there the man. with soul so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own. mv native land ! 
Whdse heart hath ne'er within him hurn'd, 
As home his footsteps he liatti tuiiiM, 

Frmn wandermsr on a foreign slnind ! 
If surh there hreathe. so. mark him well; 
Fur hini i\o Minstrel raptures swell; 
Hish thotish his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his weallli as wish ean claim; 
Despite those titles, power, ami pelf, 
Tlie wretch, concentred all in self, 
IjviuL', shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, d.iihly dvina:, sh:dl so down 
'I'd the vile dust from whence lie sprung, 
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung. 

II. 
O Caledonia' stern and wild. 
Meei nurse for a poetic child ! 
Lnnd of hrown heath and sliassy wood, 
Land of the nionn^a n and the flond. 
Land of my sires ' what mortal hand 
Can e'er untie the filial hanil, 
That knits me to thy russed strand ! 
Still, as 1 view each well-known scene, 
Think what is now, and what hath heen, 
Seems as, to me, ol all liereft, 
Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; 
And thus 1 love iheni heiter still. 
Even m extremity of ill. 
Bv Yarrow's streams still let me stray, 
Thougjii none should sruide my feeble' way; 
Still teel the breeze dnwn lOtrck break 
Alllinii^h it chill my wi her'd cheek ;i 
Still lay my head by Teviot's S'one.''' 
Thoush there, forgotten and alone, 
The Bard may draw his parting gioan. 

IIL 
Not scorn'd like me ! to Branksome Hall 
I'he Minstrels came, at fe^live call ; 
Tronpins they came, from near and far, 
The iovial priests of mirth and war; 
Alike for feast and fisht prepared, 
Battle and Banquet both they shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan. 
They blew their death-note in the van, 
But udw, for every merry mate, 
Ro.se the portcullis' iron grate; 
They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
Thev dance, they revel, and they sing, 
Tillthe rude turrets shake and ring. 

IV. 
Me lis's not at this tide declare 

The splendour of the spousal rite. 
How niusier'd in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knieht; 



^ 



1 Thf prt-C'dine four lines iiov 
Ihf rm. luieiit of Sir Waller Sco 


V form the insrriplioo on 
It ID ttie markel-place of 


3 Pie Ui.e'StiU lay my head 
nliion. — Brf. 


&C, was not in the tnl 


t See Appendix, Note S X 


4 Ibid. Note 3 y. 



Me lists not tell of owches rare. 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furr'd wiih miniver; 
What plumage waved the alt;ir round. 
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound; 
.\iid hard it were lor Bard lo speak 
The chaneefui hue of Margiiret's cheek; 
That lovely hue which comes and flies, 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came nof mgh ; 
-N'or durst the rites of spousal grace, 
.^o much she fear'd e<tcli holy plaire. 
False slanilers these:— 1 trust right well 
.She wrought not by forbidilen spel ;3 
For niishty words aiul sisns have power 
O'er S[iriies in plaiielnry hour : 
Yet scarce 1 praise their veniurous part, 
Who tiimper with micIi dangerous art. 

But this f..r faithful truth I say, 
I'he Ladye by the altar stood, 

Of sable velvet her array, 
And on her head a crimson hood 
With perfrls embroidei'd and entwined. 
Guarded with sold, with emiine lined; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist 4 
Held by a leash of silken twist. 

VI. 
The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'Twas now the merry hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched hall 
W^as spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and .--quire, with heedful haste, 
Marshall'd the rank of every guest ; 
Pages wi' h ready blade, were there. 
The mishty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 
And princely peacock's gilded train, 5 
And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd brave. 
And cysnet from .St Mary's wave ;6 
O'er ptarnuL'an and venison. 
The priest had spoke his henison. 
Then rose the r;ot and the din. 
Above, beneath, without, wi'.hin! 
For, from the lofty balcony. 
Rung trumpet, shalm. and psaltery : 
Their clansiiis bowls old warriors quaff 'd. 
Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd ; 
Whisper'd young knishts, in tone more mild. 
To ladies fair, and ladies sinilnd. 
The hooded hawks, high perchd on beam. 
The clamour join'd with whistling scream. 
And flapp'd their wings, and shook their bells, 
In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 
Kound go the flasks of ruddy wine. 
From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 
Their tasks the busy sewers ply. 
And all is mirth and revelry. 

VIL 
The Goblin Page, omitting still 
No opportunity of ill. 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, 
To rouse debate and jealousy ; 



^. 



5 See Appendix, No!t 3 Z. 

fi There are oflen flight.i of vwld swans upon Si. Mary's 
Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow, See Wordaworlh'i 
Yarrow Viiited. 



/ 



^ 




/ 38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



\ 



Till Conrad. Lord of Wolfeiistein, 

By nature fierce, and warm with wine, 

And now in humour highly cross'd. 

Ahout some steeds his band had lost. 

High words to words succeedmg still. 

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunlhiil ; i 

A hot and hardy Rutherlurd, 

Whom men called Dickon Draw-the-sword. 

He took it on the page's saye, 

Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 

Then Howard. Home, and Douglas rose, 

The kindling discord to compose : 

Stern Rutherforil right little said. 

But bit his glove,2 and shook his head.— 

A fortnight Ihence, in Inglewood. 

Stout Conrade, cold, and drench'd in blood. 

His bosom gored with many a wound, 

Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 

Unknown the manner of his death. 

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 

But ever from that tiii\e. 'twas said. 

That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

VIII. 

The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye 

Might his foul treachery espie. 

Now sought the castle buttery. 

Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 

Revell'd as merrily and well 

As those that sat in lordly selle. 

Walt 'I'mlinn, there, did frankly raise 

The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes; 3 

And he, as by his breeding bound, 

To Howard's merry-men sent it round. 

'I'o quit them, on the English side, 

Ked Roland Forster loudly cried, 

"A deep carouse to yon fair bnde!" — 

At every pledge, from vat and pail, 

Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale; 

While shout the riders every one ; 

Su(;h d;iy of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan. 

Since old Huccleuch the name did gain. 

When in the cleuch the buck was ta'eii.^ 



IX. 

The wily page, with vengeful thought, 

Kemember'd him of Tinlinn's yew. 
And swore, it should he dearly bouglit 

That ever lie the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest, 
With hitter gibe and tauutitis jest ; 
Told, how he fled at Solway strife, 
And liow Hob Armsfrous cheer'd his wife; 
Then, shunning still his powerful arm. 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dash'd from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to his knee sly creeping on, 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venom'd wound, and festering joint, 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd, 
And board and flagons overturn'd. 
Riot and clamour wild began ; 
Buck to the hall the Urchin ran; 
Took in a darkling nook his post, 
Aiidgrinn'd, and mutter'd," Lost! lost! lost!' 

1 See Appendix, Note 4 A. 2 Ibid. Note 4 B. 

S The person bearing Itiis rwloubtable nam He fiuerre wai 
ai. Kllioi, and resided at Thorleshope, In Liddesdale. Hi 
oiTurN iu the list of Border riders, in I6V7. 



By this, the Dame, lest farther fray 

Should mar the concord of the day 

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 

And first slept forth old Albert Graeme, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name : 6 

Was none who struck the harp so well. 

Within ihe Land Debateable ; 

Well friended, too, liis hardy kin, 

Whoever lost, were sure to win; 

They sought the beeves that made their broth, 

In Scotland and in England both. 

In homely guise, as nature bade. 

His simple song the Borderer said. 

XI. 

ALBERT GRjEME. 

It was an English ladye bright. 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle vyall,") 
Ami she would many a Scottish knight, 

For Love will still be lord of aU. 

Bliiiely they saw the rising sun. 
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; 

But they were sad ere day was tt«iHi, 
Though Love was still the lord of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine. 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine. 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadow and lea, 
V\ here the sun shines lair on Carlisle wall, 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 

XII. 
That wine she had not tasted well, 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 
When ilead, in her true love's arms she fell, 

For Love was still the lord of all! 

He pierced her brother to the heart. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall : 

So perish all would true love part, 
I'hat Love may still be lord of all ! 

And then he took the cross divine, 

(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,> 
And died for her sake in Palestine, 

So love was still the lord of all. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

I'ray for their souls who died for love, 
For love shall slill be lord of all I 

XIII. 
As ended Albert's simple lay. 
Arose a bard of loftier port; 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, 

Renown'd in haughty Henry's court: 
There rung thy harp, unrivall'd long, 
Filzi raver of the silver song! 
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre— 

Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ?' 
His was the hero's soul of tire. 

And his the bard's immortal name, 



^ 



^ 



A 



V 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 



XIV. 



They sought, tosether, climes afar. 

And oft, within some olive grove, 
When even came with twiiiklin? star, 

They sime: of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant stay'd. 

And deem'd, that spirits from on high. 
Round where sun>e hermit saint was laid, 

Were breathing heavenly melody ; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine,' 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver! what tongue may say 
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, 

When Surrey, ("if the deathless lay. 
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew T 

Regardless of the tyrant's frown, 

His harp call'd wrath and vengeance down. 

He lett, for NaworMi's iron towers. 

Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers. 

And faithful to his patron's name. 

With Howard still Fitztraver came : 

f/>rd William's foremost favourite he, 

And chief of ail his minstrelsy. 

XVI. 

FITZTRWER. 

Twas AH-soul's eve, and Surre}''s heart beat 
high : 
He heard the midnight bell with anxious 
start. 
Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh. 

When wise Cornelius promised, by his art. 
To show to him the ladye of Ins heart. 

Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim ; 
Yet so the saee had flight to play his part. 

That he should see her form in life and limb. 
And mark, if still she loved, and still she 
thought of him. 

XVII. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye. 

To which the wizard led the guUant'Kiiiglit. 
Save that before a mirror, huge and high. 

A hallow'd taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might; 

On cross, and character, and talisman, 
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright: 

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan. 
As watcthlieht by the bed of some departing 
man. 

xvim. 

But soon, within that mirror huge and high. 

Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy. 

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream'; 
Till slow arranging, and defined they seem 

To form a lordly and a lofty room. 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid 
in gloom. 



Fair all the pageant— but how pa.ssing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind : 
O'er her white bosom stray'd her hazel hair. 



^ 



1 Tint. Edit.- 

3 See .\.ppeudi 

4 The cl>i«f» of the VaJangr, or ScanUinaviao pirates, » 



' So sweet their harp and voices join." 
. Note 4 G. 3 Ibid. Note 4 H. 




Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe Itjoee'she lay reclined. 
And, pensive, read from tablet "eburiiine. 
Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to 
find:- 
That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured 
line. 
That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow roll'd the clouds upim the lovely form, 

And swept the goodly visum all away— 
So royal envy roll'd the murky storm 

O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. 
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay 

On thee, and on thy children's latest line, 
The wild caprice of ihy despotic sway, 

The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd shrine. 
The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of 
Geraldine ! 

XXI. 
Both Scots, and southern chiefs, prolong 
Applauses (»f Fitztraver's song; 
These hated Henry's name as death. 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air. 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair; 
St Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that lord to battle come 
Harold was born where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcailes ; 2 
Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway 
(J'er isle and islet, strait and bay ;— 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall !— 3 
'I'hence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave 
.\s if grim Odin rode her wave ; 
And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale 
And throhbing heart, the struggling sail; 
F(»r all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXll. 
And much of wild and wonderful 
h\ these rude isles might fancy cull ; 
For thither came, in times afar. 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war. 
The Norsemen, train'd to spoil and blood, 
Skill'd to prepare the raven's food ; 
Kings of the main their leaders brave. 
Their barks the dragons of the wave 4 
And there, in many a stormy vale, 
The Scald had told his wondrous tale ; 
And many a Runic column high 
Had witness'd grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold, in his youth. 
Learn 'd many a Saga's rhyme uncoutli, — 
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curl d. 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world ; ^ 
Of those dread Maids,6 whose hideous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 
Of Chiefs, who. guided through the gloom 
By the pale deaih-lights of the tomb, 

sumed the til 
inflated Unst 
peiits of the ocean. 

5 Sec- Apuuilix, Note 4 1. 6 Ibid. Note 4 K. 



y4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Ransar.k'd the graves of warriors old, 
Tlieir falchions wrench'il from corpses' hold,' 
Waked I he deaf tomb with war's alarms, 
And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
With war and wonder ail on flame. 
To Roslin's bowers youns Harold came, 
Where, by sweet Klen and greenwood tree, 
He learn'd sr milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet soniething of the northern spell 
Mix'd with the softer numbers well. 

XXIll. 

HAROLD. 

listen, listen, ladies g:ay ! 

.No haiightv feat of arms 1 tell , 
Soft IS the note, and sad the lay. 

That mourns the lovely Rosabel le.2 

— " Moor, moor the barg:e, ye gallant crew ! 

And. sent le ladye. deis:n to si ay! 
Rest ll;ee in Caslle Ravensheuch.3 

IS^or tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

"The blackening wave is edged with white: 
To inch-* and rock the sea-mews fly : 

The fishers liave heard the Water-Sprite, 
Whose screams forebode that, wreck is nigh 

" Last nis:ht the sifted seer did view 

A wet shroud swat heds round ladye gay; 

Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravenshench : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day 1"— 

"'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball. 

But that my ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide. 
If 'tis not fiU'd by Rosabelle."— 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 

A wondrous blaze w;is seen to gleam ; 

'T was broader than the watch-fire's light. 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
It ruddied 6 all the copse-wood glen ; 

'T was seen from Dryden's groves of oak, 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthorndeu. 

Seem'd all on fire that clKipel proud. 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, 

Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Secni'd all on fire within, around, 

Deep sacristyT and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar foliase-bound. 

And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.s 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 

Blazed every lose-carved buttress fair — 

So still tliev blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly hue of high St. Clair. 



1 St-e .\ppendix. Note 4 L. 

2 This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. 
Ifiiry St Clair, the kecond of (he line, married Bosabelle, 
oiinh daughter of (he Karl of Stratheriie. 

I Appendix, Nole 4 M. 
4 Iitch, iale. 



There are twenty of Roslin's barons hold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold- 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle! 

And each St Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book, and with knell : 

But the sea-caves rung, and tlie wild winds 
smig,9 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

So sweet was Harold's piteous l.ay. 

Scarce mark'd the quests the darken'd hall 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wondrous shade involved them all: 
It was not eddying mist or fog, 
Drain'd by thesnn from fen or bog; 

Of no eclipse had sages told; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face. 

Could scarce his own stretch 'd hand behold. 
A secret horror check'd the feast. 
And chill 'd the soul of every guest; 
Even the high Dame stood half aghast, 
She knew some evil on the blast; 
The elvish page fell to the grounil. 
And, shuddering, mutter'd, "Found! lound ! 
found !" 

XXV. 

Then sudden, through the darken'd air 

A flash of liffhtningcame; 
So broiid, so bright, so red the glare, 

The castle seem'd on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of :he hall. 
Oianced every shield upon the wall ; 
Eucii trophieil beam, each sc^ulptiired stone. 
Were instant seen, and instant gone; 
Full throiish the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flash'd the levin-brand. 
And fill'd the hall with smouldering smoke. 
As on the elvish page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud, 

Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud, — 
From sea to sea the larum rung; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal. 
To arms the startled warders sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar. 
The elvish dwarf was seen no more ! 

XX VL 

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some. 
Cry. with loud summons, Gylbin, come I" 
And on the spot wliere burst the brand, 

Just where the page had flnn;; him down. 
Some saw tin arm, and some a hand. 

And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence pray'd and shook. 
And terror dinim'd each lofty look. 
But none of all the astonish'd train 
Was so dismay'd as Deloraine ; 
His blood did freeze, his hrain did bum, 
'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return; 



!1; 



5 Firii Edit. 


" A wet shroud roWd." 


6 First ElU. 


- It reddened," Sic. 


7 FiT,t EdU. 


" Both vaulted rrypt," &,c. 


8 See Append 


ix,Note4 N. 


9 Fir It EdU. 
HUng." 


•■ But the kelpie rung and the mermaid 



^ 



7 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



^ 



For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, 

l.ike liiin of vvlioni the story laii, 

V\ ho sfiiike llie s|ieclre-huuinl in Man i 

At lensrlli, !)>• tils, he darkly toUl. 

With broken hint, and shudclerin? cold— 
'I'liut lie had seen, riffht cerlaiiily, 

A shape idtli amice wrap/M around. 

With a vcrmujht Spanish baldric bound. 
Like pilgrim from beyond the sea ; 

And knew— hilt l.ow it niatter'd not — 

It was llie %vizard, Michael Scott. 

XXVII. 
The anxious crowd, with horror pale. 
All treiiihling: heard the wondrous lafe; 

No sound was made, no word was spoke, 

'i'lll noble Anurus silenco broke; 
And he a .solemn sacred plight 

Did to St. 13ride of" Douglas make,2 

'I'liut he a pilRriniage would take 

'I'o Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Mirliael's restless sprite 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast, 
Tos<uiie bless'd saint his prayers addiess'd : 
Some to St. Modan made their vows, 
St)nie to St. Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the I loly Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our LaiJye of the Isle; 
Kacli did his pairon witness make. 
That he such tiiignniage would take, 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll. 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were 

pray'd. 
'Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd. 
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid 

XXVIII. 
Nought of the bridal will I tell. 
Which after In sh<irt space befell ; 
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir; 
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain 
To wake the note of mirth again. 
More meet it were to mark the day 

Of penitence and prayer divine, 
When pdgrini chiefs, in sad array, 
SoughtMelrose' holy shrine. 

XXIX. 

Witli naked foot, and sackcloth vest, 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go; 
The standers-hy might hear uneath. 
Footstep, or voice, or highdravvn breath. 

Through all the lenglhen'd row ; 
No lordly look, nor martial stride. 
Gone was their ghiry. sunk their pride, 

I'orgoUen their renown; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide 
To the high altar's hallow'd side, 

And there they knelt them down : 
Above I he sup|)liant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 



1 Sie .\ppf ndiX, Note 4 O. 
a Ibid. Note 4 P. 



Rwh croves of lofty sialurf, 
Wilh Yarrow winding Ihrouuh Itir pomp 
or iullival«i iialure- 



Beneath the letter'd stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnish'd niche around. 
Stern saints and tortured martyrs frown'd 

XXX. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar, 
V\ all sable cowl and scapular. 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
The holy Fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came ; 
Taper and host, and book thev bare, 
And holy banner, flourish'd fair 

Wilh the Redeemer's name. 
Above the prostrate pilgrim bMiid 
The mitred Abbot stretch'd his hand, 

And bless'd them as they kneel'd : 
With holy cross he sign'd them all. 
.And pray'd they might be sage in hall. 

And Ibrtunate in field, 
"^riien ma-ss was sung, and prayers were said. 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bel'.s toll'd out their mighty peal, 
For the departed spirit's weal ; 
And ever in the office close 
The hymn of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burthen of the song, — 

Dies ir^:, dies ill.\, 

-solvlt s.eclum in favilla ; 
While the pealing organ runs; 

Were it meet with sacred strain 

To close my lay, so light and vain. 
Thus the holy Fathers sung. 

XXXL 

KYMN FOR THE DE.VD. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. 
When heaven and earth shall pass away. 
What power shall be the sinner's stay ?' 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll. 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread. 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead! 
Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment w-akes from clay. 
Be 'I'liou the trembling sinner's stay. 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! 



Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
And did he wander forth alone? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To linger out his pilgrimage f 
No; close tieneatli proud Newark's tower.' 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower; 
A simple hut; hut there was seen 
The little garden hedged witti green. 
'I'he cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
There slielter'd wanderers, by the blaze. 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to o[)e his door, 
And give the aid he hegg'd before. 

And, rising frnm those lofty ijrovni. 

Behold .T ruin hoary, 
■ni>- »halti-red from of Ni-wark's towers 

Renown'd in Border story. 
•' Fair stenes for childhood's opt-ning bloom. 

For sportive youth to stray in ; 
For manhood to enjoy his strenirlh ; 

And a^e to wear aw.iy in." *<■. 

Wordsworth's V'li 



A 



V. 



42 



So pass'd tlie winter's day; hut, still. 
When siimiiier smiled on sweet Bowhill,' 
And July's eve, with balmv lireath, 
V\ lived the blue-hells; on Newark heath ; 
When throstles suns in Hareiiead shaw. 
And <:orii was fjreen on Carlerhant:h.2 
And flonrish'd, broad, Blaokandro's oak. 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^ 



Tlien would he sing achievements high 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
FitfRetful of the closing day; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunt in? of the deer; 
And Yarrow, as he roll'd alon^, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

The feast was over in Branksome tower.— V. 16. 

In the rei?n of James I., Sir William Scott 
of Buccleuch, chief of the clan bearing lliat 
name, exchanged, with Sir Thomas Inslis of 
Manor, the estate of Murdiestoue. m Lanark- 
shire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome. 
or Brankholm.s lying upon the Teviot, about 
three miles above Hawick. He was probably 
induced to this transaction from tlie vicinity 
of Branksome to the extensive domain which 
he possessed in Ettrick Forest and in Teviot- 
dale. In the former district he held by occu- 
pancy the estate of Buccleuch.* and much of 
the forest land on the river Ettrick. In Te 
viotdale, he enjoyed the barony of Eckford, by 
a grant from Robert II. to his ancestor, Walter 
Scott of Kirkurd, for tlie appreliendim; of Gil- 
bert Rid.lerford, confirmed by Robert III. 3d 
May 1424. Tradition imputes the exchange 
betwixt Scott and Inglis to a conversation, m 
which the latter— a man, it would appear, of 
a mild and forbearing nature, complained much 
of the injuries wliicli he was exposed to from 
the English Borderers, who frequently plun- 
dered his lands of Branksome. Sir William 
Scott instantly offered him the estate of Mur- 
diesloiie. in exchange for that which was sub- 
ject to such egregious inconvenience. When 
the bargain was completed, hedryly remarked, 
that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as 
those of Teviotdale; and proceeded to com- 
nieiKie a system of reprisals upon the English, 
which was regularly pursued by his successors. 
In the next reisn. James 11. granted to Sir 
Walter Scott of Branksome, and to Sir David, 
his son. the remaining half of the barony of 
Branksome. to be held in blanche for the pay- 
ment of a red rose. The cause assigned for 
the grant is, their brave and faithful exertions 
in favour of the king against the house of 
Douglas, with whom James had been recently 
tugging for the throne of Scotland. This 
charter is dated the 2d of February 1443 : and 



K 



1 Bnwhill is now, an lias been mentioned already, a s( 
of the Duke of Buiileuch. It stands immediately beli 
Newark Hill, and above the jnnc-lion of tlie Yarrow and 
the Kilriok, For the other places named in the text, the 
reader is referred to various notes on the Minstrelsy of the 
(icoai^h Border. — Kd. 

•i Orig.~" And grain wnved green on Carterhaush " 



name of the bar 



in the same month, part of the barony of Lang- 
holm, iiiid many lands in Lanarkshire, were 
conferred upon Sir Walter and his son by the 
same monarch. 

After the period of the exchange with Sir 
Thomas Iiislis, Branksome became the princi- 
pal seat of the Buccleuch family. The castle 
was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David 
Scott, the grandson of Sir William, its first 
possessor. But, in 1570-1, the vengeance of 
Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads of Buc- 
cleuch, and his attachment to the cause of 
Queen Mary, destroyed the castle, and laid 
waste tlie luiitls of Branksome. In the same 
year the t'astle was repaired and enlarged by 
Sir VValter Scott, lis brave possessor; but the 
work was not completed until after his death, 
in l.'i74. when the widow finished the building. 
This appears from the following iii.^cripiions. 
Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scott of 
Buccleuch. appears the following legend : — 

"Sir m\ Scott of BraiuiKiiu 
Huflt oc of Sir ffSJillifliu Scott of 
l^frkurtJ l^njjt bcQan i)e iDOvk upon 
je 24 of fEai-cl)C 1571 gear qufea 
tielicirtit at ©oTj's plcLsour ^z 17 
^pvil 1574 " 

On a similar copartment are sculptured the 
arms of Douglas, with this inscnpi ion, " Dame 
Margaret Dout/las his spoics complftit the fore- 
said work in Orlober 1.576." Over an arched 
door is inscribed the following moral verse: — 

^w \)arlt). fs nocljt. nature. t)es. 

broufllit. flat. sal. lest. aj). 
?rt)arcf ore. serbr. CSoti. kefp. befl. 3?e. 

rot), tftj). fame. sal. noclit, tickai). 
Sir 2l2;?alt£r Scott of Urnnrf;olm 

liufflt)t. IHarsarct 23oufllas. 

1571. 



Branksome has been adopted, as suitable to the prouuneia 
tion. and more proper for poetry. 

4 There are no vestiges of any building at Burcleucli. ex 
cept the site of a chapel, where, aceording to a traditioi 
current in the time of Seott of Satchells, many of the an 
cient barons of Buicleuch lie buried. There is also said I 
have been a mill near Ihis soliiaiy spot : nn extraordii.at; 
circumstance, as little or no corn ?rows within severn 
miles of Biicclenrh Sntchells says it was Used to giiiK 
com for Ihe hounds of the chieftain. 



z 



r 



^ 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



43 



Branksome Castle coniinupd to be tlie prin- 
cipal se;»t of the Baccieuoli family, while se- 
curity was atiy object in llieir choice of a man- 
sion. It litis since been the residence of the 
Commissioners, or Chaiuherlaius. of the family. 
From the various alterations which the build- 
imj hiis uiiileiscme. it is not oiilv greaily re- 
stricted ill Its dimensions, but retains little of 
the cajilellaied form, if we except one square 
tower of massy thickness, the only part of the 
orit^inal buildiii!? which now remains. The 
whole fiirms a haiid.some modern residence, 
lately inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam 
Osiivy, Ksq. of Hartwoodmyres. Commissioner 
of his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch. 

The extent of the ancient editice can still be 
traced by some vestiares of its foundaiion, and 
its sirenirtli is obvious from the situation, on a 
steep bank surrounded by the Teviot. and 
fl. inked hy a deep ravine, formed by a [irecipi- 
tous brook. It was anciently surrounded by 
wood, as a[jpears from the survey of Koxbuigh- 
shiie. made for Pout's Atlas, and preserved in 
the Advocates" Library. This wood wiis cut 
about tifty years asro, but is now replaced by 
the thnv'inar plantations, which have been 
formed by the noble proprietor, for miles 
around the ancient mansion of his forefatliers. 



Note B. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 
Huiuj then- shitlds in Biauksonie-Hall.—P. 16. 

The ancient burons of Buccleuch, both from 
feudal splendour aud from their troiitier sii na- 
tion, retained in their houseliold at Branksome, 
a number of gentlemen of iheir own name, who 
held lands from their chief, for the military 
service of watchin? and wardina: his castle. 
Satchells tells us, in his do^grel poetry, 

" No baroa wa.'< better served in Britain • 

The barous of Buckleugh they kept their call, 

Four aud twenty geutlemeu in tbeir ball. 

All bein;; of bis name and kin ; 

Each two had a servant to wait upon them 

Before Bupper aud dinner, mnsi renowned, 

The bells rung and the trumpets sowued; 

And more than that, I do confess. 

They kept four anM twenty pen-ioncra. 

Think not I lie. nor do me blame. 

For the penMoners 1 can all name 

There 's men alive, elder than 1, 

They know if 1 speuk truth, or lie. 

Kvery pensiother a rooml did gain. 

For servire done and to be done ; 

This let the reader understand. 

The name both of the men and land, 

Wliuh tliey iiosse.ssed, it is of truth. 

Both from the L.iirds and Lords of Buckleugh." 

Accordingly, dismounting from his Pejr:isus, 
Satchells gives us, in prose, the names of 
twenty-four gentlemen, younger brothers of 
ancient families, who were pensioners to the 
house of Buccleuch, and describes the lands 
which each possessed for his Border service. 
In time of war with England, the garristm was 
doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, " These 
twenty-three pensioners, all of his own name 
of Scott, and Walter Gladstaues of Whitelaw, 
a near cousin of my lord's, as aforesaid, were 
ready on all occasions, when his honour pleased 
cause to advertise them. It is known to many 



, portion of laud. 



of the country better than it is to me, that the 
rent of these lands, which the Ltiirds and Lords 
of Buccleuch did freely bestow upon their 
friends, will amount to above twelve or four- 
teen thousand merks SL-yearV—Hislory of the 
name of Scott, p. 45 An immense sum ui those 
times. 



Note C. 

" tmth Jedwood-axe at saddlebow — P. 16. 

"Of a truth," says Froissart. "the Scottish 
cannot boast great skill with the bow. but 
rather bear axes, with which, in time of iieeil, 
they give heavy strokes." The Jedwood-axe 
was a sort of partisan. vii"'.i\ by horsemen, as 
appeai-s from the arms of Jedburgh, which bear 
a cavalier mounted, and aimed with this wea- 
pon. It IS also called a Jed wood or Jeddart 
statf. 



Note D. 

Thfy watch, a/jarnst Southern force and (/utle, 
Lfsl Scroop., or Howard, or Ferry's powers. 
Threaten Branksoim's lordly towers, 

From Wnrkworth. or Naworlh, or meriy Car- 
Lsl£. — P. 16. 

Branksome Castle was continually exposed 
to the atiacks of the Eiijjlish. both frtmi its si- 
tuation and the restless military disposition of 
its mhabit-ints, who were seitlorii on good terms 
wiih their neighbours. The following letter 
from the Earl of Northumberland to Henry 
VIIL in 1533, gives an account of a successful 
inroad of the English, in which the country 
was plundered up to the gates of the castle, 
although the invaders failed in their principal 
object, which was to kill, or make prisniier, 
the l.airil of Buccleuch. It occurs in the Col- 
ton MS. Calu/. b viii. f 222. 

" Pleaseih yt your most gracious highness to 
be aduertised, that mv comptroller, with Ray- 
nald Carnaby. desyretl licence of me to iuvatJe 
the realme of Scotlaiide, for the annoysaunce 
of your liiglines enemys, where they thought 
best exploit by iheyme might be done, and to 
liaue to concur withe they'me the inhabitants 
of Norihumberland. suclie as was towards me 
according to theyre assembly, and as by theyre 
discretions vpon the same they shulde thinke 
most convenient ; and soo they dyde meet 
vppone Monday, before ni^ht, being the iii day 
of this insiant nionelhe. at VV'awhope, upon 
Norlhe Tyne water, above Tyndaill, where 
they were to the number of xvc men, and soo 
invailet Scotland at the liour of viii of the clok 
at nyu:ht, at a place called Whele Causay ; and 
before xi of the clok dyd send forth a forrey of 
Tyndaill and Kyddisdail. and laide all the resy- 
dewe in a bushmt-nt. and actyvely did set vpon 
a towiie called Braiixholn e. where the Lord of 
Biicloush dwellythe. and purpesed theyme- 
selves with a trayne forhym lyke to his accus- 
tomed manner. Ill rvsynge to all frayes; albeit, 
that knysht he was not at home, and so they 
brynt the said Bianxliolin, and other townes. 
as' to say Whichesire. WhicJiestre-helme, and 
VVhellev,and haid ordered theymself, soo that 
sundrv'of the .said Lord Bucluugh's serv.inis, 
who dyd issue fourthe of his gates, wiis lakyu 



^ 



'T 



Z 



/ 



7 



44 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^ 



\ 



prisoners. They dyd not leve otie house, one 
stHiv of come, nor one shyef, without the gate 
of the said Lonl Biicloush vnbiyiile, ami thus 
scrym.iged and frayed, supposing the Lord of 
Bnch)ii«:h to be wit.liin lii or liii iriyles to have 
travned hin '.o the bushnient; and soo ni the 
breyking of he day dyd the forrey and the 
bnshinent mete, and reculed homeward, mak- 
ing theyre way westward from tlieyre invasion 
to be over Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the 
fray fronie theyre furst entry by the Scotls 
waiches, or otherwyse by waniying, shuld 
haue bene gyven to Gedwortli and tlie coun- 
trey of Scotland tlieyreabouts of theyre inva- 
sion : whiche Gedworlh is from the Wlieles 
{^ausay vi miles, tliattheieby the S<;otts shulde 
iiave oomen further vnto tlieynie, and more 
out of ordre; and soo upon sundry good con- 
siderations, before they entered Lyddersdaill, 
as well accompting the inhabitants of the same 
to be towards your highness, aud to enforce 
theyme the nioie thereby, as alsoo to put an 
occaNion of suspect to the Kinge of Scotts.and 
his counsaill, to be taken anenst theyme, 
aiiionges theymeselves, made proclaniacions, 
(Mimmandmg, vpon payne of dethe. assurance 
to be for the said inhabitants of Lyddersdaill, 
Without any prejudice or liurt to be done by 
any Inglysman vnto theyme. and soo in good 
ordre ;ibowte the howre often of the clok be- 
fore none, vppon Tewisday, dyd pass through 
the said Lyddersdail, wlien dyd come diverse 
of the said inhabitants Iheretomy servauntes. 
under the said assurance, offering theymselfs 
with any service thev couthe make ; and thus, 
thanks be to Godde. your highnes' subjects, 
abowte the iiowre of xii of tlie clok at none 
the same daye, name into this your highnes 
realme, bringing wt theyme above xl Srotts- 
nien prisoners, one of theyme mimed Scot, of 
the surname and kyn of the said Lord of Buc- 
lough, and of his howsehold ; they brought 
also ccc nowte, and above Ix horse and mares, 
keping in f-avetie fronie losse or liuite all your 
said higlines suhiecls. There was alsoo a 
tovviie. called Newliyg^ins, by diverse fotmen 
of lymlaiU and Ryddesdaill. takyn vp of the 
night, and spoyled, when was slayne ii Scotts- 
nieii of the said towne, and many Scotts there 
hurte ; your highnes subjects was xiii inyles 
witliin the grouiide of Scollande. and is from 
my house at Uerwort he, above Ix miles of the 
most evil passage, vvhe're great snawes doth 
Ive ; liereKjfore the same towties now brynt 
haith not at aii> tyme in the mynd of man in 
any wans been enterprised unto nowe; your 
subjects were thereto more encouniged for 
tlie better advancement of your highnes ser- 
vice, the said Lord of Buclough beyng always 
a morlall enemy to this your Gnices realme. 
and he dyd say, within xiii days before, he 
woulde se(^ who durst lye near hym ; wt many 
other cruell words, the knowledge whereof 
was certainly liaid to my said servaunls. be- 
fore theyre eiiterprire maid vpon him; most 
humbly tieseecliing your majesty, liiat youre 
highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme, 
whose names be here inclosed, and to have in 
your m jst gracious memory, the paynefull and 
diligentservice ol my pore servaunle Wharton, 
and thus, as I am most bouiiden, shall dispose 

wt them that be under me f annoy- 

saiince of your highnes eneniys." In resent- 
ment of this foray, Buccleuch, with otiier 



Border chiefs, assembled an army of 3000 
riders, with whic^h they penetra'ed into Nor- 
thumberland, and laid waste, the country as 
far its the lianks of Braiiiisli. They baffled, or 
defeated, the English forces opposed to them, 
and reluiiied loaded with prey.— Pi7i/cerlOH's 
HLsLory, voL ii. p. 318. 



Note E. 

Bords lony shnll tell. 

How lord Waller fell. — ?. 16. 

Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to 
his grandfather. Sir Uavid, in 1492. He was 
a brave and powerful baron, and Warden of 
the West Marches of Scotland. His death was 
the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts 
and Kens, the history of which is necessary, 
to explain repeated allusions in the romance. 

In the year L^B, in the words of Pitscottie, 
'•the Earl of Angus, and the rest of the Dou- 
glas.^^es, ruled all winch they liked, and no 
man durst say the contrary ; wherefore tlie 
King (James V. then a minor) was heavilv 
displeased, and would fain have been out o'f 
their hands, if he might by any way : And, to 
that eti'ecl, wrote a quiet and secret letter witii 
his own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buc- 
cleuch. beseeching him that he would come 
with his kin and friends, and all the force that 
he might be, and meet him at Melross. at his 
home passing, and there to take him out of the 
Douglasses hands, and to put him to liberty, 
to use himself among the lave (rtsl) of his 
lords, as he thinks exr)edient. 

"This halter was quietly directed, and sent 
by one of the King's own secret servants, which 
was received very thankfully by the Laird of 
Buccleuch, who was very glad thereof, to be 
put to such charges and familiarity with his 
prince, and did great diligence to perform the 
King's writing, and to bring the matter to 
pass as the Kins desired : And, to that effect, 
convened all his kin and friends, and all that 
would do for him to, ride with him to Melross, 
when he knew of the king's lioniecoming. 
And so he brought with him six hundred 
spears, of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and 
countrymen, and clans thereabout, and held 
themselves quiet while that the King returned 
out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to re- 
main there all that night, 

•• But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord and 
Fernyherst, (the chiefs of the clan of Ken,) 
took their leave of the King, and returned 
home, then appeared the Lord of Buccleuch 
in sight, and his coiiijiany with him, in an ar- 
rayed battle, intending to have fulfilled the 
King;'s petition, and therefore came stoutly 
forward on the b:ick side of Haliden hill. By 
that the Earl of Angus, with George Douglas, 
his brother, and sundry other of his friends, 
seeing this army coming, they man-elled what 
the matter meant: while at the last tliey knew 
the Laird of Buccleuch, with a certain com- 
pany of the thieves of Annandale. With liini 
they were less alfeared, and made them man- 
fully to the field contrary iliem, and said to 
the King in this manner, ' Sir, yon is Buccleuch, 
and thieves of Annandale with him, to uiibe- 
set your Grace from the gale,' [i t. interrupt 



'T 



A 



7^ 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



45 \ 



your passaRe.) '1 vow to Goil they shall 
either fisht or flee ; and ye s'lall tarry here on 
this know, and niy bioiher Georse with you, 
with any other coni()any you pl«ase ; and I 
shifll pass, and put yon thieves off tlie ground, 
and rid tlie gate unto your Grace, or else die 
for it.' The King tarried still, as was devised ; 
and George Douglas with him. and sundry 
other lords, such as the Earl of Leiuiox, and 
the Lord Erskine.and some of the King's own 
servants; but all the lave {rrst) past with the 
Earl of Angus to the tield against the Laird 
of Bucclench, who joyned and countered 
cruelly both the said parties in the field of 
DarneUnver.i either against other, with un- 
certain victory. But at the last, the Lord 
Hume, hearing word of that matter how it 
.stood, returned again to the King in all pos.sihle 
haste, with him the Lairds of Cessfooid and 
Fernyhirst, to the number of fourscore spears, 
and set freshly on the lap and wing of the 
Laird of Buocleuch's field, and shortly bare 
them backward to the eround ; which caused 
the Laird of Buccleuch, and the rest of his 
fr.ends, to go hack and flee, whom tliev fol- 
lowed and chased ; and especially the Laiids 
of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst followed furious 
lie, till at the foot of a path the Laird of Cess 
foord was slain by the stroke of a spear by an 
Elliot, who was then sei-vant to the Laird of 
Buccleuch. But when the Laird of Cessfoord 
was slain, the chase ceased The Earl of 
Angus returned asain with great nierriness 
and victory, and thanked God that he s;ived 
him from that chance, and passed with the 
King to Melioss, where they remained all that 
niffht. On the morn they past to Edmbuigli 
with the King, who was very sad and dolorous 
of the slaughter of the Laird of Cessfoord , and 
many other aentlemen and yeomen slain by 
the Laird of Buccleuch, conlaniing the number 
of fourscore and fifteen, which died in defence 
of the King, and at the command of his writ- 
ing." 

1 am not the first vvho has attempted to ce- 
lebrate in verse the renown of this ancient 
baron, and his hazardous attempt to procure 
his sovereign's freedom. In a Scottish Latin 
poet we find the following verses :— 

V.\LTERIUS SCOTUS B.VLCLUCHItJS, 
Kgrcgio 8Usceplo faciiiorc, liberlate Rrgis .ic aliis lebuis 
geslis clarus, sub JACOBO V. A". Christi, 1626. 
•" Intenlata aliis, nullique audita priorum 

Audft, nee pavidiim mnrsve, melusvc quatit, 
Liberlaiem aliis soiiti transciberr Rfgis: 

Subreplam ham- Re^i rt>siilui«se paras; 
Si viiicis, quanta o suixediint praemia dextrae ! 

Sill vidua, falsas epesjace, pone aiilmam. 
Hcsllca visnocuit : staut altae robora rneniis 

Alqup decus. Viucel, Re?e probante. fides 
Insita quels animis virlus, quosque acrior ardor 

Obsidel, obscuris nox premal an tcnebria 7" 



In consequence of the battle of Melrose, 
there ensued a deadly feud betwixt the names 
of Scott and Kerr, which, in spite of all means 
used to bring about an agreement, raged for 
many years upon the Borders. Buccleuch was 
imprisoned, and his estates forfeited, in the 
year 1535, for levying war aganist the Kerrs, 

1 Parnwick, near Melrose. The place of conflict is slill 
tailed Simmer's Field, from a corruption of Slam 
[See Iht Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vols. 



and restored by act of Parliament, dated 16th 
March. 1542, during the regency of Mary of 
Lorraine. But the most signal <ict of violence 
to which this quarrel gave rise, was the mur- 
der of Sir Walter himself, who was slain by 
the Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh in 1552. 
This is the event alluded to in stanza vii. ; and 
the poem is supposed to open shortly after it 
had taken place. 

The feud between these two families was 
not reconciled in 1596, when both chieftains 
paraded the .streets of Edinburgh with their 
followers, and it was expected their first meet- 
ing would decide their quarrel. But. on July 
14th of the same year, Colvil, in a letter to 
Mr. Bacon, informs him, " that there was great 
trouble upon the Borders, which would con- 
tinue till order should be taken by the Queen 
of England and the King, by reason of the two 
young Scots chieftains, Cet;foid and Baclugh. 
and of the present necessity and scarcity of 
com amongst the Scots Borderers and riders. 
That there had been a private quarrel betwixt 
those two lairds on the Borders, which was 
hke to have turned to blood ; but the fear of 
the general trouble had reconciled them, anil 
the injuries which they thought to have com- 
mitted against each other were now trans- 
ferred iipon England : not unlike that emula- 
tion in France between the Baron de Bironand 
Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitious ol 
honour, undertook more hazardous enterprises 
against the enemy than they would have done 
if they had been at concord together." — Birch's 
Memorials, vol. ii. p. 67. 



Note F. 

Whife Cessford owns the rule of Cnrr, 
While E'urirk boasts the line of Scott, 

The slaxujhlefd chiefs, the mortal jar 

The havoc of the feuilnl war. 
Shall never, never hejoryot! — ?. 16. 

Among other expedients resorted to for 
stanching the feud betwixt the Sctttts and the 
Kerrs, there was a bond executed in 1529, be- 
tween the heads of each clan, binding them- 
selves to perform reciprocally the four princi- 
pal pilgrimages of Scotland, for the benefit of 
the souls of those of the opposite name who 
had fallen in the quarrel. This indenture 's 
printed in I he Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
vol. i But either it never took effect, or else 
the feud was renewed shortlv afterwards 

Such fiictions were not unconmion in feudal 
times; and. as iniuht be expectei^l, they were 
often, as in the present case, void of the effect 
desired. When Sir Walter Mauny, the re- 
nowned follower of Edward III . had taken 
the town of Ryol in Gascony, he remembered 
to have heard that his faiher lay there buried, 
and offered a hundred crowns to any who 
could show him his grave. A very old man 
appeared before Sir Walter, and informed him 
of the manner of his father's death, and the 
place of his sepulture. It .seems the Lord of 
Manny had, at a great tournament, unhorsed. 



z 



K 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^ 



and wounded to the deMth, a Gascon knight, 
of the house of Mirepoix, whose kinsman was 
Bishop of Cauihray. For this deed he was 
held at feud by the relations of I he knight, 
until he agreed to undertake a pilgnmage to 
the shrine of St. James of Compostella, for the 
benefit of the soul of the deceased. But as 
he relumed throu^'h the town of Ryol, after 
accomplishment, of his vow, he was beset and 
treacherously slain, by the kindred of the 
kniKhtwhomhehad killed. Sir Walter, guided 
by the old man, visited the lowly tomb of his 
father; and, having read the inscription, which 
was in Latin, he caused the body to be raised, 
and transported to his native city of Valen- 
ciennes, where masses were, in the days of 
Froissart. duly said for the soul of the unfor- 
tunate pilgrim.— C/i/oni/cte of Froissart, vol. i. 
p. 123. 



Note G. 

With Carr in arms had stood. — P. 17. 

The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr,i was very 
powerful on the Border. Fynes Morrison re- 
marks, in his Travels, that their influence 
extended from the village of Preston-Grange, 
in Lr)thian, to the limits of England Cessfoid 
Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the 
family, is situated near the village of More- 
battle, within two or three miles of the Cheviot 
Hills. It has been a place of great strength 
and consequence, but is now ruinous. Tradi- 
tion affirms that it was founded by Halbert, or 
Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concerning 
whom many stories are current in Roxburgh- 
shire. The Dnke of KoXhuighe lepiesenls 
Ker of Cessford. A distinct and powerful 
branch of the same name own the Marquis of 
Ijothian as their chief Hence the distinction 
betwixt Kerrs of Cessford and Fairmhirat. 



Note H. 

Lord Cranstoun. — P. 17. 

The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an 
ancient Border family, whose chief seat was 
at Crailing, in Teviotdale. They were at this 
time at feud with the clan of Scott ; for it ap- 
pears that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 1557, 
beset the Laird of Cranstoun, seeking his life. 
Nevertheless, the same Cranstoun, or perhaps 
his son, was married to a daughter of the sartie 
lady. 



Note I. 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie. 



P. 17. 



The Bethunes were of French origin, and 
derived their name from a small town in Artois. 
There were several distinguished families of 
the Bethunes in the neighbouring province of 
Picardy ; they numbered among their descend- 
ants the celebrated Due de Sully ; and the 



1 The 



\ as Ihi 



me i.s Rpell diffen 
poetical reaUiiJg. 



familie» 



name was accounted among the most noble in 
France, while aught noble remained in that 
country. 2 The family of Bethune, or Beatonn, 
in Fife, produced three learned and dignified 
prelates ; namely. Cardinal Beaton, and two 
successive Archbishops of Glasgow, all of 
whom flourished about the date of the ro- 
mance. Of this family was descended Dame 
Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, widow of Sir 
Walter Scott of Branksome She was a wo- 
man of masculine spirit, as appeared from her 
riding at the head of her son's clan, after her 
husband's murder. She also possessed the 
hereditary abilities of her family in such a 
degree that the superstition of the vulgar im- 
puted them to supernatural knowledge. With 
this was mingled, by faction, the foul accusa- 
tion of her having influenced Queen Mary to 
the murder of her husband. One of the pla- 
cards, preserved in Buchanan's Detection, 
accuses of Darnley's murder "'the Erie of 
Both well. Mr James Balfour, the persoUn of 
Fliske, Mr. David Chalmers, black Mr. John 
Spens, who was principal deviser of the mur- 
der; and the Qiiene, assenting thairio, throw 
the persuasion of the Erie Bothwell, and the 
Witchcraft of Lady Buckkuch." 



Note K. 

He Uarn^d the art that none may name. 
In Padua, far beyond the sea. — P. 17. 

Padua was long supposed, by the Scottish 
peasants, to be the principal school of necro- 
mancy. The Earl of Gowrie. slain at Perth, 
iti IfiOO, pretended, during his studies in Italy, 
to have acquired some knowledge of the ca- 
bala, by which, he said, he could charm snakes, 
and work other miracles; and, in particular, 
could produce children without the intercourse 
of the sexes.— See the examination of Weniyss 
of Boirie before the Privy Council concerning 
Oowrie's Conspiracy. 



Note L. 

His form no darkening shadow traced 
Upon the sunny wall ! — P. 17. 

The shadow of a necromancer is independent 
of the sun. Glycas informs us that Simon 
Magus caused his shadow to go before him, 
making people believe it was an attendant 
spirit. — Hey wood's Hierarchie, p. 475. The 
vulgar conceive, that when a cla.ss of students 
have made a certain priig;ress in their mystic 
studies, they are obliged to run through a 
subterraneous hall, where the devil literally 
catches the hindmost in the race, unless he 
crosses the hall so speedily that the arch- 
enemy can only apprehend his shadow In 
the latter case, the person of the sage never 
after throws any shade ; and those, who have 
thus lost their shadow, always prove the best 
magicians. 



a TliiH exprr 
situation of Krc 
originally written. 1831. 



y^ 



■/- 



LAY OF THE LaST MINSTREL. 



Note M. 

The viewless forms of air. — P. 17. 

The Sco'tish vulvar, without having any 
very defined notion of their attributes, believe 
ill the existence of an inlerniediate cla-^s of 
spirits, residing m the air, or in the waters; to 
whose agency they ascribe floods, storm*, and 
all such phenomena as their own pbih)Si>p(iy 
cannot readily explain. Tiiey are supposed lo 
interfere in the affairs of mortals, sometimes 
with a malevolent purpose, and sometimes 
with milder views. It is said, for example, 
that a gallant baron, having returned from tlie 
Holy Land to his castle of Drummelziar, found 
his fair lady nursing a liealihy child, whose 
birth did not by any means correspond to the 
date of his departure. Such an occurrence, 
to the credit of the dames of the Crusaders be 
it spoken, was so rare, that it requiped a mira- 
culous solution. The lady, therefore, was be- 
lieved, when she averred, confidently, that the 
S(>irit of the Tweed had issued from the river 
while she was walking upon its bank, and com- 
pelled her to submit to his embraces ; and the 
name of Tweed le was bestowed upon the child, 
who afterwards became Baron of Drummel- 
ziar, and chief of a powerful clan. To those 
Slants were also ascribed, in Scotland, the 



When the workmen were engaged in erect- 
ing the ancieni church of Old Deer, in .Aber- 
deenshire, upcm a small hill called Bissau, they 
were surprised to find t!;at the work was im- 
peded by supernatural obstacles. At length, 
the Spirit of the River was heard to say. 

"Il is not here, it is not here. 
Thai ye shall bulM Ihe church of Deer; 
Bui on Tapl ■ 



Wl 



nauy a corpse shall lie. 



The site of the edifice was accordingly trans- 
ferred to Taptillery, an eminence at some 
distance from the place where the building 
had been commenced — Maclarlane's MSS. 
1 mention these popular fables, because the 
introduction of the H.veraiid .Mount.tiii Spirits 
may not. at first sisht, seem to accord with the 
general lone ot the romance, and the super- 
stitions of the country where the scene is laid. 



Note N. 

A fanned moss-trooper, 4-c. — P. 17. 

This was the usual appellation of Hie ma- 
rauders upon the Borders ; a profession dili- 
genily pursued by the mhabiiitnts on both 
sides, and by none more actively and success- 
fully than by Buccleucli's clan. Long after 
the union of the crowns the moss-troopers, 
although sunk in reputation, and no longer 
enjoying the pretext of national hostility, con- 
tinued to pursue their calling. 

Fuller includes, among the wonders of 
Cumperland " The moss troupers : so strange 



in the condition of their living, if coiisiilered 
in their Orujtnal, Incrtase, Heiyht, Decay, and 
Rtiine. 

•'1. Ori<jinal. 1 conceive them the same 
called Borderers in .Mr. Camden; and charac- 
terised by him to be a wild and warlike peofile. 
They are called mosj7ra«pers. because dwell- 
ing in the mosses, and riding in troops together. 
They dwell in the bounds, or meeting, of the 
two kingdoms, but obey the laws of neither. 
They cohie to church as seldom as the 29th 
of February comes into the kalendar. 

"2. Increase. When England and Scotland 
were unired in Great Bri' am, they that formerly 
hved by hostile incursions, betook themselves 
to the robbing of their neighbours. Their sons 
are free of the trade by their fatiiers' copy. 
They are like to Job, not in piety and patience, 
but 111 sudden plenty and poverty : sometimes 
having flocks and herds in the inornin?. none 
at night, and perchance many again next day. 
They may give for their nMXAo, vivtiur ex rapio, 
stealma from their honest neighbours what 
they sometimes reguiie. They are a nest of 
lioinets; sinke one. and stir all of them 
about your eais Indeed, if they promi-se 
safely to conduct a traveller, they will peiform 
It with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary; 
otherwise, woe be to hini that falleth into their 
quarters ! 

'• 3. Height Amounting, forty years since, 
to some thousands. These compelled the 
vicinaiie to purchase their security, by paying 
a constant rent to ihem When in i heir great- 
est height, they had two great enemies, — the 
Imws of the Land, and tiie Lord WiUmm 
Howard of Nuwortfi. He sent many of them 
lo Carhsle, to that place where the orficer doifi 
always his work by auylighl. Yet these moss- 
troopers, if possibly they <'.ould procure the 
p.irdon for a condemned person of their com- 
pany, would advaiiie great sums out of their 
cotiimon stock, who, in such a case, cast in 
tkmr lots amongst themselves, and all have one 
purse. 

•'4. Decay. Caused by the wisdom, valour, 
and diligence of the Right Honourable Charles 
Lord Howard, Earl of Carlisle, who routed 
these English Tories with his regiment. His 
severity unto them will not only'be excused, 
but coiiimended, by the judicious, who consider 
how our great lavvyer doih describe sucli per- 
sons, who are solemnly outlawed. Bractoii, 
lib. viii. tiac. 2 cap. ll.—'Ex tunc gerunl aiput 
tupiiium, ita quod sine judicvtli inquisitione rile 
pereaiit, et srcum suuin judicium porttnl ; et 
mnilo sine lege pereunl. qui stcundum legem 
viiiere recusarunl.' — ' Tlieiiceforward, (after 
that they are outlawed; they wear a wolf's 
head, so that they lawfully may be destroyed, 
witlioul any judicial inquisition, as who carry 
their own condemnation about them, and de- 
servedly die without law, because lliey refused 
to live according lo law.' 

" 5 Rmne. Such w;\a the success of this 
worthy lord's seventy, that he made a thorough 
reformation among tiiem ; and the riiii leaileis 
being destroyed, the rest are reduced to lex'al 
obedience, and so, I trust, will coiitmiie " — 
Fuller's Worlhus of England, p 2l6. 

I'he last public mention of moss-trooperi 
occurs during the civil wars of the seventi 
century, when many ordinances of Parliameut 
were directed against thesu. 




^. 



lll.^! 

cut ^ 



> ^ 



V 



APPENDIX TO THE 



\ 



Note 0. 

tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescent an J the Star. — P. 18. 

Tlie arms of the Kerrs (if Cessfonl were. Vert 
on a clieveron, betwixt three unicorns' heads 
erased arijeni, three mullets sable; crest, a 
unicorn's head, erased proper. 'V\\e. Scotls of 
Buccleuch hore. Or, on a bend azure : a star 
of six points betwixt two crescents of the tirst. 



Note P. 

"William of Deloraine. — P. 18. 

The lands of Deloraine are joined to those 
of Bnccleunh in Etirick Forest. They were 
imniemorially possessed by the Buccleuch fa- 
mily, under the strong title of occupancy, al- 
though no charter was ol)taiiied from the crown 
untd 1546. Like oiher possessions, the lands 
of Deloraine were occasionally granted by 
tiiem to vassals, or kinsmen, for Border ser- 
vice. Salchells mentions, among: the tweiity- 
fourgeivtlemen-pensioners of the family, " Wil- 
liam Scott, comiiioiily called Citt-at-lfie- Black, 
who had the lands of Nether Deloraine for his 
service." And asiiin, " This William of Delo- 
raine, commonly called Cut-at-the- Black, was 
a brother of the ancient house of Haining, 
which house of Haining^ is descended from the 
ancient house of Hassendean " The lands of 
Dekiraine now give an eiirl's title to tne de- 
scendant of Henry, the second surviving son 
of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. 
1 have endeavoured to give William of Delo- 
raine the attributes which characterised the 
Bordeiers of his day; for which 1 can only 
plead Froissart's apology, thai, " it behoveih, 
in a lynage, some to be folyshe and outrageous, 
to maynteyne and sustayne the peasable." As 
a contrast to my Marchman, 1 beg leave to 
transcribe, from the same author, the speech 
of Amergot Marcell, a captain of the Adventu- 
rous Companions, a robber, and a pillager of 
the country of Auvergne, who had been bribed 
to sell his strongholds, and to assume a more 
honourable military life under the banners of 
the Karl of Armagiiac But '• when he remem- 
bered alle this, he was sorrowful ; his tresour 
he thought he wolde not mynysshe ; he was 
wonte dayly to serche for new pylhiges, wher- 
bye enciesed his profyle, and then he sawe 
that alle was closed fro' him. Then he sayde 
and iinagyned, that to pyll and to robbe (all 
thynge considered) was a good lyfe, and so 
repented him of his good doing. On a tyme, 
he said to his old companyons, "Sirs, there is 
no sporte nor glory in this worlde amonge men 
of warre, but to use suche lyfe as we have 
done in tyme past. What a joy was it to us 
when we rode forth at adventure, and somtyme 
found by the way a riche priour or nierrhaunt, 
or a route of mulettes of Mountpellyer, of Nar- 
honne, of Lymens, of Fongans, of Besyers, of 
Tholous, or of C'arcasonne. laden with cloth 
of Brussels, or pell re ware comynge fro the 
fayres, or laden wnh spycery fro Bruges, fro 
Danias, o" fro Alysaundre; whatsoever we 
met, all was ours, or els ransoumed at our 
pleasures , dayiy we gate new money, and the 



I vyllaynes of Auvergne and of Lymosyn dayly 
provyded and brought to our castell wheie 
mele, good wynes. beffes, and fatte motions, 
pullayne. and wilde foule : We were ever fur- 
nyshed as tho we had been kings. When we 
rode forthe, all the counlrey trymbled for 
feare : all was ours govng and comynge How 
tok we Carlast.I and the Bourge of Companye, 
and I and Perot of Bernoys took Caluset ; how 
dyd we scale, with lylell ayde, the strong cas- 
tell of Marquell, pertayning to the Erl Dol- 
phyn : I kept it nat past fyve days, but 1 re- 
ceyved for it, on a feyre table, fyve thousande 
frankes, and forgave one thousande for the 
love of the Erl Dolphin's children. By my 
fayih, this was a fayre and a good lyfe ! where- 
fore I repute myselfe sore deceyved, in that 
I have rendered up the fortress of Aloys; for 
it wolde have kept fro alle the worlde. and 
the daye that I gave it up, it was loin nyshed 
with vytalles, to have been kept seven yere 
without any re-vytallinge. This Erl .if Army- 
nake hath deceyved me : Olyve Barbe, and 
Perot le Bernoys, shewed to me how I shulde 
repente myselfe ; ceriayne I sore repente my- 
selfe of what I have done.' " — Fioissarl, vol li. 
p. 196. 



Note Q. 



By wily turns, by desperate bounds, 
Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds. 



■P. IC. 



The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well 
as the Border-riders, were sometimes obliged 
to study how to evade the pursuit of blood- 
hounds. Barbour infornis us, that Kobert 
Bruce was repeatedly tracked by sleuth-dogs. 
On one occasion, he escaped by wading a bow- 
shot down a brook, and ascending into a tree 
by a branch whicli overhung the water; thus, 
leaving no trace on land of his foolsteps, he 
baffled the scent. The pursuers came up : 

" Ryoht 10 tht burn thai passyt ware, 
Boi Ihr s|,-ulh-liuij(l made stinting tliar, 
And waueryt lanj? tyme la and fja. 
That h.- na ceriain Bale inuih gn ; 
Till at the last that John of Lome 
Perseuvii the hund ihe sleuth had Inrne." 

The Bruce, Book Vil. 

A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill 
blood upon the track, which destroyed the 
discriminating tineness of his scent. A cap- 
tive was sometimes sacriliced on such oct^a- 
sioiis. Henry the Minstrel tells a romantic 
story of Wallace, founded on this circum- 
stance : — The hero's little band had been 
joined by an Irisliniiin, named Fawdoun. or 
Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious chi- 
racter. After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne 
Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only 
sixteen followers The Eiigl.sli pursued with 
a Border sleuth-bratch, or blood-hound. 

" In Gelderl.md ihere was that bratchet bi^, 

Silier of sieni, lo follow them that fled ; 

So was he used in Kske ai.d Liddesdail, 

While (i. e. Ml) she gat blood no Heeing might avail." 

In the retreat, Fawdoun. tired, or affecting 
to be so, Would go no farther. Wallace, having 
in vain argued with hini. in hasty anger strucK 
off his head, and continued the retreat, vv hen 
the English came up, their hound stayed upon 
the dead boily ;— 



yA 



7 



^ 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 



49 



The story concludes with a line Gothic scene 
of terror. Wallace took refuse in tlie solitary 
tower of Gask Here he was dislurhed at 
midnight by the blast, of a horn He sent out 
iiis attendants by two and two, but no one, re 
turned with ti(hn2:s. At leni^th, when he w;ts 
left alone, the sound was heard still louder. 
Tlie champion descended, sword in hand ; 
and, at the gate of the tower, w;ls encountered 
by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom h»; 
liad slain so rashly. V\ alluce. in great terror, 
fled up into the tower, tore open the b.iards ot 
a window, leapt down fifteen feet in tieiiilit, 
and continued his fliglit u the river Looking 
back to Gask, he discuiver 1 the lower on tiie, 
and the foiin of Fawdo i upon the hattle- 
iiients.dilaied loaniuimei ;esize. and hoidiiiv 
in Ins hand u blazjig n 'er. Tlie Minstrel 
concludes, 

" Trust ryght wele, Ihat all • is he .eootli iiiderd. 
Supposing il to tie no point c Jie creid." 

Tht WeUiace. Book v. 

Mr Ellis has extracted ' . 5 tale as a sample 
of Henry s poetry. — UpecimeHS of Enylish I'o- 
tlry, vol. i. p, 351. 



Note R. 

the MoathiWs mnund, 

Wkere Druid's shades still fliUed round— V. 18. 

This is a round artificial mount near Hawick, 
which, from its name, (iHot. Ana. Sax Con- 
cilium, Coiwinltis.) was probably used as a 
place for assembling a national council of the 
adjacent tribes There are many such mounds 
in iScotland, and they are sumetiiiies, but laiely, 
of a square form. 



Note S. 

the tovxr of Hazeldean — P. 18. 

The estate of Hazeklesin, corruntly Hassen- 
Oean. belonged formerly to a family of Scotls, 
tlius commemorated bv Sachells : — 



Note T. 

On Mintocraijs the moon-beams glint. — P. 18. 

A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise 
suddenly above the vale of Teviot, in the im- 
mediate viciniiyof the family-seat, from which 
Lord Mino takes his title A small platform, 
on a projecting cran:, commanding a most beau- 
tiful prospect, is termed BarnhMs'' Bid. This 
Barnhills is said to have been a robber, or out- 
law. Tliere are remains of a strong tower 
beneath the rocks, where he is supposed to 
have dwelt, and from which he derived his 
name. On the summit of the crags are the 
fraemenis of another ancient tower, in a pic- 
turesque situation. Among the hou-es cast 
by the Karl of Hartforde. in 1545, occur thf^ 
tOAcrs of Easter Barnhiiis, and of Miiito crag, 



wiih MinU) town and place. Sir G,lhew.--Elliot, 
falhtr to the pre.->eiit Lord Miiilo.' was the 
aithor of a beautiful pasloral song, of which 
the following is a more correct copy than is 
Usually published. 'I'he poetical luant'e of 
Sir Gilljert Elliot has descended to his family. 

" My Blieep I ncglerled. I broke my slict-p-hook. 
And all ilie gay haunts of my youih I forsook : 
No more for Amynta fresh garUnds I wove; 
Ambition. I naul. would soon cure me of love. 
Bill what had my youth wjth ambition lo do ! 
Why left I Amyiila ! why broke I my vcw ! 

" Through regions remote in vain do I rove. 
And bid the wide world secure inc from love. 
Ah, fool, 10 imagine thai aught could .subdue 
A love so well founded, a passion so true ! 
Ah, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore! 
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more". 

" Alas ! >iis too late af thy fate lo repine ! 
Poor shepherd, Amynta no more can be thine ! 
Thy tears are all fruillesa, thy wishes are vain, 
The moments neglected return not again. 
Ah ! what had my youth with ambition to do! 
Why left I Amynta ; why broke I my vow I" 



^: 



Note U. 

Ancient RiddelVs fair domain. 



P. 18. 



The family of Riddel! have been very long 
m possession of the barony called Riddell, or 
Ryedale, part of which slill bears the latter 
name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a 
point extremely remote; and is, m some de- 
gree, sanctioned by the discovery of two stone 
coffins, one containing an earthen pot filled 
with .ishes and arms, bearing a legible date, 
A. D. 727 ; the other dateti 936, and filled with 
the bones of a man of gigantic size. 7'liese 
coffins were discovered in the foundations of 
what was, but has long ceased to be, the chapel 
of Kiddell ; and as it was argued, with plausi- 
bility, that they contained the remains of some 
ancesiore of the family, ih<-y were depo.sit«d in 
the modern place of sepulture, comparatively 
so termed, though built in 1110. But the fol- 
lowing curious and authentic documents war- 
rant most conclusively the epi'het of "ancient 
Riddeil :" 1st, A charter liy David I. to Walter 
Rydale, Sheriff of Roxburgh, confirming all the 
estates of Liliesclive, &c., of winch his laiher, 
Gervasius de Rydale, died possessed. 2tlly, A 
bull of Pope Adrian IV., confirming the will 
of Waller de Ridale, knight, m favour of his 
bro'her Anschitiil de Ridale, dated 8ih April, 
115.5. 3dly, A bull of Pope Alexander III., con- 
firming the said will of Walter de Ridale, be- 
queatiiing to his brother Anschitiil the lands 
of Liliesclive, Wiietiunes, &.C , and ratifying 
the bargain betwixt Anschiltil and Huctre'dus, 
coiicernmg the church of Liliesclive, in con- 
sequence of the mediation of Malcolm II., and 
confirmed bv a charter from that monarch. 
Tins bull is'dated 17th June. 1)60. 4tlily, A 
bull of the same Pope, confirming the will of 
Sir Anschittel de Ridale. m favour of his son 
Walter, conveying the said lands of Liliesclive 
and others, dated 10th March. 1120. It is re- 
markable, that Liliesclive, otherwi-e Rydale, 
or Riddell, and the Whittunes, have descended, 
tlirough a huia: train of ancestors, without ever 




APPENDIX TO THE 



^; 



passing into a collateral line, to the person of 
Sir John Buchanan l^itldell, Bart, of Riddell, 
llie hneal descendant and representative tif Sir 
Anschittel.— These rircumsitaiices appeared 
worthy of notice in a Border woik.» 



Note V. 

Bui. when Melrose he renchfid 'twas silence all ; 
He nwflly stabled his steed in stall, 
And sought the convent's lonely wall.— P. 19. 
The ancient and beautiful mona.srery of Mel- 
rose was founded by Kin? David I. Its ruins 
aHord the finest specimen of Gothic arciiitec- 
ture and Gotliic sculpture which S(^otland can 
boast. The stone of which it is built, though 
il. has resisted the weather for so many ages, 
retains perfect sharpness, so that even the 
most minute ornaments seem as entire as 
when newly wrouglit. In some of the clois- 
ters, as is hinted in the next C.aiito, there are 
representations of flowers, vegeiables, &c., 
carved in stone, with accuracy and precision 
so delicate, that we almost disinist our senses 
when we consider the difficulty of sulijectmg 
so hard a substance to such intricate and ex- 
quisite modulation This superb convent was 
dedicated to St. Mary, and the monks were of 
the Cistertian order. At the tune of the Ke- 
formation, they shared the general reproach 
of sensuality and irregularity, thrown upon the 
Komun churchmen. Tlie old words of Gala- 
thiels, a favourite Scotch air, ran thus :— 

O the monks of Mrlr-'se made gude kale, '2 

On Fridays when Iht-y fasled. 
They wanted neither beef nor ale. 

As long as their neighbours' lasted. 



Note W. 

When buttress and buttress, nltcrnatety, 

SrP7n framed of ebony and ivory ; 

W hm silver edijrs the imwjery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. 

Then view St. David's rui?i'd pile.— P. 19. 

The buttresses ranged along the sides of the 
rums of Melrose Abbey, are, according to the 
Gothic style, richly carved and fretted, con- 
taining niches for the statues of saints, and 
labelled with scrolls, bearing appropriate texts 
of Scripture. Most of these siatues have lieen 
demolished. 

David 1. of Scotland purchased the reputa- 
tion of sanctity, by founding, and liberally en- 
dowing, not only the monastery of Melrose, but 
those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others; 
which led to the well-known observation f)f 
his successor, that he was a sore saint for the 



Note X. 

For mass or prayer can 1 rarely tarry. 
Save to patter an Ave Mary. 
When I ride on a Bordtr foray. — P. 20. 
The Borderers were, as may be supposed, 
very ignorant about religious matters. Col- 



ville. in his Paranesis. or Admonition, states, 
hat the reformed divines were so far from un- 
dertaking distant journeys to convert the Hea- 
then, ''as I wold wis at God that ye wold only 
go hot to the Hielands and Borders of our own 
realm, to gain our awin coiiiitreymen. v/ho, 
for Jack of preching and ministration of the 
sacraments, must, with tyme, becum either 
inlidells, or atheists." Hut we learn, ftoin 
Lesley, ihat, however deficient in real religion, 
they regularly told their beads, and never with 
more zeal than wlien going on a plundering 
expedition. 



Note Y. 

So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start : 

Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. — P. 20. 

" By myfayth," sayd the Duke of Lancaster, 
(to a Portuguese squire,) " of all the feates of 
firmes that the Castellyans, and they of your 
coiintrey doth use, the castynge of their dertes 
best pleaseth me, and gladly 1 wolde se it; for, 
as 1 hear say, if they strike one aryghte, with- 
out he be well armed, the dart will pierce him 
thrughe."— "Bymy fayth, sir," sayd the squyer, 
"ye say trouth ; for I have seen many a grete 
stroke given with them, which at one lime cost 
us derely, and was to us great displeasure ; for, 
at the said skyrmishe. Sir John Lawrence of 
Coygne was striken with a dart in such wise, 
that the head perced all the plates of his cote 
of mayle, and a sacke stopped wiih sylke, 
and passed thrughe his body, so that he fell 
down dead."— i^rrwssarf, vol. ii ch.44. — This 
mode of fighting with darts was imitated in the 
military game called Jeugo de las canas, which 
the Spaniards borrowed from their Moorish in- 
vaders. A Saracen champion is thus described 
by Froissart : "Among the Sarazyns. there w;is 
a yonge knight called Agadinger Dolyferne ; he 
was always wel mounted on a redy and a lysht 
horse ; it seemed, when the horse raiine. that 
he did fly in the ayre. The knighte seemed to 
be a good man of amies by his dedes ; he bare 
always of usage three fethered dartes, and 
rychie well he could handle them; and, ac- 
cording to their custome, he was clene armed, 
with a long white towell about his head. 
His apparell was blacke, and his own colour 
biovvne, tiiul a good horseman. The Crysten 
men say, they tlioughte he dyd such deeds of 
amies for the love of some yonge ladye of his 
couiitrey. And true it was, that he loved en- 
tirely the King of Thune's daughter, named 
the Lady Azala; she was mherytor to the 
realme of Tliuiie, after the discease of the 
kyng, her father. This Agadinger was sone 
to the Duke of Olyferue. I can nal telle if 
they were married together after or nat ; but 
it was shewed me, that this knyght. for love 
of the sayd ladye, during the siege, did many 
feates of amies. The knyghles of France wold 
fayue have taken hyni ;' but they colde never 
attrape nor inclose him ; his horse was so 
swyft, and so redy to his hand, that alwaies 
he escaped."— Vol. h. ch. 71. 



A 



7" 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



N- 



Note Z. 

AtuI th'TP. thr dijinu lamps dul burn, 

Bffore thy low and lonrly urn. 

O gallant Chief oj OUtrbunw.'—T 20. 

The famous atkl deNperate battle of Oiter- 
Durne was fought 15th Aiis^iisi, 1388. betwixt 
Henry Percy, railed Iloispur. and Jamea, Earl 
of iXiiiKJas. D'ltli ilie.se niiovviied rliampioiis 
were at the lieatl nf a fliosen iHwly of troops, 
and tliey were rivals in iiiditary fame; so that 
Froissart uffirnis 'Of all the battayles an<l 
encounlerynss that I have made meiicion of 
here before in all this hystory, great or smaile. 
this battayle that I treat of iiowe was one of 
the sorest and best foiis:hten, wilhoiil row- 
ardes or faynte herles: for there was neyther 
kny:ih:e nor s(jiiyer but that dvde his devoyre, 
and fousliie liande to hande. This balayle was 
lyke the batayle of Berherell, the which was 
vuliauntly foushl and endured " The issue of 
the conflict is well known : I'ercy wa.s made 
prisoner, and llie Scots won the day. dnarly 
imrchased by the death of their sallaiit gene 
ral, the Earl of Doualas, who was slam in the 
action. He was buried at .Melrose, beneath 
the high altar. " His obsequye was done reve- 
rently, and on his bodye layde a tonibe of 
stone, and his baner hangyng over hyiii."— 
Froissart, vol. li p. J65. 



Note 2 A. 

-Darh Knight of Liddesdale. 



P. 20. 



William Douslas, called the Knight of Lid- 
desdale, flourished during the reign of David 
II., and was so distinguished by his valour, 
that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. 
Nevertheless, lie tarnished iiis renown by the 
cruel murder of Sir Alexander Iliiinsay of Dal- 
housie. originally his friend and brotlier in 
arms. The King had conferred upon Kamsay 
the sheriflilom of Teviotdale. to which Dou;;las 
pretended some claim. In revenge of this pre- 
ference, the Kniglit of Liddesdale came down 
Upon Ramsay, while he wsis adiiiinistenng jus- 
tice at Hawick, seized and earned him otf to 
his remote and inaccessible castle of Hermit- 
age, where he threw his unfortunate prisoner, 
horse and man, into a dungeon, and left him 
to perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable 
captive prolonged his e.vistence fur several 
days by the corn which fell Irom a granary 
above the vault in which he was contiiied i 
So weak was the royal authority, tliat David, 
although highly incensed at this atrocious 
murder, found himself obliged to appoint the 
Knight of Liddesdale successor to his victim, 
as Sheriff of leviotdale. But lie was soon 
after slain, while hunting in Ettrick Poorest, by 
his own godson and chieftain, V\ lUiam, Earl 



There ia somethiiiK 
old Prior of Lochlcv. 
>;allaut Ramsay, lo Iht 



.tTecliiig 



nanner in which 
from dfMribiiig the death 
fhich it excited : 



^ 



' To tell you there of the manere. 
It 18 bot Borrow for ill here; 
He wes the grcttasi mcnyd man 
Thai oiiy cowih have thowrhl of than. 
Of hi» blale, or of marc he fare : 
All menyt him, bath beityr and war i 



of Douglas, in revense. according to some aii- 
I hors, of lAiitii>ay's murder ; although a popular 
tradition, [(reserved in a ballad quoted bv Gods- 
rrofi, and some parts of which are still pre- 
served, astcnbes the resentment of the Earl to 
jealousy. The place where the Knight of Lid- 
desdale was killed, is called, from his name, 
V\ ilham-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called 
William hope, betwixt Tweed and Yarrow. 
His body, accitiding to Godscioft. was carried 
to Liiidean church the first night after hts 
death, and thence to Melrose, where he was 
interred with great pomp, and where his tomb 
is still shown. 



Note 2 B. 

Thf moon on the east oriel shone. — P. 20. 
It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful 

pecimen of the lightness and elegance of 
Gothic architecture, when m its puritv, than 

he eastern windciw of Melrose Abbe'v. Sir 
JaiiifS Hall of Dunglas. Bait . has, with great 

n^enuity and plau.sibility, traced the Gothic 
order through its various forms and seemingly 
eccentric ornaments, to an archilectiirnl imi- 
tation of wicker woik ; of which, as we learn 
from some of the legends.the earliest. Christian 

hurehes were coiis'ructed. In such an edi- 
fice, the original of the clustered pillars is 
iraceil to a set of round [losts, begirt with 
slender rods of willow, whose loose summits 

."ere brought to meet from all quarters, and 
bound together artihcially, so as to produce 
the frame work of the roof: and the tracery 
of our Gothic windows is displayed in the 
meeting and interlacing of rods and hoops, 
irt'oiding an inexhaustible variety of beautilul 
ibrnis of open work. This ingenious sysiem is 
alluded to in the romance. Sir James Hall's 
Essay on Gothic Architecture is publisTied in 
Tiie 'Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions. 



Note 2 C. 

The wondrous Michael Scott. — P. 20. 

Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished 
during the 13lh century, and was one of the 
ambas.vadors sent to bring the Maid of Norsvny 
to Scotland upon the death of Alexander III. 
By a poetical anachronism, he is here (.!;i. ed 
in a later era. He was a man of much ie.uu- 
iiig, chiefly acquired in foreign countries. He 
wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at 
Venice in 1496; and several treatises upon 
natural philosophy, from which he appears to 
have been addictetl to the abstruse studies of 
judicial astroloL-^y. alcliymy, physiognomy, and 
chn-omancy Hence he passed among his con- 
emporaries for a skillul magician Dempster 
nforms us, that he remembers to have heard 



Some years ago, a p*^ 
Id caetle of Hermitage 
uantity of chaff, some t 
ihers, the curb of an ancient t 
nee given to the Earl of Dalh 
lat it possibly may be a relic < 
worthy clergyman of the paris 
very iu his Ktatislical Account 



digeing for stone 
ke inio a vault, c 
, aid pie.es of iro 
bmlle, which the 

Ihoiisie, i.ll.ler the 

I ha.-* menlionetJ 
>r CasUetowu. 



-Sinn 

The 
isoo- ^ 

-A- 



in his youth, that the mas;ic books of Michael 
Sr.otl were still iii exislence, but could nor be 
opened without duiiKef, on account of the 
malignant fiends who were thereby invoked. 
Dempsteri Hislorm Erdesinstirn., 1627, lib. xii 
p. 495. Lesly characterises Michael Scott h^ 
"singtilnrie philosophies, aslronomia, uc tneili- 
CinCE, laudc preslaus ; dictbatur penilusimos ma- 
guB reccssus indiKiassf." Dunle also mentions 
him as a renowned wizard — 

•• Quell altro chu lie' fianchi e cost poco, 
Miihelc Si-nlio fn, die Verameiile 
Delle magkhe froJe seppe il giuoro." 

Inferno, Canto xxmo. 

A personafre, thus spoken of by bioia:raphers 
and historians, loses little of his niysiical Came 
in vulvar tradiii(jn. AccoiiliiiRly. the memory 
of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a lepfend ; 
i.nd in tlie south of Scotland, any work of great 
lauour and antiquity, is ascribed, either to the 
agency of Aidd Michael, of Sir William Wal- 
lace, or of the devil. Tradition varies con- 
cerning the place of his burial ; some contend 
for Home Collrame, in Cumberland ; others ior 
Melrose Abbey. But all agree, that his books 
of magic were interred in his grave, or pre- 
served in the convent where he died. Satch- 
ells, wishing lo give some authimty for his 
account of the origin of the name of Scott, 
pretends, that, in 1G29. he chanced to be at 
Burgh under Bowness, in Cumberland, where 
a person, named Lancelot Scott, showed him 
an extract from Michael Scott's works, con- 
taining that story : — 

•• He said the bnnk which he nave me 
Was of Sir Michael Scotl'shislorie: 
Which history was never yet read through, 

Young scholars have pick'd out pomcthing 

From the contents, that dare not read wiihln. 

He carried ine aloti;^ the castle then, 

And shew*d his written hook hanging on an iron pin. 

His writing pen did seem lo me tn be 

Of hardened metal, like nteel, oraccumie; 

The volume of it did seem so large to me. 

As the Bonk of Mariyrs and Turks historie. 

Then in ihe church he let me see 

A stone where M r. Michael Scott did lie ; 

1 askiO at him how that could appear, 

Mr. Michael h.id been dead above five hundred year 7 

He shew'd me none durst bury under that stone. 

More than he had been dead a few years agone ; 

For Mr Michael's name does terrify each one." 

Hittory qf the Right Uunourable A'amc qf .Scoff. 



Note 2D. 

Salamanca's cave. — P. 



20. 



:^ 



Spain, from the relics, doubtless, of Arabian 
learning and superstition, was accounted a 
favourite residence of magicians. Pope Syl- 
vester, who actually imported from Spain the 
use of the Arabian numerals, was supposed to 
have learned there the magic, for which he 
was stigmatized by the ignorance of his age.— 
William of Malmsbury. lib. ii. cap. 10. 'Ihere 
were public schools, where magic, or rather 
the sciences suppo.sed to involve its mysteries 
were tegularly taught, at Toledo, Seville, 
and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were 
held in a deep cavern; the mouth of which 
was walled Up by Queen Isabella, wife of King 
Ferdinand — D' Anion on Lcauied Inert dull 1 1/. 
p 45 'I'hese Spanish schools of magic are 
celebrated also by the Italian poets of ro- 
mance : — 



" Questo citta di Tolleto solen 
Tenere studio Ul negromaniia 
Quivi di magica arte si leggea 
Pubbllcameiile, e di peromanziaj 
K inolti geomanl'i sempre avea, 
Bsperimenii assai d' idromaiisia 
V, d' alire fiilse opinion' di sciocchi 
Come e failure, o spessn batter gli occhl." 

ti Morganu Magglore, Canto xxv. Si. V9. 

The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to 
Rinaldo of M(mialban. called, by Ario»ito, Ma- 
lagigi. studied the black art at Toledo, as we 
learn from I/Hisloire de Maugis D' Aggremont. 
He even held a professor's chair in the necro- 
mantic university ; for I interpret the pass.tge, 
"qu'on tous ks srpl ars d^enchantnnent, des 
charmes el conjurations, il n'y avoit meitlieur 
maistre que lui; el en lei rennm qu'on le laissoit 
en chaise, el Vappelloil on maistre Maugis." 
This Salamancan Domdaniel is said to have 
been founded by Hercules. If the classic 
reader inquires where Hercules himself learn- 
ed magic, he may consult " Le.s faicts el pro- 
crsses dii noble et vaill'inl Hercules,'^ where he 
will learn, that the fable of his aiding Atlas to 
support the heavens, arose from the said Atlas 
having taught Hercules, the noble kni/jhl-erratit, 
the seven liberal sciences, and in particular, 
that of judicial astrology. Such, according to 
the idea of the middle ages, were the studies, 
"maximus qua doctiil Atlas."— In a romantic 
iiistory of Koderic, the last Gothic King of 
Spain, he is said to have entered one of tho.se 
enchanted caverns. It was situated beneath 
an ancient tower near Toledo; and when the 
iron gates, which secured the entrance, were 
unfolded, there rushed forth so dreadful a 
whirlwind, that hitherto no one had dared 
to penetrate into its recesses. But Roderic, 
threatened wiih an invasion of the Moors, re- 
solved to enter the cavern, where he expected 
to find some prophetic intimation of the event 
of the war. Accordingly, his train being fur- 
nished with torches, so artiticially composed 
that the tempest could not extinguish them, 
the King, witli great difficulty, penetrated into 
a square liall, m.scribed all over with Arabian 
characters. In the midst stood a colossal sta- 
tue of brass, representing a Saracen wielding 
a Moorish mace, with which it discharged fu- 
rious blows on all sides, and seemed thus to 
excite the tempest wtiich raged around. Being 
conjured by Koderic, it ceased from striking, 
until he read, inscribed on the right hand, 
"Wretched Monarch, for thy ei'il hast thou come 
hither;" on the left Uii\\[l,"Thuu shall he dis- 
possessed by a strange pfople ;" on one shoulder, 
"/ mvoke the sons of Hugar ;" on the other, "i 
do mine office" When the King had deciphered 
these ominous inscriptions. the stattie ininnied 
to its exercise, the tempest commenced anew, 
and Roderic retired, to mourn over the pre- 
dicted evils which approached his throne He 
caused the gates of the cavern to be locked 
and barricaded; but, in the course of the 
night, the tower fell with a tremendous noise, 
and under its ruins concealed for ever the 
entrance to the mystic cavern. The conquest 
of Spam by the Saracens, and the death of the 
uiiloriunate Don Koderic. fultilled the prophecy 
of llie brazen statue. Brstona verdadera del 
R/y Bon Riidrigo por el Subw Alcayde Almlca- 
cim. traduzeda de La knyuu Arabiga por Miquel 
de Luna, 1654, cap. vi. 



A 



V- 



L4Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



53 \ 



Note 2 E. 

The bells would ring tn l\olre Dame. 



P. 20. 



1 



•' Tan'amne rem tarn nnjligentrr ?" says Tvr 
whitt. of his prediicessor Speislit ; wlio, in hi; 
commen'ary on Cliaucer. had omitted, as 
trivial and fabuhms. the story of Wade and 
his Ixiat Giiinselot. to the &real prejudice of 
posterity, I he nieniory of the hero and the boat 
beina: now entirely lost. That future antiqiia- 
rie.s may lay no such omission to my charge. I 
have n(»led one or two of the most curren' 
traditions concerning Michael Scott. He was 
chosen, it is s.iid, to {jo upon an embassy, to 
obtain from tlie Kin? of f ranee satisfaction for 
certain piracies comimited by his subjects upon 
those of Scotland Iii.ste:id of preparing a new 
equipage and splendid retuiue. the ambassador 
retreated to his study, o[)ened his book, and 
evoked a tiend in the shape of a liuse black 
horse, moiinied upon h;s back, anil forced liini 
to fly through the airioward s France. As they 
crossed the" sea. the devil insidiously asked his 
rider, What it was the old women of Scotland 
muttered at bed-time ? A less experienced 
wizard might have answered that it was the 
Pater Noster, which would have licensed the 
devil to precipitate him from his back. But 
Michael siernlv replied, "What is that to 
thee?— Mount, Diabolus. and fly!'' When he 
arrived at Paris, he tied his Jiorse to the gate 
of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered 
his message. An ambassador, with so liitle of 
the pomp and ciroums'ance of iliplomacy, was 
not received with much respect, and the King 
was about to return a contemptuous retusal 
to his demand, wlien .Michael besought him to 
suspend his resolution till he liad seen his horse 
Stamp three times. The first stamp shook 
every steeple in Paris, and caused all the bells 
to ring; the second ilirew down three of the 
towers of the pnlace ; and the infernal steed 
had lifted his hoof to give the third slaiii[), 
when llie King rather chose to di.>^iiiiss Mi 
chael, with the most ample concessions, th.ui 
tostand to the probable ciinseijut^iK'es. Another 
time, it is said. that, wlien residi ng at the Tower 
of Oakwood. upon the Etirick, about three 
miles above Selkirk, he heard of the f.iine of a 
sorceress, called the Witch of Falseliope. wlio 
lived (m the opposite side of the rver. Ahcliael 
went one morning to put her skill to the test. 
but was disappointed, by her denying positively 
any knowledge of the necromantic art. In !iis 
discoui-se wiiii her, he laid his wand madvert- 
ently on the table, which the h.tg observing, 
suddenly snatched it up, and struck him wiih 
it. Feeling the torce of the charm, he rushed 
out of the hou.se : but, as it had conferred on 
him the external appearance of a hare, his 
servant, who waited without, halloo'd uimui 
the discomfited wizard his own greyhounds, 
and pursued him so close, that, in order to ob- 
tain a moment's breathing to rever.se the 
charm Michael, after a very fatiguing course, 
was fain to take refuge in his own juwkoU'. (An- 
glice, common sewer). In order to revenge 
himself of the witch of Falsehope. Micliael. 
one moniing in the ensuing harvest, went to 
the lull above the house with his dogs, and 
sent down liis servant to ask a bit of bread 
from the good wife for his greyhounds, with 



instruciio:is what to do if he met with a d«- 
nial Accordingly, when the witch had refused 
the boon with contumely, the servant, as his 
master had directed, laid above the door a 
paper which lie had given him. containing, 
amongst many cabalistical wortbi, the well- 
known rhyme, — 

" Maister Michael Soolt's man 
Sought meat, and gat Dane." 

Immediately the good old woman, instead 
of pursuing her dome.stic occupation, which 
was baking bread for the reapers, began to 
dance round the fire,repeating the rhyme, and 
continued this exercise till her husband sent 
the reapers to the house, one after another, to 
see what had delayed their provision ; but the 
charm caught each as they entered, and, losing 
all idea of returning, they joined in the dance 
and chorus. At length the old man himself 
went to the house ; but as his wife's frolic 
with Mr. Michael, whom he had seen on the 
hill, made hun a li tie cautious, he contented 
himse.f with looking in at the window, and 
saw the reapers at their involuntary exercise, 
dr.igging his wif,-, now completely exhausted, 
someiiiiies round, and sometimes through, the 
fire, which was, as usual, in the inidst of the 
house. Instead of eniermg, he saddled a horse, 
and rode up the hill, to humble himself i)efore 
-Michael, and beg a cessation of the spell ; 
which the good iiatured warlock immediately 
granted, direcung him to enter the house 
iiackwaids. and with his left hand take the 
spell from above the door; whicli accordingly 
ended the supernatural dance. — This tale wiis 
told less particularly in former editions, and I 
have been censured for inaccuracy in doing 
so.— A similar charm occurs in Huon de Dour- 
c/eaMx,and in the ingenious Oriental tale, called 
the CaLipk Valhek. 

Notwithstanding his victory over the witch 
of Falsehope. Michael Scott, like his predeces- 
sor. Merlin, fell at last a victim lo female art. 
His wife, or concubine, elicited from him the 
secret, thai his art could ward off any danger 
except the poisonous qu.dities of broth, made 
of the flesii of a breme sow. Such a mess she 
accordingly administered to the wizard, wiio 
died in consequence of eating it; surviving, 
liowever, long enough to put to death his 
treacherous couiidauc. 



Note 2 F. 

The notes that cleft Eildon hills in three.— P. 20. 

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much 
embarrassed by a spirit, for whom he was under 
the necessity of finding constant employment. 
He commanded him to build a canld, or dam- 
head across the Tweed at Kelso ; it was ac- 
complished in one night, and still does honour 
to the infernal arcliitei:t Michael next oideied, 
that Eildon hill, which was then a uniform 
one, should be divided into three. Anoiher 
ight was sufficient to part its summit into 
the three picturesque peaks which it now 
bears. At length the enchanier conquered 
this mdefatigabie demon, by einployin- him in 
the hopeless and endless task ot nuikiug ropes 
out of sea-saud. 



V 



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64 



APPENDIX TO THE 



M 



V wi 



Note 2 G. 

Thai lump fhnll Imrn luiqiienchnhly. 
Until Ike f:h:iHiil (loom shall be — P. 21. 

H;iptist!i Porta, iitiil oliier uiiitiors wlio Meat. 
of iiutuiiil magrio, talk nuu'li of denial lamps, 
picteiided to have fjeeti found huitiiiis in an- 
cient sepulcliies. l-'ortunius Licetus nivesti- 
ffates tlie sniiject in a treatise, Dc Lucernis 
Aniiqwnum Rucoittiitis, piiblisiied at Venice, 
U>21. One ol iliese perpetual lanips_ is said to 
li;ive lieen di.scoveied in the tonil) of Tulliola, 
the danjrhter of Cicero. The wick was sup- 
posed to be composed of asbestos. Kirclier 
eiiinnerates three ditrerent reci|)es for con- 
slnicliiiic such lain|s; and wisely concludes, 
that the thiiiK; is neverlhfless impossible.— 
MhiuIhs Suhierratnictes, p. 72. Dehio imputes 
the fabrication of such lisbts to magical skill. 
— DisquisiLiows MutjiccB. ji. 58 In a vtr> rare 
romance, which 'lieaieih of the life of Vir- 
gilius, and of his delh. and many marvayles 
that lie dyd in his lyfe-liinf. by uyciiciafte and 
ny^jramaiicv e, lhroiif<lie the lieipe of ibe de- 
vj'ls of hell," mention is made of a very extra- 
ordinary process, in which one of tliese mys- 
tical lamps was employed It seems that 
Viixii, as he advan(;ed in years, liecame de- 
sirous of renovating' his youtli by magical art 
For this purpose he consirucied a solitary 
tower, iiavm;^ oiilvone narrow portal, in which 
lie placed t wciily-lour copper ligiires. armed 
with iron flails, ivvelve on each side of the 
porch. 'These enchanted statues struck witii 
their flails incf.vsaiii ly, and rendered all en- 
trance impossible, unless when Virsil touciied 
the spring:, which slopped their motion. To 
this tower he repaired priva:ely. attended by 
one trus'y servant, to whom he communicated 
the secret of tlie entrance, and hither they 
conveyed all the inasiciairs treasure. " '1 lieu 
saycle Vir^ilius, my dere beloved frende, and 
he that 1 above aKe iiieii trnste and kiiowe 
nioosle of my secret ." and then he led the 
man into a cellar, where he made Ajayir lamp 
at all siusons burnyjiye. "And then said Vir- 
gilius to the man, ' Se you the barrel that 
slandeth here V and he sayd, yea : ' Therein 
must ihou put me: fyrst ye must slee me, and 
lie we me smal e to piecis, and cut my lied in 
iiii pieces, and salte the heed under in I he bot- 
tom, and then llie pieces there after and mv 
herte ill the myddel, and then set I he liarrel 
under the lani|ie, that nyfjhie and day the tat 
thereiii may droppe aiidleake; and ye shall ix 
dayes long, ones m the day.fyll the lampe.and 
fayle nat And when this is all done, then 
shall 1 be reneued, and made yoiige agen." 
At this exliaoidinary pro[)osal, the confidant 
was sore abashed, and made some scruple of 
olieymg his master's commands. At length, 
liowever, he complied, and Virgil was slain, 
pickled, and barrelled up, in all respects ac- 
cording to his own direction. 'I'he servant 
then left the tower, taking care to put the 
cojiper thrashers in motion at his departure. 
He continued daily to visit the tower with the 
same precaution Meanwhile, the emperor, 
wiih whom Vugil was a great favourite, missed 
hini from the court, and demanded of his ser- 
vant where he was The domestic pretended 

iiorance. till the emperor threatened him 
witli death, wlieu at length he conveyed him 



to the enchanted tower The same threat 
extorted a discovery of the mode of stopping 
the statues from wielding their flails. "And' 
then the emperoureiiteied into the castle with 
all his foike, and sought ail aboute in every 
corner afier Virgilius; and at ilie laste tliey 
sought so longe, that they came into the seller, 
where they sawe the lampe hang over the 
barrel!, where Virgilius lay in deed. Then 
asked the emperoiir the man, who had made 
hym so lierdy to put his maysier Virgilius so to 
dellie ; and the man answered no woide to the 
emperour. And then theemperour, with gt eat 
anger, drewe out liis sworde, and slewe he 
there Virgilius' man. And when all this was 
done, then sawe the emperour, and all Iris 
folke. a naked child iii tymes rennynge alioul 
the harrell. saynge these wordes, ' t ursed be 
the tyine that ye ever came here ' And with 
those words vanyshed the chylde awaye, and 
was never sene ageyn ; and thus abyd Virgilius 
in the barrell deed." — yirtjilms.hl. let, printed 
at Antwerpe by John Doesborcke This curi- 
ous volume is in the valuable library of Mr. 
Douce : and is supposed to be a translation 
from the French, printed in Flanders for the 
English market. See Gmijet Bihlwlh. Franc. 
ix. 22.'5. CalaloijiK tie la BtblioUirque Nalionak, 
torn. ii. p. 5. De Bare, No 3857. 



Note 2 H. 

Then Delorome, in terror, took 
From tlie cold fuind llie Mighty Book, 

He thought, as he look it. the dead man froum'd. 
— P. 21. 

William of Deloraine might lie strengthened 
in this belief by ibe well-known story ol the 
Cid Kiiy Diaz. V\ hen the body of that famous 
Chrisiiaii champion was sitlmg in state bv the 
high altar of the calhedial church of Toledo, 
where it remained for ten yeais, a certain 
malicious Jew attempted to pull him by the 
beard ; but he hati no .sooner touched the for- 
inidalile whiskers, than the corpse started up, 
and half unsheathed Ins sword The Israelite 
fled; and so permanent was the eflect of his 
terror, that he became Christian. — Heyivood's 
Hierrirchie, p. 480, quoted from Stbastiati Cobar- 
ruvius Crozte. 



Note 2 I. 

The Baron's Dwarf his courser held. —P. 22. 

The idea of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page is 
taken fnmi a being called Gdpm Horner, who 
a[ipeared, and made some stay, at a farm-house 
among the Border-mountains. A gentleman 
of that country has noted down tlie following 
I particulars concerning his appearance : — 
I "The only certain, at least most probable 
I account, that ever 1 heard of Uilpin Horner, 
was from an old man, of the name of Anderson, 
] who was born. and lived all his life atTodshaw- 
i hill, in Fskedale-niuir, the place where Gilpm 
j appeared and staid for some time. He said 
i there were two men, late in the evening, when 
it was growing dark, employed in fastening tlie 
' horses upon the uttermost part of their griiund. 




(that is, tyins; ilieir forefeet together, to liiiider 
them from travellm? far )ii tlie iii^jhi,) when 
they heard a voine, at some distance, cryiiifj. 
'Tin/! Tint! TitiH' ^ One of the me ri. iiaiiied 
Miiflal. called out. -Wliat deil has lint you T 
Come here ' Iniiiiediately a creature, of some- 
thniK hke a human form, appeared. It was 
surprisingly little, distorted in features, and 
iiiisshiipen in limbs. As soon as ihe two men 
could see it plainly, they ran home in a Rieat 
fright. iiiKurinins they had met with some g;ob- 
hn By the way, Moffiit fell, and it ran over 
liim, and was home at the house as soon as 
either of lliem, and slaid there a lonsc time; 
hut I cannot say how Ions: It was real flesh 
and blood, and ate and drank, was fond of 
cream, and. when it could Ret at it, would 
destroy a great deal. It seemed a mischievous 
creature; and any of the children vvlioin it 
could master, it would beat and scratch with- 
out merry. It was onc^ abusing a child be- 
longing to the same Moflfat, who had been so 
frightened by its first appearance ; and he, in 
a p;iS!sioii. struck it so violent a blow upon the 
side of the head, that it tumbled upon the 
pround ; but it was not stunned ; for it set up 
Its he;ul directly, and exclaimed, 'Ah, hah, 
Will o' Moffat, you strike sair!' (viz sore) 
After it had staid there long, one evening, when 
the women were milking tlie cows in the loan, 
it was playing among the children near by 
them, when suddenly they heard a loud shrill 
voice cry three times, ' Gilpin Horiier!' It 
started, and said, TAa^ w me. I must away.' and 
instantly disappeared, and was never heard of 
more. Old Anderson did not remember it. but 
said, lie had often heard his father, and other 
old men in the place, who were there at the 
time, speak about it ; and in my younger yeai-s 
I have often heard it mentioned, and never met 
with any who had the remotest doubt as to the 
truth of the story; although, I must own, I 
cannot help thinking there must be some mis- 
representation in it." — Tt) this account, I have 
to add the following particulars from the most 
respectable authority. Besides constantly re- 
peating the word tint! tint! Gilpin Horner was 
often heard to call upon Peter Bertram, or 
Be-te-ram, as he pronounced the word ; and 
when the shrill voice called Gilpin Horner, he 
immediately acknowledged it was the sum- 
mons of the said Peter Berti-am : who seems 
therefore to have been the devil who had tint, 
or lost, the little imp. As much has been 
objected t(» Gilpm Horner, on account of his 
being supposed rather a devit-e of the author 
than a popular superstitiiin, lean only say, that 
no legend which I ever heard seemed to be 
more universally credited; and that many 
persons of very good rank, and considerable 
information, are well known to repose absolute 
faith iu the tradition. 



Note 2 K. 

But the Lndije of Branhsome gather'd a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command. — P.23. 
" Upon 2.=ith June, 1.^)57, Dame Janet Beatoune 
Lady Buccleuch, and a great number of the 
uaii e of Scott, delaitit (accused) for coming to 



1 Tint signifies lott. 



e kirk of St. Mary of the Lowes, to the num- 
ber of iwo hundred persons bodin m feire of 
weue. (arrayed in armour.) and breaking open 
the door of the said kirk, m order to apprehend 
Ihe Laird of ("ranstoune for his destruction " 
On the 20th July, a warrant iVom the Queen 
IS presented, discharging the justice to proceed 
against the Lady Buccleuch while new calling. 
—Abridgment of Books of Adjournal, in Advo- 
cates' Librnry. — The following proceedings 
up(m this ca.se appear on the record of the 
Court of Justiciary : On the 25th of June, 1557, 
Roliert Scott, in Bowhill parish, priest of the 
kirk of St. Mary's, acx;used of the convocation 
of the Queen's liesres, to the number of two 
hundred per-sons, in warlike array, with jacks, 
helmets, and other weapons, and marching to 
the chapel of St Mary of the Lowes, for the 
slaughter of Sir Peter Cranstoun, out of ancient 
feud and malice prepense, and of breaking the 
doors of the said kirk, is ie[iledged by the 
Archbishop of GlasKow. The bail given by 
Robert Scott of Allanhaugh, Adam Scott of 
Bunifute, Robert Scott m Howfurde, Walter 
Scott in Todshawhaugh, Walter Scott younger 
of Sjmton, Thomas Scott of Hayning, Robert 
Scott, William Scott, and James Sc<itt, brothers 
of the said Walter Scott, Walter Scott in the 
Woll. and Walter Scott, son of William Scolt 
of Harden, and James Wemyss in Eckford, all 
accused of the same crime, is declared to be 
forfeited. On the same day. Walter Scott of 
Synt(m, and Walter Chisholme of Chisholme, 
and William Scott of Harden, became bound, 
jointly and severally, that Sir Peter Cranstoun, 
and his kindred and sei-vants, should receive 
no injury from them in future. At the same 
time, Patrick Murray of Fallohill, Alexander 
Stuart, uncle to the Lainl of Trakwhare, John 
Murray of Newhall, John Fairlye. residing in 
Selkirk. George Tait. younger of Pirn, John 
Pennycuke of PennjTuke, James Ramsay of 
Cokp'en. the Laird of Fassyde, and the Lainl 
of Henderstoune, were all severally fined for 
not attendiiis as jurors ; beins probably either 
in alliance with the accused parlies, or dread- 
ing their vengeance. Upon the 2(lth of July 
following, Scott of Synton. Chisholme of Chis- 
holme, Scott of Harden, Scitt of Howpaslie, 
Scott of Buinfute, with many others, are or- 
dered to appear at next calling, under the 
pains of treason. But no farther procedure 
seems to have taken place. It is said, that, 
upon this rising, the kirk of St. Maiy was burnt 
by the Scotts. 



Note 2 L. 

Lake a book-bosom'd priest. — P. 24. 

"At Unthank, two miles N. E. from the 
church (of Ewes), there are the ruins of a 
chapel for divine service, in time of Popery. 
There is a tradition, that friars were wont to 
come from Melrose or Jedburgh, to baptise and 
marry in this parish ; and from being in use to 
carry" the mass book in their bosoms, they were 
called by the inhabitants, Book-a-Bosomes. 
There is a man yet alive, who knew old men 
who had been baptised by these Book-a-Bo- 
somes, and who says one of them, called Hair, 
used this parish for a very longtime."— ^rrou«/ 
of Parish of Ewes, opud Macfarlane's MSS. 



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66 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^: 



Note 2 M. 

AU was delusion, naught was truth. — P. 24. 

Glamour, in the legends of Scottish super- 
Btition. means the riiasio power of iiiiposiug; on 
the eyesight of the spectators, so that the ap- 
pearance of an object shall be totally ditferent 
from the reality. 'I'he trunsforinatioa of Mi- 
chael Scott by the witch of Falseliope, already 
mentioned, was a genuine operation of gla- 
mour. To a similar charm the ballad of 
Johnny Fa' imputes the fascination of the 
Uu'ely Countess, who eloped with that gip.sy 
leader :— 



It was formerly u.sed even in war. In 1381. 
when the Duke of Anjou lay before a strong 
castle.upcm the coast of Na[)les. a necromancer 
offered to •' make the a\ re so tiiycke. that they 
within shall thvnke that there is a bridge on 
the see (bv which the castle was surrounded) 
for ten men to go a front; and whan they 
within the castle se tliis bridge, they will be 
so afrayde, lliat they shall yelde them to your 
mercy. The Duke demanded,—' Fayre Master, 
on tliis bridge that ye speke of, may our people 
assuredly go thereon lo the castell, lo assayle 
il, ?'_' Syr,' quod the enchantour, ' I dare not 
assure vou that; for if any that passeth on 
the bridge make the signe of the crosse on 
hym, all shall go to nougiite, and they that be 
on the bridge shall fall into the see.' Then 
the Duke beean to laugh ; and a certain of 
young knightes, that were tiiere present, said, 
*Syr, for godsake. let the niaysier assey his 
cunning: we shall leve making of any signe 
of the crosse on us for that ty me. ' " The Earl 
of Savoy, sliortly after, entered the tent, and 
recognised in the eiichan'er the same person 
who had put the ca.stle into the power of Sir 
Charles de la Payx. who tlien held it, by per- 
suading the garrison of the Queen of Naples, 
throush magical deception, that the sea was 
Coming over the walls. The sage avowed tlie 
feat, and added, that he was the man in the 
world most dreaded liy Sir Charles de la Payx. 
"'By my fayth,' quod" the Earl of Savoy, "ye 
say well; aiid I will that Syr Chailes de la 
Payx shall know thai he liatli gret wroiige to 
fear you. But I shall assure hym of you ; for 
ye shall never do encliaiitment to deceyve 
iiym, nor yet none other. I wolde not that in 
tyme to come we shulde l)e reproached that 
in so high an enterprise as we be in, wherein 
there be so many noble knyghtes and squyres 
assembled, that we shulde do any thing he 
enchantment, nor that we shulde wyn our 
enemys he suche cralte.' Tiien he culled to 
him a servaunt. and said. ' Go, and g(;t a hang- 
man, and let him stiyke offthis mayster's heed 
without delay ;' and as soone as the Erie had 
commanded it, iiicontynent it was done, for 
his heed was siryken of before the Erie's 
tent.'-— Froissart, vol i. ch. 391. 392. 

The artof glamour, or other fascination, was 
anciently a principal part of the skill of the 



Houlat, written by a dependent of the house 
of Douglas, about 1452-3, the jay, m an a.ssem- 
bly of birds, plays the part of the juggler. 
His feats of glamour are thus described :— 



.semyt 



I hoiti 



hai) 



I sayr 



iland on Ihe see sihippis of loure, 
baltalland on burd brim as a bare ; 
jlde carye the coup of the kiugis des, 
e leve in the slede, 
a blaik bunwede ; 
He could of a henis hede 
Make a mau mes. 



Syr 



" He gart the Emproure trow, and trewlye behald. 

That the comcToik, the puiidern at hand, 
Had poyiidit all his pris hors in a poyud fald. 

Because Ihai eie of the corn in the kirkland. 
He coulil wirk windaris, quhat way that he wald, 

Milk a Kray gus a gold gailand, 
A lang spere of a biltile, for a berne bald, 

Nohilis of nutschelles, and silver of sand. 
Thus joukit with juxters the janglane ja, 

Fair ladyes in ringis, 

Knychiis in caralyugis, 

Bayth dansis and eiugis, 
It seinyt as iia." 



Note 2 N. 

Now, xf you ask who gave the stroke, 

I caimot tell, so mot 1 thrive ; 

It was not given by man alive. — P. 24. 

Dr. Henry More, in a letter prefixed to 
Glanville's Saducismus Triumpliatus, mentions 
a similar phenomenon. 

" I remember an old gentleman in the 
country, of my acquaintance an excellent 
justice of peace, and a piece of a mathema- 
tician ; but what kind of a philosopher he was, 
you may understand from a rhyme of his own 
making, which he commended to me at my 
taking horse in liis yard, which rhyme is 
this:— 



Which rhyme of his was so rapturous to him- 
self, that, "on the reciting of the second verse, 
the old man turned himself about upon his 
toe as nimbly as one may observe a dry leaf 
whisked round the corner of an orchard-walk 
by some little whirlwind With this philoso- 
pher 1 have had many discourses concerning 
the ininioitality of the soul and its distinction ; 
when I have run him quite down by reason, 
he would hut laugh at me. and say this is 
logic, H {ctilling me by my Christian name,) 
to which I replied, this is reason, father L (for 
so I used and some others to call hiin ;) but it 
seems you are for the new liehts, antl imme- 
diate inspir.ition, which I confess he was as 
little for as f<ir llie other; liut I said so only 
in liie way of drollery to liim in those times, 
but truth IS, nothing but palpable experience 
would move him ; and being a bold man. and 
fearing ndhing, he told me had used all the 
magical ceremonies of conjuration he could, 
to raise the devil or a spirit, and had a most 
earnest desire to meet with one, but never 
could do it. But this he told me, when he 



jowf/teur, or juggler, whose tricks formed much dul notsomuch asthink of it, while his servant 

of the amusement of a Gothic castle. Some was [lulling otf his boots in the hall, some in- 

jnstances of this art miiybe found in the Min- risible hanil gave him such a clap upon the 

strelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. iv. p. 106. oack, that it made all ring again; 'so.' thought 

In a strange allegorical poem, called the he, now, • I am invited to the converse of my 



^. 



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LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 



spirit,' antl therefore, so soon as his hoots were 
off, and his shoes oii.ou! he soes into the yiird 
and next field, to tind out tiie spirit that h;id 
piven hini this laniiliar clap on the back, liut 
found none neither in the yard nor field next 

to It. 

■• But ihoiiKh he did not feel this stroke, al- 
beit he thoUi;ht it afterwards (tiiidins nothiiijir 
came of it) a mere delusion ; yet not Ions hc- 
«»re his death, it had more force with him thiin 
all I he philosophical aririimenls 1 could use to 
liinl.tlioiKh I could wind him and nonplus him 
as I pleased; but yet all my aiKuiiieiits, how 
solid soever, made no impression upon liiiii ; 
wherefore, afier several reasoniiiss of this 
nature. wlierel)y I would prove to him the 
soul's distinction from the body, and its ini- 
niortality, when nothing of such subiile consi- 
deration did any more execuuon on his mind 
than some liffhlnms: is said to do, thousjh it 
melts the sword, on the fuzzy consistency of 
the scabbard,—' VVell,' said I, ' lat lier L , though 
none of these things move you, 1 have some- 
thing still behind, and what yourself has ac- 
knowledged to be true, that may do the busi- 
ness:— Do you remember the clap on your 
back when your servant was [(Uiliiis otf your 
boots in the hall? Assure yourself, says 1. 
fathf-r 1.., that goblin will be ihe lirst to bid 
you welcome into the other world.' Upon that 
his countenance clianaed most sensibly, and 
he was more confounded with this rul>bing up 
his memory, than with all the rational or phi- 
losophical argumentations that 1 could pro- 
duce." 



Note 2 0. 

The running stream dissolved the spell. — P. 24. 

It is a firm article of popular faith, that no 
encliaii'nient can subsist in a living stream. 
Nay, if you can imerpose a hrook lieiwixt you 
and witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are 
in perfect safely. Burns's iniinitable Tom o' 
Shanler turns entirely upon such a circum- 
stance. The belief seems to be of antiquity. 
Brompton informs us. that certain Irish wizards 
could, by spells, convert earthen clods, nr 
stones, into fat piss, which they sold in the 
market, but which always reassiimcil ilieir 
proper form when driven by the deceived 
purchaser across a running stream But 
Brompton is severe on the Irish lor a very 
good reason. "Gens ista spuicissiiii:i non sol- 
vuiit decimas "—Chronicon Johanuus lii umplun 
apud decern Scriptores, p. 1076. 



Note 2 P. 

He never counted him a man, 

Wuultl strike betuv> the knee. — P. 25. 

Imitated from Drayton's account of Robin 
Hood and his followers : — 

" A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, 
Still ready ai hii> call, that bowmen were right good : 
All tUd II Lim oln treen, wilh caps of red and blue, 
His fellow's winded horn not one of them hut knew. 
When ^Ncuiiig to their lips their bugles .shrill. 
The wart.liiig echoes waked from every dale and hill ; 
Their bauldrn .. sei wiih »tud« athwart their shoulders cast. 
To which under their ai ms tlieir sheafs were but liled fast. 



A short sword al their belt, a buckler scarce a span, 

Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. 

.\il made of Spanish yew, their hows were wondrous strong 

Thiy not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long. 

Of archery they had the very perfect craft, 

Wilh broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roviuR shaft." 

Poly-Alhiun. Song 26. 

To woiftid an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, 
was reckoned contrary to the law of arms In 
a tilt betwixt Gawain Michael, an Englisli 
squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenchman, 
" they met at the speare poyntes rudely; the 
?Veiich squyer justed right pleasantly ; tlie 
Knglishman ran too lowe. for he sirak thf! 
Frenchman depe into the thigh. Where willj 
the Erie of Buckingham w:ls right sore dis- 
pleased, and so were all the other lords, and 
sayde how it was shamefully done."'— Frois.sart, 
vol. i. chap 366. Upon a similar occjision, 
"the two knyslits came a fote eche against 
other rudely, with their speares low couched, 
to stryke eche other within the foure quarters. 
Johan of Castell-iMorant strake the Emrlish 
squyer on the brest in such wyse. that Syr 
Wy'ilvam Fermetone stoinbled and bowed, fiir 
his fote a lytlel fayled him He helde his 
speare lowe with both his handes. and coude 
nat amende it, and strake Syr Johan of the 
Castell-Morant in the thighe.sothat the speare 
went clene throughe, that the heed was sene 
a handfuU on the other syde. And Syr Johan 
with the stroke reled, but he fell nat. Thau 
the Englyshe knyghtes and squyers were ryghie 
sore displeased, and sayde how it was a foule 
stroke. Syr Wyllam Fermeton excused hiin- 
selfe, and sayde how he was sorie of that ad- 
venture, and howe that yf he had knoweii that 
itshulde have bene so, he wolde never have 
begon it ; sayenge how he could nat amende 
It, by cause of glaunsmg of his fote by con- 
stravi 

theCastell- 
vol. i. chap. 373. 



?t 



yiit of the great stroke that Syr Joiian of 
Castell-Morant had given him."— Froissurl, 



Note 2 Q. 

She drew the splinter from the wound. 
And with a charm she stancVd the blood. — P. 25. 

See several charms for this purpose in Kegi- 
ntild ScoCi's Discovery of Witchcraft, p. 273. 

"Tom Polls was hut a serving man. 

But yet he was a doctor good ; 

He bound his handkerchief on the wound. 

And with some kinds of words he stanched the blood." 

Piecet uj Ancient Popular Poetr}/, Lond. 1791, p. ISL 



Note 2 R. 

But she has ta^en the broken lance, 
And wash'd il from the clotted gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. — P. 26. 

Sir Kenelin Digby. in a discourse upon the 
cure by sympathy, pronounced at Monlpelier 
before an'as.sernblv of nobles and learned men, 
translated into English by R. White, gentle- 
man, and publislied in 1 6.%. gives us the fol- 
lowing curious surgical case ; — 

" .Mr. James Howel (well known in France 
for his public works, and particularly for his 
Dendrologie, translated into French by .\Ioiis. 
B udouin) coming by chance, as two of 



V 




APPENDIX TO THE 



N 



^ 



best friends were figlitinjr in duel, lie did his 
endt^avimrtopurt tlieni ; and. pntrin? liimselte 
beiweeii them, seized, with tiis lelr hund, upon 
the hill of the sword of one of the r(iiiil);it;iiifs, 
wiiile with his r\s;\\t hniid, h(^ bud hold ot the 
blade of the oilier. Ihey, biMii- transported 
with fury one usuiiist the oUier. si nis-led to 
rid themselves of the hitideranc.e tlieir Iriend 
made, that they should not kill one Hnoiher; 
and one of tliem roughly drawing the blade 
of Ins sword, cuts to the very hone the nerves 
nnd muscles of Mr llowel's limid ; and then 
the oiher disensaged his hills, and f;ave a 
cidsse blow on his adveisarie's head, which 
Rlanced towards his friend, who heaving nii 
his sore hand to save the blow, he was wounded 
on the back of his hand as he had been before 
within. It seems some strange (;onsiellaiion 
reigned then aJ?ainst liiin, that he should h)se 
so iniichbloud by parting iwnsiichtlearfriends, 
who, had they been tliemst-lves, would have 
hazarded both their lives to have preserved 
his ; but this involuntary effusion of bloud by 
them, prevented that which they sliolde have 
drawn one from the other. For they, seeing 
Mr. Howei's fare besmeared with bloud, by 
heaving up his wounded hand, they both ran 
to enihrace hini ; and, having searched his 
liurts, they bound up his hand with one of his 
garters, to close the veins which were cui , and 
bled abundantly, 'i'liey brought him home, 
and sent for a surgeon, liut this l)eing heard 
at court, the King sent one of his own sur- 
geons; for his majesty much alfecied the said 
Mr. Howel. 

" It was my chance to be lodged hard by 
him : and four or hve days afier, as I was 
making myself ready, he came to my house, 
una prayed me to view liis wounds ; ' for I 
understand.' said he, 'that you have extraor- 
dinary remedies on such occasions, and my 
surgeons apprehend some fear that it may 
grow to a gangrene, and so the hand must be 
cut oH'.' In elfect, his coiintenaiice discovered 
that he was m much pam. which he said was 
itisupt)ortable, in regard of the extreme in- 
flammation. T told him I would willingly serve 
him ; hut if haply he knew the manner how I 
would cure hini without touc.limg or seeing 
him. It may be he would not expose himself to 
niy manner of curing, because he would think 
it, peradventure, either metlectual or super- 
stitious. He replied, 'the wonderful things 
which many have n-lated unto me of your way 
of medicament, make.s me not lung doubt at all 
of itsetficacy ; and all that I have to sav unto 
you is compieiiended in the Siianish jiroverb, 
Hagaae el ninatjro y hagaw Mnhoma — Let the 
miracle be done, though Mahomet do it.' 

" 1 asked him then for any tliingthai had the 
blood upon it; so he presenlly sent for his 
garter, wherewith his hand was first bound 
and as I called for a bason of water, as if I 
would wash my hands. 1 took a handful of 
p<).vder of vitriol, winch I liad in my study, 
and presently dissolved it. As soon as llie 
bloody garter was brought me. I put it wiihin 
the b.uson, observing, in the interim, what Mr. 
Howel did. who stood talking with a gentle- 
man in a corner of my ('haniber. not reg.iiiling 
at all what I was doing; but he started suil- 
denly, as if he had found some strange altera- 
tion in himself. 1 asked him what he ailed ' 
I know not what ailcs me : but I linde that 1 



feel no more pain. Methinks that a pleasing 
kinde of freshnesse, as it were a wet cold 
napkin, did spread over my hand, which hath 
taken away the inflammation that tormented 
me before"'— I replied. 'Since then that you 
t'eel already so good elfect of my medicament, 
I advise you to cast away all your playsters ; 
only keep the wound clean, and in a moderate 
temper betwixt heat and cold.' This was 
presently leported to the Duke of Bucking- 
ham, and a little after to the King, who were 
both very curious to know the circumstance 
of the biismesse, which was, that after dinner 
I took the garter out of the water, and put it 
to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, 
but Mr. Howei's servant cmne running, that 
Ins master felt as much burning as ever he had 
done, if not more; for the heat was such as if 
his h;ind were 'twixt coles of fire. I answered, 
although that had happened at present, yet he 
should find ease in a short time ; for I knew 
the reason of this new accident, and would 
provide accordingly ; for his master should be 
free from that mliammation, it may be before 
he could possibly return to him; l)Ut in case 
he found no ease. 1 wished him to come pre- 
sently back again; if not, he might forbear 
coming. Thereupon he went; and at the in- 
stant I did put again the garter into the water, 
thereupon he found his master without any 
pam at all. To be brief, there was no sense 
of paiii afterward ; but within five or six dayes 
the wounds were cicatrized, and entirely 
healed "—Page 6. 

The King (James VI.) obtained from Sir 
Keiielin the diS(!overy of his sectret, winch he 
[ireteiided had been taught him by a Carmelite 
fiiar. who had learned it m Armenia, or Persia. 
Let not the :ige of animal magnetism and me- 
tallic tractors smile at the sympathetic powder 
of Sir Kenelm Digby. Reginald Scott men- 
tions the same mode of cure in these terms : — 

'•And that wliich is more strange 

they can remedie anie stranger with that verie 
sword wherewith they are wounded. Yea, 
and that which is beyond all admiration, if 
they stroke the sword upward witli their 
tingers, the pariie shall feele no pain ; where- 
as, if they draw their fingers downwards, 
thereupon the partie wounded shall feele in- 
tolerable pam." I presume that the success 
ascribed t() the sympathetic mode of treatment 
might arise from the pains bestowed in wash- 
ing the wound, and exchidnig the air, thus 
bringing on a cure by the first intention. It is 
introduced by Dryden in the Enchanttd Islnnd, 
a (very unnecessary) alteration of the Tem- 
pest : — 

"Arier. Anoint the swonl which pit-rcrtl hini with Ibis 
Till 1 have tunc lo viail him asatii.—Acl v. ic. 2. 

Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with 
Hippolito's sword wrapt up : — 

**Hip. O my wound pains me ! 

Mir I am lotne lo nmi- you. [^he unwraps the Saari. 
tlip. Alas, I fcrl Ihe colQ air lome lo me: 
My v.omid >.hm\-i worse Ihan ever. 

Does il ^llll Brieve you 2 [Sht wipes and anoinu 



Hip. Now.m 

MiT. Do you 

Up. Ye». yn 

is leaving nie. 



Swvrd] 



1 some : 



laid just upon it. 



y^ 



z. 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



59 



\ 



Note 2 S. 

On Penchryst ijlows a bale of fire. — P. 26. 

Bnlr, beacon fasot. The Border beacoii-S, 
from their number and posiiion, t'ormed u sort 
of tf;leu;raphiccomn»unicaliou with Kdiidiuri^li. 
— The act of Parliament 11.5.5, c. 48, directs, 
that one bale or fasot shall be waruiiiir of the 
approach of the En^lisli iii any maimer; two 
Itales ihat they are coming imlted ; four Ijules, 
hiaznis beside each oilier, that the enemy are 
in ffreat force "'i'lie same laikeningrs io be 
watched and maid at Enserhope (Eg^gerstand) 
Casteil, fra they se the tire of Hume, that they 
firii ng;lit swa And in like maimer on Sowtra 
Eike.sall se the fire of Eirirerliope Casteil, and 
niak taikenin? in like manner : And then may 
all Loiithaine he warned, and in special the 
Casteil of Edinhurijii ; and their four fires to 
be made in like manner, that they in Fife, and 
fia St rive 1 1 HIT east, and the east part of Lou- 
tli:iine. and to Dunbar, all may se them, and 
Come to the defence of the realme." These 
beacons (at least in latter times) were a " Ions 
and strong tree .set u(), with a hins; iron pole 
ai-rossthe head olit.and an iron blander fixed 
t»:i a stalk in the middle of it, for holding a tar- 
barrel." — Stevenson's Hislwy, vol. ii. p. 701. 



Note 2 T. 

Our km, and cliin, and friends to raise. — P. 26. 

The speed with which tlie Borderers col 
lected great bodies of horse, may be judged of 
from the ibllowing extract, when the subject 
of the rising was niucii less important than 
that supposed in the romance. It is taken 
from Carey's Memoirs : — 

•• Upon the death of the old ford Scroop, the 
Queen gave the west wardeiiry to his son, that 
had married my sister. He "having received 
that office, came to me with sreat earne.stness. 
and desired me to be his deputy, offering me 
that I should live with him in his house; that 
he would allow me half a dozen men, and as 
many horses, to be kept at his cliargt; ; and his 
fee beins 1000 merks yearly, he would part it 
with me. and I should have' the half This his 
noble offer I accepted of, and went with him 
to C.irlisle ; where I w;is no sooner come, but 
I entered into my office. We had a stirring 
time of it; and few days past over my head 
but I was on horseback, either to prevent mis- 
ciiief. or take malefactors, and to bring the 
Border in belter quiet than it had been in times 
past. One memorable thing of God's mercy 
shewed unto nie, was sucli as I have good 
cause still to remember it. 

" I h.id private intelligence given me, that 
there were two Scottishmen that had killed a 
churchman in Scotland, and were by one of 
the Grsemes relieved. This Gi"2eme dwelt 
within five miles of Carlisle. He had a pretty 
house, and close by it a strong tower, for his 
own defence in time of need.— About two 
o'clock in the morning. I look horse in Carlisle, 
and not above twenty-five in my company, 
thinking to suipri.se the house on a sudden. 
Before I could surround the house, the two 
Scots were gotten in the strong tower, and 1 



could see a boy riding from the house as fast 
as his horse could carry him; I little suspect- 
ing what it meant. "Cut Thomas Carleton 
came to me presently, and told me, that if I 
did not presently prevent it, both myself and 
all my company wouhl be either slam or taken 
prisoners. It was strange to me to hear this 
language He then said to me, ' Do vou see 
that boy that rideth away so fast ? He' will he 
in Scotland within this half hour; and he is 
gone to let them know that you are here, and 
to what end you are come, and the small num- 
ber you have with you ; and that if they will 
make haste, on a sudden they may surprise us, 
and do with us what they please.' Hereupon 
we took advice what w;is best to be done. 
We sent notice presently to all parts to raise 
the country, and to come to us with all the 
speed they could ; and withall we sent to Car- 
lisle to raise the townsmen ; for without foot 
we could do no good against the tower, '{'here 
we staid some hours, expecting more company; 
and within short time after the country came 
in on all sides, .so .that we were quickly be- 
tween three and four hundred horse; and. 
after some longer stay, the foot of Carlisle 
came to us. to the number of three or four 
hundred men; whom we presently set to work 
to get to the top of the tower, and to uncover 
the roof; and then some twenty of them to 
fall down together, and by that rneans to wii» 
the tower. — 'J'lie Scots, seeing their present 
danger, offered to parley, and yielded them- 
selves to my mercy. I'hey had no sooner 
opened the iron gate, and yielded themselves 
niy prisoners, iiut we might see 400 horse 
within a quarter of a mile coming to their 
rescue, and to surprise me and my small com- 
pany ; but of a sudden they stayed, and stood 
at gaze. 'Then had I more to do than ever; 
lor all our Borderers came crying, with full 
iiiout lis, ' Sir, give us leave to set upon them ; 
for these are they that have killed our fathers, 
our brothers, and uncles, and our cousins; and 
they are coming, thinking to surprise you, upon 
weak grass nags, such as they could get on a 
sudden; and God hath put them into your 
hands, that we may lake revenge of them for 
much blood that they have spilt of ours.' I 
desired they would be patient a while, and 
bethought myself, if I should give them their 
will, there would be few or none of the Scots 
that would escape unkilled; (there was so 
many deadly feuds among theui;) and there- 
fore I resolved with myself to give them a fair 
answer, but not to give them their desire. So 
I told them, that if I were not there myself, 
they might then do what they plea.sed them- 
selves ; but being present, if I should give them 
leave, the blood that should be spilt that day 
would lie very hard upon my conscience. And 
therefore I desired them, for my sake, to for- 
bear; and, if the Scots did not presently make 
away with all the speed they could, upon my 
sending to them, they should then have their 
wills to do what they pleased. They were ill 
satisfied with my answer, but durst not disobey. 
I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them 
pack away with all the speed they could ; for 
if they stayed the messenger's return, tliey 
should few of them return to their own home. 
They made no stay ; but lliev were returned 
homewards before the messenger had made 
an end of his message. Thus, by God's mercy, 



^ 



z 



V 

.' 60 



>k 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^ 



I escaped a great danj!;er; and, by my means. 
there were a great many men's lives saved 
that day." 



Note 2 U. 

On many a cairn's grey pyramid. 
Where tints of migfily cUie/s lie Ind — P 26. 
The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which 
crown the summit of most of our Scottish hills, 
and are found in other remarkable situations, 
seem usually, though not universally, to have 
been sepulchral monuments. Six flat stones 
are conunonly found in the centre, forming a 
cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, in 
whicli an urn is often placed. The author is 
possessed of one, discovered beneath an im- 
mense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is 
of the most barbarous con.xlruction : the nnil- 
dle of the substance alone having been sub- 
jected to the lire, t)ver which, when hardened, 
the artist had laid an inner and outer coat of 
unbaked clay, etched with some very rude 
ornaments; tiis skill apparently being inade- 
quate to baking the vase, when completely 
hmshed. The contents were bones and ashes, 
and a quantity of beads made of coal. This 
seems to have been a barbarous imitation of 
the Komau fashion of sepulture. 



Note 2 V. 

For pathless marsh and mountain cell. 
The peasant left his lowly shed. — P. 27. 
The morasses were the usual refuge of the 
Border herdsineu. on the approach of an En^ 
li.««h -Avmy. — {Mnistre/ry of the Scoltish Boider 
vol. i. p. 393 ) Caves, hewed in the most dan 
gerous and inaccessible places, also alForded 
an occasional retreat. Such caverns ma\ 
seen in the precipitous banks of the Teviot at 
Sunlaws, upon the Ale at Ancrani, ujion t 
Jed at Hnndalee, and in many other places 
upon the Border. I'he banks of ihe Eske, at 
Gorton and Hawthornden. are hoUowed into 
similar rece.sses. But even these dreary dens 
were not always secure places of concealment 
"In the way as we came, not far from this 
place, (Long Niddry,) George Ferres, a gentle 

man of my Lord Protector's 

happened upon a cave in the grounds, Mk 
niiiuth whereof w;is so worne with the Iresli 
printe of sle(is, that he seemed lo be certayne 
tliear wearsome folke within ; and gcmedoune 
to trie, he was readily receyved with a hake- 
hut or two. He left tlieiii not yet, till he had 
known wheyther thei wolde be content to 
yield and come out ; which they fondly refus- 
ing, he went to my lord's grace, and upon ut- 
terance of the thynge,gat licence to deale with 
them as he coulde ; and so returned to them, 
with a skore or two of pioners. Three veiites 
had their cave, that we wear ware of, whereof 
lie first stopt up on; anoother he fill'd full of 
strawe, and set it a fyer. whereat they within 
cast water apace; but it was so wel mayn- 
teyned without, that the fyer prevayled, and 
thei within fayn lo get them belyke into anoo- 
ther parler. I'hen devysed we (for I hapt to 
\)e with liiin) to stop the same up, whereby we 



should eyther smoother them, or fynd out their 
ventes, if thei hadde any moe ; as this was 
done at another issue, about xii score of, we 
moushte see the fume of their smoke to come 
out : tlie which continued with so great a force, 
and so long a while, that we could not but 
thinke they must needs get them out. or smoo- 
ther within: and forasmuch as we found not 
that they dyd the tone, we thought it for cer- 
tain thei wear sure of the tootlier."— Paiien's 
Account of Somerset's Expedition into Scotland, 
pud DalyeU's Fragments. 



Note 2 W. 

Show'd southern ravage was begun. — P. 27. 

From the following fragment of a letter from 
the Earl of Northumberland to King Henry 
VIll., preserved among the Cotton MSS. Calig. 
B vn. 179, tlie reader may estimate the nature 
of the dreadful war which was occasionally 
waged upon the Borders, sharpened by mutual 
cruellies, and the personal haired of the war- 
dens, or leaders. 

Some Scottish Barons, says the Earl, had 
threalened to come within lliree miles of my 
pore liouse of Werkworth, where I lye, aud 
gif me light to put on my clothes al mydnight ; 
and alsoo the said Marke Carr said there 
opyiily, that, seyng they had a governor in the 
Alarches of Scotland, as well as they had in 
Jiigland. he shulde kepe your highness instruc- 
tions, gyft'yn unto your garyson, for making of 
any day-torrey ; for he and his friends wolde 
bunie eiiouijh on the nyuht, letiyiigyour coun- 
saill here defyne a notable acle at, tlieyre plea- 
sores. Upon' wliiche, in your highnes name, 
I Cumaundet dewe waiche to be kepte(myour 
Marchies, for comyng in ol any Scott s. — Neuer- 
theles, upon Thursday at night last, came 
thyrty light horsemen into a litil village of 
niyne, called Whitell, having not past sex 
houses, lying towards Kyikli-^daill, upon Slnl- 
boiell More, and there wold have fired the 
said bowses, but ther was no fyre to get there, 
and they forgate to brynge any withe Iheyme; 
and looK a wyf being great w.th cliylde, in the 
said towne, aud said to hyr, Wher we can not 
gyve the lard lyghl, yet we shall doo tins in 
spyte of him ; and gyve her iii morlall wounds 
upon the held, and andher in llie r.ghi side. 
With a dagger: whereupon the said wyf is 
<Jfiede, and the childe in her bely is loste. 
Beseeching your most sjracious highness to 
reduce unto your gracious memory this vvylful 
and shamefull murder, done wiihin this your 
highnes realme, notwithstanding .11 the inha- 
bitants thereabout rose unto the saiil fray, and 
gave waruynge liy becons into the countrey 
afore they me, and yet the Scottsnien d\de 
escape. And uppon cerieyne knowledge' to 
my brother ClyHorihe. and me. had by credible 
persons of Scotland, this abomynabie act not 
only to be done liy dyverse of liie Merslie, but 
also the afore named persons of Ty vidaill, and 
consented to, as by appearance, by tlie Erie 
of iMurey, upon Friday at night last, let slyp C 
of the best horsemen of Glendaill, wiih a parte 
of your highnes subjects of Berwyke, togeiher 
with George Dowglas, whoo came into Ingland 
agayne, in the dawning of the day, ; but afore 
theyre retorne, they dyd mar the Earl of Mur- 



K 



^ 



r_ 



LAY OF THE LAST MI> 



reis provisions at Coldingham; for ihey did 
not onlv bnriie the said town of Coldingham. 
with all the come thereunto beloiigiiis. which 
is esteemed W(jrthe cii inarke sterling: hut 
alsoo burned twa lownes nye adjoining there- 
unto, citlled Branerdeigest and the Black Hill, 
ani tOne rsui persons, Ix horse, with ro heil 
of cataill, which, iiowe. as i am iiiformt-d, 
hathe ni»r only been a staye of tlie said Erie 
of .Murreis not coming to ihe Bordure a-* yet. 
but alsoo. that none inlande man will advt:ii- 
ture theyr self Ufipon the Marches. And as 
for the tax that siinlde have Iweii grauiityd for 
fiiiiling of the said ni hundred men, is uiterly 
denyed. Upon which llie King of Scotland 
departed from Edyiihurgh to Stirling, and as 
yet there doth remayii. And also I. by the 
advice of my brotherClyffirtli, have devysed, 
that within tins iii nyght's, Godile willing, Kel- 
sey. in like case, shall be hient, with all the 
Corn in the s:ud town; and then they shall 
have ni>o place to lye any garyson in iiygli unto 
the Borders. And as I shall aUeigne further 
knowledge. I shall not faill to satisfye your 
highnes, according to my mi>st hoiiiiden diitie. 
And for this burnyns of Kel.sey is devysed to 
bi: done Secretly, by 'ryndaiU and Ryddisdale. 
And thus the holy 'Irynite and * * * your 
inost royal estate, with long lyf, and as much 
incre.ise of hnnouras your most noble henrt 
can desire At Werkvoorth the xxiid day of Oc- 
tubtr." (1522.) 



Note 2 X. 

Watt TinUnn. — P. 27. . 
This person was. in my youneer days, the 
theme of many a fireside tale. He was a re- 
tainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for 
his Border service a small tower on the fron- 
tiers of Liddesdale Watt was, by profession. 
a sutor. but, by inclination and pniciice, an 
archer and warrior Upon one occasion, the 
captain of Bewcastle, military governor of that 
wild district of Cumberland, is said to have 
made an incursion into Scotland, in which he 
w;is defeated, and forced to fly. Watt 'I'lniinn 
pursued him closely through a dangerous mo- 
rass ; the captain, however, gained the finn 
ground; and seeing 'I'lnlinn dismounted, and 
floundering in the bog, used these words of 
insult :—•• Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your 
boots ; the heels risp, and the seams rue." i — 
•'If I cannot sew," retorted Tinlinn, discharg- 
ing a shiift. which nailed the capiain's thigh to 
bis saddle, — *' if I cannot sew, 1 can yei/(." 2 



Note 2 Y. 

BiLUiope Stag. — P. 27. 
There is an old rhynie, which thus cele- 
brates ihe places in Liddesdale remarkable 
for ^ame : 

" Billhope braes for buckn aud raea. 
And Cam haugh forBWine, 
Aud Tarra.-* for Ihe good bull-lront. 
If he l>f taVn in lime." 

The bucks and roes, as well as the old swine, 






Nt 

INSTREL. 61 >. 



are now extinct; but the good bull-troat 
still famous. 



Note 2 Z. 

Belted WiU Howard. — ?. Tl. 
fx)rd William Howard, third son of Thomas, 
Duke of Norfolk, succeeded to .N'aworth Cas- 
tle, and a lar^e domain annexed to it, in right 
of his Wife Elizabe'h, sister of George Lord 
Dacre, who died without heirs male, in the 
lltli of Queen Elizabeth. By a poetical ana- 
chronism, he is intHKluced into the romance a 
few years earlier than he actually flourished. 
He vvas warden of the Western Marches; and, 
from the rigour with which he repressed the 
Border excesses, the name of Belted Will 
Howard is still famous in our traditions. In 
the castle of Naworth, his apartments, con- 
lainin? a bedroom, or.'itory. and library, are 
still shown They impress us with an un- 
ple;ising idea of the life of a lord warden of the 
.Marches Three or four strong doors, separat- 
ing these nnjuis from the rest of the castle, 
indicate the apprehensions of treachery from 
his garrison; and the secret windiiiL' passages, 
through which he could pnvaiely descend into 
the guardroom, or even in'o the dungeons, 
im()!y the necessity of no small desree of secret 
superintendence on the part of the governor. 
As the ancient books and furniture have re- 
mained undisturbed, the venerable apjieannce 
of these apanments, and the armour scattered 
around the chamber, almost lead us to expect 
t'ae arrival of the warden in person. Naworth 
C;istle is situated near Brampton, in Cumber- 
laud. Lord William Howard is ancestor of 
the Earls of Carlisle. 



Note 3 A. 

Lord Dacre. — P. 27. 
The well-known name of Dacre is derived 
from the exploits of one of their ancestors at 
the sie?e of Acre, or Ptolemais. under Kichard 
CcEur de Lion. There were two powerful 
braiichesof that name. The tiist family. called 
Lord Dacres of the South, held Ihe castle of 
the same name, and are ancestors to the pre- 
sent Lord Dacre. The other family, descended 
from the same stock, were called I^)rd Dacres 
of the North, and were barons ot Gilsland ami 
Graysiock. A chieftain of the latter hraiich 
was warden of the West Marc;hes during the 
reign of Edward VI. He was a man of a hot 
and obstinate character, as appears from some 
parliculai-s of Lord Surrey's letter to Henry 
VII 1.. giving an account of his beliaviourat the 
siege and slorm of Jedburgh it is printed in 
the Minsliflsy of the Scottish Border, Appendix 
to the Introduction. 



Note 3 B. 

The German hnckbiU-men — P. 27. 

In the wars with Scotland. Henr>' VIII. and 

his successors employed numerous bands of 

mercenary iroops At the battle of Pinky, 

there were in the English army six hundred 



Z 



K 



APPENDIX TO THE 



M 






li-ickliuiters on loot., and two liimdred on 
horsel).ic.k. composed chiefly of forKiu:ners On 
the 27lh of Stjp'eniher. 1549, the Duke of So- 
merset, Lord I'lotechir, wnles to the Lord 
Dacie. wiirden of the West Miirches : — '• The 
Ahn.iins. in nunil)er two thousand, very v:»h;int 
soldieis, shall be sent to you shcntly from 
Newcastle, to^-ether with Sir Thomas H.il- 
rroft, and with the force of your wardenry. 
(which we wouUl were advanced to the ino^t 
slieiiKlh of horsemen tliat inii;ht be,) shall 
make the attempt to l.onghmalien, hein!r of 
no such sirenKlh hut that it may be sUaiied 
wiih ladders, wlieieof. Ijefoieliaiid, we would 
yon caused secreiiy some tinml)er to lie pro- 
vided ; or else undermined with tlie pyke axe. 
and so taken : either ttt be ket>t for tiie Kin\''s 
Majesty, or otherwise to be defaced, and taken 
from the prohts of the enemy. And in like 
manner the hou.se of Carlaverock to be used " 
Repeated mention occurs of the Almains. in 
the subsequent conespundence ; and the en- 
terprise seems finally to have been abandoned, 
from tiie difficully of providiiii; these strangers 
Willi the necessary " victuals and carriages in 
so |)oora country as Dumfries shire " — History 
ol Cumh€7-latid,vol i ]iitr(jd p. Ixi. From the 
battle-pieces of the ancient Flemish painters, 
we learn, that the Low Country and German 
soldiers marched to an assault with their li^hi 
knees bared. And we may also observe, in 
such pictures, the exlravas^ance to which iliey 
carried the fitshion of ornamentiii!? their dress 
with knots of ribbon. 'I'his custom of the 
Germans is alluded to in the Alirruur for Ma- 
gistrates, p. 121 : 

"Their plriled garments therewith well accent. 
All jagde and frounsl, wilh iliveiB colours di'ckt." 



Note 3 C. 

"Ready, aye ready, '"for the field. —P. 28. 
Sir John Scott of Thirlestane floiirisihed in 
the reitfii of James V,, and possessed the es- 
tates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, &.C . lyin^ 
Upon the river of Ettrick. and extending; to St. 
Muiy's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It ap- 
pears, that when James had assembled his 
nobiliiy, and their feudal lollowers, at Fala. 
with the purpose of iiivadina; Fngland, and 
Was, as is well known. disaptKiinted by the 
obsiinate refusal of his peers, this baron ahjiie 
declared iuniself ready to follow tlie Kinj; 
wherever he should lead. In memory of his 
fidelity, James granted to his family a charier 
of arms, entitlin;^ them to bear a border of 
fleurs-de-luce, similar to the iressnre in the 
royal arms, with a bundle of spears for the 
crest; motto. Rfudy. aye ready. Tlie charter 
Itself is printed by .Nisliet ; but his work being 
scarce. I insert the following accurate trans- 
cript from the oni;;inal. in the possession of llie 
Kiuht Honourable Lord Napier, the represent- 
ative of John of Thirlesiaiie. 

" James Rex. 

We James, by the grace of God, King of 

Scot lis. considerand the ffaitli and guid servis 

of of of 1 light traist Iriend John Scott of Thir- 

ane, quha cummand to our lioste at Sou- 



I traedire. willi three score and ten laiincieres 
I on horseback of his friends and followers, and 
I beaiiil williiiir to gana: wilh ws into Knuland, 
when all our nobles and others refu>ed, lie 
was ready to stake at all our biddinar; ffor the 
qiiliilk cause, it is our will, and we doe strait- 
lie command and charg our lion herauld and 
ills deputies for the time beand. to give and to 
trraunt to the said John Scott, ane Border of 
ffleure de lises about his coaite of amies, sik 
as IS on our royal banner, and alsua ane bun- 
dell of launc«s above his helmet, with thir 
words, Readdy, ay Readdy. tliat he and all his 
afiercimiiiiers may bruik the sainine as a pledge 
and taikeii of our guid will and kyndnes for 
his true worthines; and thir our letters seen, 
ye nae waes failzie to doe. Given at Ffalla 
iMuiie, under our hand and privy casliet, the 
xxvii day of July, m c and xxxu zeires. By the 
King's graces speciall ordinance 

" Jo. Arskine." 

I On tlie back of the charier is writlen. 

" Ediii. 14 .lanuary, 1713. Regist red, conform 
to the act of parliament made anent proliative 
writs, per M'Kaile. pior. and produced by 
Alexander Borthvvick, servant to Sir William 

I Scott of Thirlestane. M. L. J." 



NoTK 3 D. 

An ni/rd Knujht, to danger steefd, 

VVil/i vumy a vmss-trooper came on ; 
And azure m a qokleii Jield, 
The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Withotct the bend of Mtirdieston — P. 28. 
The family of Harden are descended from a 
younger son of the Laird of Buccleiich. who 
flourished before the estate of Murdiesi on was 
acquired by the marriage of one of those chief- 
tains with the heiress, in 1296. Hence they 
bear the cognizance of the Scotts upon the 
field; whereas those of the Biiccleucli are 
disposed upon a bend dexter, assumed in con- 
sequence of that marriage. — See Gladstaine 
of White/awe's MSS., and Scott of Stokoe's 
Pidnjree. Newcastle. 1783. 

V\alter Scott of Harden, who flourished dur- 
ing the reian of Queen .Mary, was a renowned 
I Border freebooter, concerning whom tradition 
has preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of 
j which have been pulilislied in the Minstrelsy 
'^of the Sroltish Border; others in Leyden"s 
I Srincs of Inlancv; and others, more lately, in 
1 The Moiintam Bard, a collection of B'lider 
j ballads bj' Mr. James Hogg. The bugle-horn, 
'said to have been used by this formidahie 
'leader, is preserved by his de.-cendant, the 
present Mr Scott of Harden. Hiscasilewas 
siiuuted upon the very brink of a dark and 
precipitous dell, through wliicii a scanty rivu- 
let steals to meet the Borthwick. In the 
I recess of this glen he is .said to have kept his 
spoil, which served fen the daily nuuntt iiaiii-e 
of his retainers, until the iiroduction of a pair 
of clean spurs, in a covered dish, aniiouiu-ed 
to the hungry band that ihey must ride fur a 
supply of provisions, lie was married to Marv 
Scot t. daughter of Philiii Scott of Dry hope, anil 
called in sonu the Flower of Yarrow. He 
i posse.ssed a very ex ensive estate, vvhicli was 
' divided among his live sons 'I'liere are uu- 



z 



7 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 



63 



A 



menius descendants of this old marniidin? 
Uiiron. 'llie lull.iwiiis lieaiitiful I•:^^s:lse of 
Levdtm's Seems of Infancy is founded on :i 
tnuliiion resi^ctin? an infant ca[)tive, wlioni 
Walter of Harden carried off in a predatuiy 
incursion, and who is said to have hecome tiie 
author of some of our most beautiful pastoral 
songs: 

•• Where Bortha ho^irsf, that loads the meails with sand. 
Rolls her rwl tide to Tevini'.s wesirrn mrand. 
Through slaty hills, whose sidrs are shaag'd wnh thorn. 
Where s|.riin;«, in scatter'd lufu, the dark-greeu corn, 
Tower,< woo.l.girt Harden, far ahove the vale, 
And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail. 
A h.inly raie, who never shrunk from war, 
The Sco'.t, to rival realms a mighty bar. 
Here tix'd his mountain home: — a wide domain, 
And rieh the soil, h.id purple heaih Iwen grain ; 
B'lt what the nissanl eround of wealth denied, 
From fields more blessM his fearless arm supplied. 

"The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; 
The warder's horn was heard at dead of night; 
And as the massy portals wide were flune. 
With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung 
What fair, half-veii'd, leans from her latt ced hall, 
Where re<l the wavering gleams of torchlight fall ? 
Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who, through the gloom. 
Looks, wistful, for her lover's dancing pluine. 
Amid the piles of spoil, that strew'd the ground, 
Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; 
With trembling hasie the youthful matron dew. 
And from the hurried heaps an infant drew. 

" Siared at the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her neck, and to her bosom clun;; ; 
While beauteous Mary sooihed, in accents mild, 
His fluttering soul, and clasp'd her foster-child. 
Of mililer mood the gentle captive grew. 
Nor loved Ihe scenes that scared his infant view; 
In vales remote, from camps and castles far. 
He shunn'd the fearful shuddering joy of war; 
Content the loves of simple swains to sing. 
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string. 

" His are the strains, whose wandering eclioes thrill 
The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill, 
When evenin? brings the merry folding hours. 
And siin-eyed daisies close their winking flowen,. 
He lived o'er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear. 
To strew the holly leaves o'er Harden's bier; 
BtJt none was found above the minstrel's tomb, 
Kmblem of peac«, to bid the daisy bloom ; 
He. nameless as the race from which he sprung, 
Saved other names, and left his own unsung" 



Note 3 E. 

Scotts of EskJale, a stalwart bond — P. 28. 

Tn this and the following: stanzns. some ac- 
count is given of the mode in which the pro- 
perty m the valley of Esk wa.s transferred 
from the 13e.it lisims, its ancient possessors, to 
the name of Scott. It is needless to repeat the 
circumstances, which are siven in Ihe poem 
liierailv as thev have been presi-rveti by tradi- 
tion. Lord .Maxwell, in the latter |):irt of the 
sixteenth century, took upon himself the title 
of Earl of Morton. The descendants of 13eat- 
tison of Woodkerrick, who aided tlie Karl to 
escape from his disobedient vassals, continued 
to hold these lands within the memory of man, 
and were the only Beattisons who hail property 
in the dale. The old leople give Ittrality to 
the story, by showing the Galliard's Haugh, 
the place where Buccle-ach's men were con- 
cealed, &.C. 



\ 



Note 3 F. 

TTieir gathenny word was Bclltnden. — P. 29. 

Bellenden is situated near the head of Borth- 
vvick water, and being in the centre of the 
posse.ssions of the Scotls. was frequently used 
as their place of rendezvous ami eathering 
wonl. — Survey of Selkirkshiie, in Mnilarlnne's 
MSS., Advocates' Library Hence Satchells 
calls one part of his genealogical account of 
the families of that clan, his Bellenden. 



Note 3 G. 

IVie camp their hovie. their law the sword. 
They knew no country, own'd no lord. — P. 29. 

The mercenary adventurers whom, in 1380, 
the Karl of Cambridge carried to llie assistance 
of Ihe King of Portugal against the Spaniards, 
mutinied for want of regular pay. At an as- 
sembly of their leaders. Sir John Solner. a 
natural stm of Edward the Black Prince, thus 
addre.>ised them: "• I counsayle. let us be alle 
of one alliance, and of one accorde. and let us 
among ourselves reyse up the banner of St. 
George, and let us be frendes to God. and ene- 
myes to alle the woride ; for without we make 
ourselfe to be feared, we gete nothvnge.' 

"'By my faytli,' quod Sir WiUiam Helinon, 
' ve saye right well, and so let ns tlo.' Tliey 
all agreed with one voyce. ami so regarded 
among them who shulde be their capitayne. 
Then they advysed in the case how they coiule 
nat have a better capitayne than Sir John Sol- 
tier. Kor they sulde than have good leyser to 
do yvel. and tiiey thought he was more metel- 
yer thereto than any other. Then they raised 
up tne penon of St George, and cried. 'A Sol- 
tier! aSollier! the valyaunt liastarde! frendes 
to God, and enemies to all the woride!'" — 
Froissart, vol. i. ch. 393. 



Note 3 H. 

That he may suffer march-treason pain.— P. 30. 

Several species of offences, peculiar to the 
Border, constituted what was called march- 
treason. Among others, was the crime of 
ritiing, or causing to ride, against the opposite 
country during the time of truce. Thus in an 
indenture made at the water of Eske. beside 
Salom. on the 25th day of March, 13.'^t. betwixt 
noble lords and mighty. Sirs Henry Percy, Earl 
of Northumberland, and Archibald Douglas, 
Lord of Gallowav.a truce is agreed upon until 
the 1st dav of July: and it is expressly ac- 
corded, " G"if onv steliis autliir <m the la part, 
or on the tothy'r, that he shall be hanget or 
heofdit; and gifony company stellis any gudes 
within the trieux beforesayd. ane of thatcom- 
panv sail be hanget or heofdit. and the rem- 
nant sail restore the gtidvs stolen in Ihe ilub- 
\i\ti.*'- History of Wesltnor'ciand and Cumberland, 
Imrod. p. x.\xix. 



A 



■M mmmmd 



64 



APPENDIX TO THE 



Note 31. 



-Deloraine 



Will cleanse him, by oath, of vtarch-lreason 
stam. — P. 30. 
In dubious cases, the innocenre of Bonier 
criminals was occasionally referred to their 
own oalli. 'I'lie form of excusing bills, or in- 
dioinients, by IJorder-oath, ran tlius : "You 
shall swear by heaven above you, hell beneath 
vou. by your part of Paradise, by all that God 
"made "in six days and seven nights, and by God 
himself, vou are whart out sackless of art, 
part, way, willing, ridd, kennins, bavins, or 
recettmu; of any of the poods and catties 
named ill this bill. So help you God."— His- 
tory of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 



Note 3 K. 

Knighthood he. took of Douglas' sword. — P. 30. 
The dignity of knighthood, according to the 
original instiiuiioii, had this peculiarity, that 
it did not flow from the monarch, but could be 
conferred by one who himself possessed it, 
upon any squire who, after due probation, was 
found to merit the honour of chivalry. Lat 
terly, this power was confined to generals, who 
were wont to create knights bannerets after or 
before an engaireiiient. Even so late as the 
reign of Queen Elizabeth. E.ssex highly offend- 
ed his jealous sovereign by the indiscriminate 
exertion of this privilege. Among others, he 
knighted the witty Sir John Harrington, whose 
favour at court was by no means enhanced by 
his new honours.— See the Nnom Aniiqiice, 
edited by Mr. Park But probably the latest 
instance of knigiithood, conferred by a subject, 
was in the case of Thomas Ker. knighted by 
the Earl of Huntly, after the defeat of tlie Earl 
of Argyle in the battle of Belrinnes. The fact 
is attested, both by a poetical and prose ac- 
count of the engagement, contained in an 
ancient MS. in the Advocates' Library, and 
edited by Mr. Dalvell. in Godly Satiys ami Bal- 
Uts, Edin. 1802. 



Note 3 L. 

When EuQiish blood swell'd Ancram's ford. — 

p:3o. 

The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch 
was fought A. D. 1545. The English, com- 
manded by Sir Ralph Evers, and Sir Brian 
Latoun, were totally routed, and both their 
leaders slain in the action. The Scottish army 
was commanded by Archibald Douglas. Earl 
of Angus, assisted by the Laird of Buccleuch 
aiul Norman Lesley. 



%. of 

\ be 



Note 3 M. 

For who, infield or foray slack. 

Saw I he blitnche lion e'er fall back T— P. 31. 

1 his was the cosnizance of the noble hou; 
of Howard in all its branches The crest, or 
bearing of a warrior, was often used as 



nomme de gxterre. Thus Richard TIL acquired 
his well-known epithet, The Boar of York. 
In the violent satire on Cardinal VVolsey, writ- 
ten by Roy, commonly, but erroneously, im- 
puted to Dr. Bull, the Duke of Buckingham is 
called the Beautiful Swan, and the Duke of 
Norfolk, or Earl of Surrey, the White Lion. 
As the book is extremely rare, and the whole 
passage relates to the emblematical interpre- 
tation of heraldry, it shall be here given at 
length. 

•' TA« Description of the Armei. 

" Of Ihe proud Cardinal thi." is tlie shelde, 
Bnriie up b>-lw«iie two auuels of Salhan ; 
The six hlriudy axes in a bare frlili-, 
Shewelh Ihe cruclte of the ri-rt man. 
Which liJih devoured th>' Dfautiful Swan, 
Mortal en--in.v unto the Whyte Lion, 
Carter of Yorkf, the vyie buiiher'.-i xonue, 
The six bulles heddes in a felde hlacke, 
Betokeneih his atordy furionsne»s, 
Wherefore, the todly lysht to put abacke, 
He bryugeth in his dyvlish darcnesa ; 
The bandog in the middes doth expresse 
The ma.sliffrurre bred in Yp-iwich towns, 
Gnawynge with his telh a kinges cro\*ne. 
The glouhhe sisnifieth | layne hi» tiranny, 
Covered over wi'.h a Cardinall's halt, 
Wherein shall be fulfilled the prnphrcy, 
Aryse up. Jaike, and put on Ihy salatt, 
For the lyme is cuine of i ai'ge aid walatt. 
The temporall ihevaliy thus thrown doune, 
Wherefor, prest, lake hede, and beware thy 



There were two copies of this very scarce 
satire in the library of the late John, Duke of 
]{()Xburghe. See an account of it also in Sir 
Egertun Brydges' curious miscellany, the 
Censura Literaria. 



Note 3 N. 

T^t Musorar^e meet fierce Deloraine 
In single fight. P. 31. 

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single 
combat! so peculiar to the feudal syslein. was 
common on the Borders In 1558, the well- 
known Kirkaldy of Grange fought a duel with 
Ralph F:vie, brother to the then Lord Evre. in 
consequence of a dispute about a prisoner 
said to have been ill treated by the Lord Evre. 
Pitsrottie gives the following account of the 
affair: —"The Lord of Ivers his lirolher pro- 
voked William Kiicaldy of Grange to fight 
with him, in singular combat, on horseback, 
with spears; who, keepiiia: the appointment, 
actcompanied with Monsieur d'Ossel. lieutenant 
to the French Kins, and the garrison of Hay- 
mouth, and Mr. Ivers, accompanied with the 
governor and garrison of Berwick, it was dis- 
charged, under the p.iin of treason, that any 
man should come near the champions within 
a flight-shot, except one man for either of 
them, to bear their spears, two trumpets, and 
two lords to be jutlges. When they were in 
readiness, the trumpets sounded, the heniiiKIs 
cried, and the judges, let them go. They then 
encountered very fiercely ; but Grange struck 
his spear through his adversary's shoulder, and 
bare him off his horse, being sore wounded : 
But whether he died, or not, it is uncertain."' — 
P. 202. 

The following indenture will show at how 
late a period llie trial by combat was resorted 



^: 



A 



7" 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



N 



to on the Border, as a proof of guil: or iiiiio- 
ceiire :— 

'•It is aarreeil between 'I'lionias Musarravc 
and Launcelot ("arleton, for I lie true trial <if 
such colli roversies as are lie wixi tlietii. to 
have it openlv irieil liy way ol coinliar. hcfore 
God and ilie face of the world, to try it lu Ca- 
iioiibyholnie, before EiiRland and Scoilaiid. 
upon Thursday In Eas'er-week, beiiis the 
eiuhth (lav of April next ensuing. A D 1602, 
belwixt nine of the chick, and one of I he saiiie 
day, to fisli' oil foot, to he armed with jack. 
Steel cap. phiite sleeves, plaite breaches, phute 
sockes, two biisleard swords, I he blades to be 
one yard and half a quarter in length, two 
Scotch daariiers, or dorks, at their girdles, and 
either of them to provide armour and weapons 
for themselves, according to this indenture. 
Two sentlemen to be apiininted. on the field, 
to view both the p;U"ties. to see that they both 
be equal in arms ami weapons, according to 
this indenture; and being so viewed by the 
gentlemen, the genilemeii to ride to the rest 
of the company, and to leave Iheni but two 
boys, viewed by the gentlenien, to be under 
sixteen years of age, to hold their horses In 
testimony of this our agreement, we have both 
set our hands to this indenture, of intent all 
matters shall be made so |)lain. as tlieie shall 
be no qufs ion to stick upon that day. Which 
indenture, as a witness, shall be delivered to 
two gentlemen And for that it is convenient 
the world sliouhl be privy to eveiy pariicuhir 
of the grounds of the qu;irrel, we have agreed 
to set it down in this imlenture betwixt us. 
that, knowing the quuriel, their eyes may be 
witness of the trial. 

THE GROUNDS OF THE QUARREL. 

" 1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas 
Musgrave before the Lords of her Majes;y's 
Privy Council, that Lancelot Carleton was told 
by a gentleman, one of her Majesty's sworn 
servants, that Thomas Musgrave had olTered 
to deliver her Majesty's Casile of Bewcastle 
to the King of Scots ; and to witness the same, 
Lancelot Carleti«ii had a letter under the gen- 
tleman's own hand for his discharge. 

'*2. He cliargeth him. that whereas her Ma- 
jesty doth yearly bestow a great fee upon him, 
as captain of Bewcastle, to aid and defend her 
Majesty's subjects therein: Thomas Musgrave 
hath neglected his duty, for that her Majesty's 
Castle of Bewcastle was by him made a den 
of thieves, and an harbour and receipt for 
murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdeniean- 
oi-s. The precedent was Quiniin Whitehead 
and Runion Blackburne. 

" 3 He cliargeth him. that his office of Bew- 
castle is open for the Sc<jtch to ride in and 
through, and small resistance made by him to 
the country. 

'•Thomas Musgrave doth denv all this 
charge ; and saith that he will prove that 
Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bely him, and 
will prove the same by way of combat, ac- 
cording to this indenture. Lancelot Carleton 
hath entertained the challenge; and so. by 
God's permission, will prove it true as before, 
aiid hath set Ins liand to the same. 

(Signed) -'Thomas Musgrave. 

" Lancelot Carleton." 



Note 3 0. 

' He, the jovial liarper. — P. 31. 

The person here alluded to, is one of our 
ancient Bolder minstrels, calleil Rattling Roar- 
ing Willie. This soubriquet was prob'.ibly de- 
rived from his bullying disposition; heing.it 
would seem, such a roaring boy, as is fre- 
quently mentioned in old plays. While drink- 
ing at Newinill. u|ion "^reviot, about five miles 
above Hawick, Willie chanced to (juairel with 
one of his own profession, who was iiMially 
distingui.-hed by the odd name of Sweet Milk, 
from a place on Rule Water so called. They 
retired to a meadow on the opposite side of 
the Teviot. to decide the contest with iheir 
swords, and Sweet Milk was killed on the 
spot. A thorn-tiee marks the scene of the 
murder, wlncti is still called Sweet Milk 
Thorn. V\'illie vvas taken and executed at 
Jedburgh. beqiieaLliiiig his name lo the beau- 
tiful Scotch air, called " Rattling Roaring 
Willie." Ramsay, who set no value on tradi- 
tionary lore, published a few verses of this 
song in the len-Tuhle MisreUmii/. carefully 
supi)iessing all which had any (connexion wiih 
the history of the author aiid origin of the 
piece In this case, however, honest Allan is 
m some degree justified, by tlie extreme 
worthlessness of the poeirv. A verse or two 
may be taken, ;is illustrative of the history of 
Roaring Willie, alluded lo in I he lext :— 

"Now Willie' 



Je.lJ.i 



for 



Bui Stohs iinil young Falii.i.-ih 2 

TliL-y followM him a' llie way; 
They rollowM him a' ihe way, 

Tliey .'•■ouglil him up and down, 
III Ihe links of Ou^enam water 

Tliey faiiJ him .sleeping sound. 
' Stobx li-ht aff hia horse, 

.And niver a word he spak. 
Till he tied Willie's haa la 

Fu' fast behind his back; 
Fu' fasi behind hi.-; back. 

And down beneath his kn.'e. 
And drink will be dear to W.llie, 

When sweet inilk 3 gars him dia 
" Ah wae light on ye, Stobs ! 

An ill death mot ye die ; 
Ye're the first and foremost maa 

That e'er laid hands on me ; 
That e'er laid hands on me, 

And look my inare me frae ; 
Wae to you, S'ir Gilt)ert Elliot ! 

Ye are my mortal fae : 
* The la.sses of Ousenam water 

Are rugging and riving Iheir hair, 
An.l a' for the sake of Wi:iie, 

His beauty was'so fair"! 

And lomelv for lo see. 
And drink will be dear to Willie. 

When sweet railk gars him die." 



Note 3 P. 

He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of BIjick Lord Archibald's bnltle lows. 
In the Old Douglas' day.—?. 3L 

The title to the most ancient collection ol 
Border regulations runs thus:— "Be it re- 



1 The dav of the Rood-fair at Jedburgh. 

2 Sir Gilbert Klbot of Stohs. and St ott of Faloash. 
S .A wret/^hed puu on his antagonist's name. 



^ 



'^ 



A 



^ m 



APPENDIX TO THE 



M 



nieniber»;d, that., on tlie. 18th day of Ut-oeiiilier 
1468, Karl William Douyhs assembled tlie 
whole lonls, freeholders, and eldesi. Borderers, 
that host kn(iwle<ip:B had. a' I he collfeue ct 
Lmclniu/in; and there he caused these lords 
and Borderers hoddv to be sworn, the Holy 
Gospel tonehed. that tliev. justly and truly, 
after Iheir c-uninuK, should decrete. decern, 
deliver, and put ui order and vvnl uiR, the sta- 
tutes, orilniaiices, and uses of marche. that 
were ordained in Btack Airhihald oj Dmcuhs's 
days, and Archibald his son's days, in time of 
warfare : and they came asain to iiim advisedly 
with the<e statutes and ordinances, which 
were in lime of warfare before. The said Earl 
William, seein? the statutes in writins? decreed 
and delivered by the said lords and Bordeiers. 
thought them riRht s|)eedful and proiltahle to 
the Borders; the which statutes, ordiiiiuices. 
and points of warfare, he took, and the whole 
lords and Borderers he caiispd hoiiily to be 
sworn, that they should luaintaiii and supply 
hini at their goodly power, to do the law upon 
those that should break the statutes under- 
written Also, the said Earl Williom. and 
lords, and eldest Borderers, made ceriain 
points to be treason in time of warfare to be 
used, which were no treason before his time. 
but to be treason in his time, and in all tune 
coining;." 



Note 3 Q. 

The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 
A nnounciny DouijLas, dreadtd name. — P. 32. 
The chief of this potent race of lieroes, al)out 
the dale of the poem, was Archibald Doutflas, 
seventh Earl of Aiiffus, a man of great courafje 
and activity. The Bloody Heart was the well- 
known cognizance of the House of Douglas, 
assumed from the time of good Lord James, to 
whose care R(»bert Bruce rommilted his lieart, 
to be carnsd to tlie Holy Laud. 



Note 3 R. 

And Swinton laid his lance in rest. 
That lamed of yore iKe sparkluu] crest 
Of Clarence's PLanlagenet. — P. 32. 
At the battle of Beauge, in France, Thomas, 
Duke of Clarence, brother to Henry V., was 
unhorsed by Sir John Swinton of Swinton, who 
distinguished him by a coronet set with pre- 
cious stones, which he wore around his helmet. 
'I'he family of Swinton is one of the most 
ancient in Scotland, and produced many cele- 
brated warriors. 1 



Note 3 S. 

And shouting still, A Home! A Honie.' — T. 33 
The Earls of Home, as descendants of the 
Dunbars. ancient Earls of March, carried a lion 
rampant, argent ; but, as a diti'erence. changed 
the colour of the shield from gules to vert, in 
allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient possession. 



-1^ 



Sir W. Scott was 



The slogan, or war cry, of this powerful family, 
was, "A Home I a Home!" It was ancienlly 
placed in an escrol above the crest. The hel- 
met is armed with a lion's head erased gules, 
with a cap of slate gules, turned up ermine. 

The Hepburns. a powerful family in East 
Lothian, were usually in close iilliance with 
tlie Homes. The chief of this clan was Hep- 
burn, Lord of Hades; a family which termi- 
nated m the too famous Earl of BothwelL 



Note 3 T. 

And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, reieli-y. and rout. 

Fill sued the foot-ball play— P. 33. 
The foot-ball was anciently a very favourite 
sport all through Scotland, hut especially upon 
the Borders. Sir John Carmichael of Carini- 
chael, Warden of the Middle Marches, was 
killed m 16(10 by a band of the Armstrongs, 
returning from a foot-ball match. Sir Robert 
Carey, in his Memoirs, mentions a great meet- 
ing, appointed by the Scotch riders to be held 
at Kelso for the purpose of playing at foot-ball, 
but which terminated in an incursion upon 
England. At present, the fool-ball is often 
played by liie inhabitants of adjacent parishes, 
or of the opposite banks of a stream, 'i'he 
victory IS contested with the utmost fury, and 
very serious accidents have somelimes taken 
place in the struggle. 



Note 3 U. 

' Twixl truce and war. such sudden change 
Was nol mfiiqitenl, nor held slrnnye. 
In the old Border day. —P. 33. 
Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the 
Borders, and the occasional cruelties which 
marked the mutual inroads, the inhabitanis 
on either side do not appear to have regarded 
each other with tiiat violent and personal ani- 
mosity which might have been expected. On 
the contrary, like the outposts of hostile armies, 
they often carried on something reseniblmg 
friendly intercourse, even in the middle of hos- 
tilities; and It is evident, from various ordi- 
nances against trade and intermarriages, be- 
tween English and Scottish Borderers, ihat the 
governments of both countries were jealous 
of their cherishing too intimate a connexion. 
Froissart says of both nations, that " Englysh- 
men on the one party, and Scottes on the otht r 
party, are good men of warre; for when tlity 
meet, there is a harde fight without spar>nf;e. 
There is no hoo [Iriice] between them, as h i,g 
as spears, swords, axes, or daggers will enduie. 
but lay on eche upon uther; and whan they 
be well beaten, and that the one party li: th 
oinained the victory, they then glorifye so in 
theyre dedes of armies, and are so joylull,that 
such as be taken they shall be ransomed, oi 
that they go out of the felde ; so that shortly 
eche of them is so content with other, that, at 
their departynge, curtyslye they wdl say, God 
thank you."— Berners's Froissart. vol. it. p. l.'io. 
The Border meetings of truce, which, although 
places of merchandise and merriment, often 
witnessed the most bloody scenes, may serve 



^ 



^ 



LAY OF THE LxVST MINSTREL 



to illustrate the desoriptioii in the text. 'I'licy 
are vividly purtniyed in liie old biilhid of tlie 
Reidsqiiair. [See Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p 15.] 
Both piiities came armed to a ineeiinsrof the 
wardens, yet Ihev in!enn;xed fearlessly and 
peaceahly with each other in mutual sports 
and familiar mtercourse, until a casual fray 
arose : — 

•■ Then was there iioucht hut bow Rnd spear. 
And every man pulled om a brauil." 

Ill the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an 
attempt to express some of the mixed feeling 
with which the Borderers on eacli side were 
led to regard their neijjhbours. 



Note 3 V. 

on the darkening plain, 

Loud hollo, lo'ioop. or whistle ran, 
As hnwls, their shaijij/ers to rfgain. 

Give thfShnU watchword of their clan.— P 33 
I'atten remarks, with bitter censure, the dis- 
orderly conduct of the English Borderers, who 
attended the Protector Somerset on his expe- 
dition asraiust Scotland. "As we wear then a 
setling, and the tents a setting; up. amous all 
things els commendable in our hole journey, 
one thing .seemed to me an intollerable disor- 
der and "abuse : that whereas alwiiys, both in 
all tonnes of war. and in all campes of armies, 
quietness and stilnes, without nois, is, princi- 
pally in the nislit, after the watch is set, ob- 
served, (I need not reason why,) our northern 
prikers, the Borderers, iiotwitiistaudyng, with 
great enorniitie, (as thought me.) and not 
unlike (to be playn) unto a masteries hounde 
howiyng in a hie way when he hath lost him 
lie waited upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng. 
and most with crying. A Berwyke, a Berwyke ! 
A Fenwyke, a Fenwyke ! A Bulmer, a Bulnier ! 
or so ootherwise as theyr captains names wear, 
never lin'de these troublous and dangerous 
noyses all the iiyghte loiige. They said, they 
(lid it to find their captain and fellows; but if 
the souldiers of our oother counreys and 
sheres had used the same maner, in that case 
we siiould have oft times iiad the stale of our 
campe more like the outrage of a dissolute 
huiityna:, than the quiet of a well ordered 
arniye. It is a feat of war, in mine opinion, 
that' might right well be left. I could relierse 
causes (but yf 1 take it, they are belter un- 
spoken than uttred, unless the faut were sure 
to be amended) that might shew thei iiioV( 
alweis more peral to our arinie, but in thei 
one nyghi's so doynge, than they shew good 
service (as some sey) in a hoole vydge."—Apud 
Dalzell's Fraytiienls, p. 75. 



Note 3 W. 

To see how thou the chnse coitld^sl wind. 
Cheer the dark hlood-honnd on his way. 
And with the bwjk rouse the fray. — P. 36 
The pursuit of Border marauders was fol- 
lowed by the injured party and his friends will 
blood-hounds and bugle-horn, and was called 
the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could 
truce the scent, to follow the invaders into the 



opposite kingdom; a privilege which often 
occasioned bloodshed. In addition to what 
has been said of the blo(Kl-liouiid. I may add. 
that the breed was kept up by the Biicclench 
family on their Border estates till witlim the 
ISth century. A person wa.s alive in the me- 
mory of man. who rememl)ered a lihiod-hound 
being kept at Eldinhope. in Ettrick Forest, for 
whose maintenance the tenant had an allow- 
ance of meal. At that time the sheep were 
always watched at night. Upon one occasion, 
when the duty had fallen (m the narrator, then 
a lad. he became exhausted with fatigue, and 
fell asleep upon a bank, near sun-nsiiig. Sud- 
denly he was awakened by the tread of horses, 
and saw five men, well mounted and armed, 
ride briskly over the edge of the hill They 
stopped and looked at the flock: hut the day 
> too far broken to admit the chance of their 
carrying any of them otf One of them, in 
spite I'iaped from his horse, and coming to the 
slieph.rd, seized him by the belt he wore round 
his waist ; and. setting his foot npon his body, 
pulled it till It broke, and carried it away with 
iiim. They rode off at the gallop; and, the 
shepherd giving the alarm, the blood-hound 
was turned loose, and the people in the neigh- 
bourhood alarmed. The marauders, however, 
escafied, notwithstanding a sharp pursuit. This 
circumstance serves to show how very long 
the license of the Borders continued in some 
degree to manifest itself. 



Note 3 X. 

She wrought not by forbidden spell — P. 37. 

Popular belief, though contrary to the doc- 
trines of the Church, made a favourable dis- 
tinction betwixt magicians and necromancers, 
or wizards ; the former were supposed to com- 
mand the evil spirits, and the latter to serve, 
or at least to be in league and compact with, 
these enemies of mankind. The arts of sub- 
jecting I he demons were manifold ; sometimes 
the fiends were actually swindled by the ma- 
gicians, as in the case i)f the bargain betwixt 
one of their number and the poet Virgil. The 
classical reader will doubtless be curious to 
peruse this anecdote : — 

'• Virgilius was at scole at Tolenton, where 
he sludyed dylygently, for he was of great 
understandynge. Upon a tyme, the scolers 
had lycense to go to play anil spiote them in 
the fyldes. after the usance of the old tyme. 
And "there was also Virgilius therhye, also 
walkvnge among the hylles alle about. It 
fortuned he spyed a great hole in the syde of a 
great hyll, wherein he went so depe. that he 
culd not see no more lyght; and than he went 
alylell farther therein, and than he saw some 
lyght egaygne, and than he went fourth 
sirevghte. and within a lytell wvle after he 
han'le a voyce that called 'Virgilius! Virgi- 
lius !' and looked aboute, and he colde nat see 
no body. Than sayd he, (i e. the voice.) • Vir- 
gilius, see ye iioi the lytyli horde lying besyde 
you there marked witii that word?' Than 
answered Virgilius. 'I see that borde weli 
auough.' The voice said, 'Doo awaye that 
boide, and lette me out there atte.' Than 
answered Virgilius to the voice that was under 
the lytell borde, and sayd, ' Who art thou ihat 



ten > 



::i. 



yA 



7 



>i 



68 



APPENDIX TO THE 



^ 



callest me so?' Tlian answered the devyll. 
' I am a devyll conjured out of the hodye of a 
cerleyne 111:111, and hunyssiied here tyll the day 
of judsiiient. witlioiit I hat I be delyvered by 
the haniles of men. Thus, Virijiliiis, I pray 
the. delyver me out of tliis [liiyu. and I shall 
shewe unto the many liokes of neRromaricye, 
and how tiiou shalt come by it lyghtly, and 
know the practyse therein, tiiat no man in ihe 
scyence of neffromancye shall passe the. And 
moreover, I shall shewe and enforme the so, 
that thou shall have alle thy desyre, whereby 
meihinke it is a preat gyfte for so lytyll a 
doyuff. For ye may also thus all your power 
frendys helpe. and make ryche your enemyes.' 
'I'horough that great promyse was V'lrgilius 
tempted: he badde the fynd show the bokes 
to hym, that he might have and occupy them 
at Ins wyll ; and .so the fynde shewed him. 
And than Virgilius pulled open a horde, anti 



appears from the sfatu'es of tlie order Dm 

Saml Esprit an droit desir, instituted in iri52. 
A chapter of the kmslils is appointed to be 
held anrmally at the Castle of the f;nchanied 
EJgg, near the grotto of Vn-gil. — Montfaucon, 
vol. 11. p. 329. 



Note 3 Y. 

A merlin sat upon her wrist. 

Held by a lea^k of silken twist. — P. 37. 

A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was actually 
carried by ladies of nmk, as a falcon was, lii 
time of peace, the ronstant attendant of a 
knight or baron. See Latham on Falconry.— 
Godscroft relates, that when Mary of Lorraine 
was regent, she pressed the Earl of Angus to 
adnnt a royal garrison into his Caslle of 'I'^n- 



there was a lylell hole, and thereat wrans the j tallon. To this he returned no direct answer; 
devyllout likeayell,and cam and stode belbie but, as if apostrophizing a goss-hawk, which 



Virgihus lyke a bycge man ; whereof Virgilius 
was astonied and marveyled greatly thereof, 
that so great a man niyght come out al so 
lylyll a hole. Than sayd Virgihus, 'Shulde 
ye well passe into the hole that ye cam out 
of?' — 'Yea, I shall well,' said the devyl. — "1 
holde the best plegge that I have, that ye shall 
not do It.' — 'Well,' sayd the devyll. 'thereto 
I consent.' And than the devyll wrange hirn- 
selfe into the lytyll hole agene ; and as he was 
therein, Virgilius kyvered the hole ageyiie wilh 
the horde close, and so was the devyll begyled, 
and myght nat there come out asjeii, but 
abydelh sliytte .sty 11 therein. Than called Ihe 
devyll dredefully to Virgilius, and said, ' What 
have ye done, Virgilius?' — Virgilius answered, 
'Aliyde there styll to your day appoyiited ;' and 
fro tliens forth abydeth he there. And so Vir- 
gilius became very coniiynge in the practyse 
of the black scyence." 

This story may remind the reader of the 
Arabian tale of the Fisherman and the impri- 
soned Genie; and it is more than probaiile, 
that many of the marvels narrated in the life 
of Vjigil, are of Oiieiiial extraction Among 
such 1 am di.sposid lo reckon the foi lowing 
whimsical accouiu of the loundalion of Naples, 
containing a curious Iheory coiicei'inng the 
origin of the earihciuakes with which it is 
afflicted. Virgil, who was a person of gal- 
lantry, had, it seems, carried off the daugliter 
of a certam Soldan, and was anxious to secure 
his prize. 

"Than he thought in liis niynde how he 
niyghte niarye hyr. and thought m his mynde 
lo fotinde in" the middes of the see a fayer 
towne. with great landes beloiigynge to "it; 
and so he did by his ciinnynge. and called it 
Napells. And the fandacyon of it was of egges, 
and in that town of Naiiells he made a tower 
with liii corners, and in the loppe he set an 
apell upon an yron yarde. and no man culde 
pull away that apeil without he brake it ; and 
thoroughe thalyren set he a bolte, and in that 
bolte set he a egge. And he lienge the apell 
by the stauke upon a cheyne, and so hangeth 
it still And when the egge styrretli, so shulde 
the towne of Napells quake; and whan the 
egge brake, tlien shulde the towne sinke. 
Whan he had made an ende, he lette call it 1 



01 



Na[)ells." This appears to have been an ; 
of current belief during the middle aj; 



n his wrist, and which he was feeding 
during the Queen's speech, he exclaimed, 
"The devil's m this greedy glede, she will 
never be full."— Hume's History of the House 
of Doiiylas. 1743, vol. ii. p. 131. Barclay com- 
plains of the common and indecent practice 
of bringing hawks and hounds into churches. 



Note 3 Z. 

And princely peacock's gilded train, 

And o'er the boar-head garnished brave. — P. 37. 

The peacock, it is well known, was consi- 
dered, during the times of chivalry, not merely 
as an exquisite delicacy, hut as a dish of pecu- 
liar solemnity. After being roasted, it was 
again decorated with its plumage, and a sponge, 
dipped in lighted spirits of wine, was placed 
in its bill. When it was introduced on days 
of grand festival, it was the signal for the ad- 
venturous knights lo take upon iheni vows to 
do some deed of chivalry, " before the peacock 
and the ladies." 

The boar's head was also a usual dish of 
feudal Sfilendour. In Scotland it was some- 
limes surrounded with Utile banners, display- 
ing the colours and achievements of Ihe haroii 
at whose board it was served. — Pinkertou's 
History, vol. i. p. 432. 



Note 4 A. 

Smote, with hts gauntlet, stout Hunthill. — P. 38. 
The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient 
race of Border Lairds, whose names occur in. 
history, sometimes as defending the frontier 
against the English, sometimes as disturbing 
the peace of their own coumry. Dickon Draw- 
the-sword was son to the ancient warrior, 
called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, re- 
markable for leading into battle nine sous, 
gallant warriors, all sons of the apedcliuuipion. 
Mr. Ruiherford. late of New York, in a letier 
to the editor, soon after these songs were tir.st 
published, quoted, when upwards of eighty 
Id, a ballad apparently tiie same with 



■iide ' the Kaid of ihe Reidsqnare, but which 
s, as renliy is lost, except the toilowm^ hues 



ipu- 



^ 



r 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



69 \ 



Baiild Ruthcrrurd he 



Note 4 B. 

hit his 'jloue. — P. 33. 

To bite the thuinb, or the fflove, seems not 
to have been consRlered, updii the Border, as 
a gesture of contempt, though so used by 
Shakspeare. l)Ut as a pledge of mortal revenue. 
It IS yet remembered, that a youne sen'leman 
of Teviot<lale, on the mornins; after a liard 
drinkms'-hout, observed that he had bitten his 
Rlove. lie instantly cleiTianded of his compa- 
nion, with whom lie had quarreled ? And, 
learniti!; liiat he had had words with one of 
the party, insisted on instant satisfaction, as- 
serting, that though he remembered nothing 
of the dispute, he was sure he never would 
have bit liis glove unless he had received some 
unpardonable insult. He fell in the duel, 
which was fought near Selkirk, in 1721. 



Note 4 C. 

Since old Bttccletirk the name did gain. 

When in the cletich the buck was ta'en. — P. 33. 

A tradition preserved by Scott of Salchells. 
who published, in 16S8. A true History of the 
Riijhl Honourable name of Srott. gives the fol- 
lowing romantic origin of that name. Two 
brethren, natives of Galloway, having been 
banished from that country for a not or insur- 
rection, came to Ranklehurn,in Eltrick Forest, 
where the keeper, whose name was Birdone, 
received them joyfully, on account of their 
skill in winilmg the horn, and in the other 
mysteries of the chase. Kenneth MacAlpin, 
then King of Scotland, came soon after to hunt 
in the royal forest, and pursued a buck from 
Etfrick-heugh to the glen now called Buck- 
cleuch, about two miles above the junction of 
Raiikleburii with the river Ettrick. Here the 
stag stood at bay; and the King and his at- 
tendants, who followed on horseback, were 
thrown out by the steepness of the hill and the 
morass. John, one of the brethren from Gal- 
loway, had followed the chase on foot; and, 
now c^)ming in, seized the buck by the horns, 
and, being a. man of great strength and acti- 
vity, threw hini on his back, and ran with his 
burden about a mile up the steep hill, to a 
place called Craora Cross, wnere Kenneth had 
halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign's 
feet.i 

1 Froi»«art relates, ttiat a kiiiRtil of the linusetiold of the 
Cotnte de Foix exhibited a similar feat of Kirenglh. The 
hall-fire had waxed low, and wood was wanted 10 mend il 
The kaighl weal down to the court-yard, where stood an 
atsM lailen with fag^ols, seized on the animal and burden, 
and, carrying hitn up to the hall on hia Bhoulders, lumbltd 
hini into ihe chimney with his heels uppermost : a humane 
ple:i»antry. much applauded by the Couul and all the »pec- 

2 " .Minionn of th« moon," »» Falstaff would hare said. 
The Tocaiion pursued by nur ancient Bonlerers may be 
justitird on the authority of the most polinhed of the ancient 
nations : " For Ihe Grecians in old time, and such barba- 
rian* .1* in the continent lived neerr unto the sea, or else 
inhahiu-d the islands, after once they began to crosse over 
one In another in ships became theeves, and went abroad 
nnder the conduct of Iheir more puiseent men, both to en- 



' The deer being cureed in that place. 

At his Majesty's demand, 
Then John of Galloway ran apace. 

And fetched water to his hai.d. 
The KiiiK did wash into a dish. 

And Galloway John he wot ; 
He said, • Thy name now after thii 

Shall ever be called John Scott. 

• ' The forest and the deer therein. 

We commit to thy hand ; 
For thou shall sure the ranger be. 

If thou obey commaiid ; 
And for the buck thou sioutly brought 

To us up that steep heuch. 
Thy designation ever shall 

Be John Scott in Buckscleuch.' 



• In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then, 
Before the buck in the cleuch was slain; 
Night's men 2 at first th<y did appear. 
Because moon and stars to their arms they bear. 
Their crest, supporters, and hunling-horn, 
Show their beginnine from huniiiiK came; 
Their name, and style, the book doth say, 
Jobu gained them both into one day." 

Watt'i - 



The Bticcleuch arms have been altered, and 
now allude less pointedly to this hunting, 
whether real or fabulous The family now 
bear Or, upon a bend azure, a mullet betwixt 
two crescents of the field ; in addition to 
which, they formerly bore in the field a hunt- 
ing-horn. The supporters, now two ladies, 
were formerly a hound and buck, or, accord- 
ing to the old' terms, a hart of Leash and a hart 
of greece. The family of Scott of Howpasley 
and I'hirlestaine long retained the bugle-horn ; 
they also earned a bent bow and arrow in the 
sinister cantle, perhaps as a difference. It isj 
said Ihe motto was — Best riding by moonlight' 
in allusion to the crescents on the shield, and 
perhaps to the habits of those who bore it. 
The motto now given is Amo, applying to the 
female supporters. 



Note 4 D. 

old Albert Grame, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name. — P. 38, 
'•John Graeme, second son of Malice, Earl of 
Monteith. commonly sirnaiiied John with the 
Bright Sword, upon some displeasure risen 
■against him at court, retired with many of his 
clan and kindred into the English Borders, in 
the reign of King Henry the Fourth, where 
they seated themselves ; and many of their 
posterity liave continued there ever since. 
Mr Sandford, speaking of them, says, (which 
indeed was applicable to most of the Borderers 

rich themselves, and to fetch in maintenance for the weak : 
and falling upon towns unfortified, or seatteringly inhabited, 
rifled them, and made this the best means of thear living; 
being a matter al that time no where in disgrace, but 
rather carrying with it somrthins of glory. This is mani- 
fest by some that dwell upon the continent, amongst whom, 
so it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed as ao orna- 
inent. The same is also proved by some of the ancient 
poets, who introduced men questioning of such as sail by, 
on nil coasts alike, whether they be iheeves or not; a& a 
thyiig neyther bCorne<l by such as were asked, nor up- 
braided by those that were desirous to know. They also 
robbed one another, within the main land ; and much of 
Greece useth that old customp, as Ihe Locrittns, the Acar* 
namaw, and those of the continent in that quarter, unto 
this day. Moreover, the fashion of wearing iron remainetb 
yet with Ihe people of that continent, from their old trade 
of thieving "— Hobbes' Tuueydidet, p. 4. Lood. 



^ 



T 



letb 

'A 



^ 70 



APPENDIX TO THE 



N 



on both sides.) 'Thev were all stark moss- 
troopers, and arrant thieves : Botii to England 
and Scotland outlawed ; yet sometimes con- 
nived at. liecanse thev gave intell gence forth 
nf Scotland, and would raise 400 horse at any 
time upon a raid of the English into Scotland 
A saving is recorded of a mother to her son. 
(which is now liecome proverbial.) RuIf. Row- 
Ify. hnwk's i' the pot : that is. the last piece ()f 



Note 4 G. 

The sform-swppt Orrades ; 

Whrre erst. St. Clair s htld princely sway. 

O'er isle and islet, strait and bay. — P. 39. 

The St. Clairs are of Norman extraction, 

being descended from William de St. Clair, 

second son of Walderne Compte de St. Clair, 



beef was in the pot, and therefore it was liigh and Maru'aiet. daughter to Richard Duke nf 
time for him to so and fetch more ' " — Intro- Normandy. He was called, for h!s fair deport- 
durlion to the Histort/ of Cumbfrland I ment. the Seemly St. Chiir; and. settling in 

Ihe residence of the Gi-aemes being chiefly Scotland during the reign of Malcolm Caen- 
iii the Debaieable Land, so called because it i more, obtained larse grants nf land in Mid- 
was claimed by both kinsdoms, their depreda- j Lothian. — These domains were increased by 
tions extended both to England and Scotland. I the liberality of succeeding nionarchs to the 
with impunity ; for as both wardens accounted descendants of the family, and comprehended 
them the proper subjects of their own prince, the baronies of Rosline. Penthmd. Cowsland, 



neither inclined to demand reparation for tliei 
exce.sses from the opposite officers, which 
would have been an acknowledsment of his 
jurisdiction over them —See a long correspond- 
ence on this subject betwixt Lord Dacre and 
the English Privy Council, in Introduction to 
History of Cumberland. The Debateable Land 
was finallv divided betwixt T-lngland and Scot- 
hmd, by commissioners appointed by both na- 
tions. 1 



Note 4 E. 

The Sim shJ7ies fair on Carlisle wall. — P. 38. 

This burden is adopted, with some alteration, 
from an old Scottish song, beginning thus : — 

She iran'd her back against a Ihnrn, 
The oun shines fair on Carlisle wa' ; 

Anil there she has her young babe horn, 
Anil the lyon shall be lortl of a'." 



Note 4 F. 

Who has not heard of Surrey's .faine '! 



P. 38. 



The eallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, 
Earl of Surrey, was unquestionably the most 
accomplished cavalier of his time: and his 
sonnets display beauties whicli would do ho- 
nour to a more polished age. He was beheaded 
on Tower-hill in 1546: a victim to the mean 
jealousy of Henry VHL, who could not bear 
so brilliant a character near his throne 

The sons of the supposed bard is founded on 
an incident said to have happened to the Earl 
in his travels Cornelius Agripiia, the cele- 
brated alchemist, showed him, in a looking- 
glass, the lovely Geraldine. to whose service 



Cardaine. and several others It is said a large 
addiMon was obtained from Robert Bruce, on 
the following orcasioii : — The Kinir, in follow- 
ing the chase upon Pentland-hills, had often 
started a "white faunch deer,"' which had 
always escaped from his hounds : and he asked 
the nobles, who were assembled around him, 
whether any of them had dogs, which they 
thought might be more successful. Nocourtier 
wou'd affirm that his hounds were fleeter ihan 
those of the kins, until Sir William St Clair of 
Rosline unceremoniously said, he would wager 
his head that his two favourite dogs. Help and 
Hold, would kill the deer before she could 
cross the March-burn. The Kins instantly 
caught at his unwarv offer, and betted the 
forest of Pentlandnioor against the life of Sir 
William St. Clair. All the hounds were tied 
up, except a few ratches. or slow-hounds, to 
put up Ihe deer; while Sir William St. Clair, 
posting himself in the best situation for slip- 
pins his dogs, prayed devoutly to Christ, the 
blessed Virgin, and St. Katherine. The deer 
was shortly after roused, and the hounds 
slipped ; Sir William following on a gallant 
steed, to cheer his dogs. The hind, however 
reached the middle of Ihe brook : upon which 
the hunter threw himself from his horse in 
despair. At this critical moinent, however, 
Hold stopped her in the brook; and Help, 
coming up, turned her back, and killed her on 
Sir William's side. The King descended from 
the hill, embraced Sir William, and bestowed 
(m hnn the lands of Kirkton, Logan-house, 
Earncraig. &c , m free forestrie. Sir William, 
in acknowledgment, of St Katherine's inter- 
ces.'^ioii, built the chapel of St Kaiheriiie in 
the Hopes, the churchyard of which is still to 
be seen 1 he hill, from which Robert Bruce 
beheld this memorable chase, is still called the 
King's Hill ;' and the place where Sir William 
hunted, is called the Knight's Field. ^ — iUS. 
History of Ihe Family of St. Clair, by Richard 



he had devoted' his pen and his sword. The Augustin Hay. Catwn of St Genevieve 
vision represented her as indisposed, and re- | This adventurous huntsman married Eliza- 
dining upon a couch, reading her lover's verses belh, daughter of Malice Spar. Earl of Orkney 
by the light of a waxen taper. and Stratherne, m wliose right their son Henry 



1 See TariODS notes in the Minalrelsjr. 



^ KOI 

^^ em 



" Help. Hand, an ye may. 
Or RosllD will lose.hie head this day." 
9 The tomb of Sir William St. Clair, on which he appesrs j If thi« couplet does him no great honour as a poet 
nrnlplured in armour, wiih a greyhound at b:« feel, in still ; elusion of Ihe story does him still less credit. H 
to he seen in Roslin chapel. The person who shows it | foot on the dog, says Ihe narrator, and killed hit 
mlways lells Ihe story of his huiitiDR-mafch, with some i spot, saying, he would never again put his neck i 
■ddition to Mr. Hay'e account; as that the Knight of j risk. A» Mr. Hay dots noi mention ihi 

fright made him poetical, and that, in tbe list hope it is only founded on the couchanl post 
emergencv, he shouted, ' hound ou the monument. 



/. 



y- 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 



was. in 1379, created Earl of Orkney, l).v Huco, 
kiiisi of Norway. His lille was recojrnized by 
the Kiiisrs of ScotiamJ. and remained witii his 
successors until it w:ts annexed to the crown, 
in U71, by act of Parliament. In exchange 
for this earldom, the cas'le and domains of 
Ravenscraiff. or Ravensheurh. were conferred 
ou William Samtclair, Earl of Caithness, 



Note 4 IL 

SHU nods their pnlncf. to its fall. 

Thy pride and sorrow, juir Kirkwall. — P 39. 

The Ca.stle of Kirkwall was built by the St. 
rhnrs, while Earls of Orkney. It was dis- 
mantled by the Earl of Cai hne.ss about 1615, 
havma: been grarrisoned against the govern- 
ment bv Robert Stewart, natural son to the 
Earl of Orkney. 

Its ruiiis afforded a sad subject of contem- 
plation to John. Master of St Clair, who, flyins 
from his native country, on accoimt of Ins share 
in the insurrection of 171.6, made some stay at 
Kirkwall. 

"I had occasion to entertain myself at Kirk- 
wall with the melancholy prospect of the ruins 
of an old castle, the seat of the old Earls of 
Orkney, my ancestors : ami of a more melan- 
choly reflection, of so ereat and tiolile an estate 
as tlie Orkney J.iid Sheiland Isles heinsr taken 
from one of them by James the Third, for 
faiiltrie, aPer his brother Alexander, Dnke of 
Albany, had married a daughter of my family, 
and for protecting and defending the said 
Alexander against the King, who wished to 
kill iiirn, as lie had done his'yoniigest brother, 
the Earl of Mar; and for which, after the for- 
faultrie, lie gralcJuUy divorced my forfaulted 
ancestor's sister; though I cannot jiersuade 
myself that he had any misalliance to plead 
asaiiist a fairiilie in whose veins Ihe blood of 
R.ibert Bi lice ran as fresh as in his own; for 
ilicir title to the crowne was by a daughter of 
Da\id Bruce, sun to Robert; and our alliance 
w;is by marrying a grandchild of Ihe same 
Hohert Bruce, and dauehter to the sister of the 
same David, out of the familie of Douglass, 
winch at that time did not much snllie the 
blood, niore than my ancestor's haviiis not 
long before had the honour of iiiarryiinr a 
daughter of the King of Detimark's. who was 
named Florentine, and has left in Ihe town of 
Kirkwall a noble monument of the grandeur 
of the times, the finest church ever I saw en- 
tire in .Scotland J then had no small reason 
to think, m that unhappy state, on llie niany 
not inciirisiderable services rendered since to 
the royal familie, forthese many years l.ysone, 
on all oc^.asions. when they stood niost in neeil 
<>f friends, which they have thought themselves 
very often obliged to acknowledge by letters 
yet extant, and in a style more like friends 
than souveraigns ; our attachment to them, 
without any other thanks, having brought upon 
us considerable losses, and among others, that 
ol our all in Cromwell's lime; and left in that 
condition without the least relief except what 
we found in our own viri ue. My father was 
the only man of the Scots nation who had 
courase enough to protest in Parliament 
against King William's title to the throne, 



which was lost, God knows how; and this at 
a time when the lo.sses in the cause of the 
royall familie, and their usual gratitude, had 
scarce left liim bread to maintain a nunterous 
familie of eleven children, who had soon after 
spruns; up on linn, in spite of all vvhicli, he had 
honoiiralily persisted in his principle. 1 say, 
these things coiisidered, and after being treated 
as [ was. and in that unlucky stale, when ob- 
jects appear to men in their true light, as at 
the hour of death, could I be blamed for 
making some bitter reflections to myself, and 
laughing at the extravagance and unaccount- 
able humour of men. and the singularitie of 
my own case, (an exile for the cause of the 
Stuart family,) when I ought to have known, 
that the greatest crime I, or my family, could 
have committed, was persevering, to my own 
destruction, in ser\'iiig the royal family' faith- 
fully, though obstinately, after so great a share 
of ilepression. and after they had been pleased 
to doom me and my familie to starve. — MS. 
Memoirs oj John, Master nj St. Cluir. 



Note 4 I. 

Of that Sea-Snahe, tremendous curVd, 
Whose monstrous circle girds the world — P. 39. 
The jormumiandr, or Snake of the Ocean, 
whose folds surround the earth, is one of the 
wildest fictions of the Edda. It was very 
nearly caught by the god Thor. who went to 
fish for it with a hook baited with a bull's 
head. In the battle betwixt the evil demons 
and the divinities of Odin, which is to precede 
the Rugnarockr, or Twilight of the Gods, this 
Snake is to act a conspicuous part. 



Note 4 K. 

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell— P. 39. 

These were the Valcyriur, or Selectors of 
the Slain, despatched by Odin from Valhalla, 
lo choose those who were to die. and lo dis- 
tribule the contest. 1 hey were well known 
to the Englisii reader as Gray's Fatal Sisters, 



Note 4 L. 

Of Chiefs, who. rmi'l'd through the gloom 
By the pnle draih lights of the tomb, 
Rnnsacli'd the graves of tmrriors old. 
Their falchions wrench' d from corpses' hold.— 
P. 40. 
The northern warriors were nsually en- 
tombed with their arms, and Iheir other trea- 
sures. Thus, Angantyr. before commencing 
the duel in which lie was slam, stipulated, 
that if he fell, his sword Tyrring should be 
buried with him. His daughter. Hervor. after- 
wards took It from his tomb. The dialogue 
which passed betwixt her and Angantyr's 
spirit on this occasion has been often trans- 
lated. The whole history may be found in the 
Hervarar-Saga. Indeed', the ghosts of llie 
northern warriors were not wont tamely to 
suffer their tombs to be plundered ; and hence 



^ 



/. 




APPENDIX. 



\ 



the mortal heroes \^.n\ 



mciiiwi.ai n.wc.^ ....>. ..,, adtli'iiinal tempta- 
tion to atteriipl sur.li adventures ; for they held 
iiothiiis more, worihv of I heir valour than to 
encounter sujieriiaiin-al heinss. — Bartholinus 
De rnusjs contcmplce a Daws moriis, lib. i. cap. 
2. 9, 10, 13. 



Note 4 M. 

Castle Rnvenshcuch. 



P. 40 



A larpe and stron? castle, now ruinous, si- 
Uiaied betwixt Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a 
sleep eras, washed hy the Frith of Forth. It 
was conferred on Sir William St Clair as a 
siiirht roiiipen.sation for the earldom of Orkney, 
bv a charter of Kins: James HI dated in 1471, 
and IS now the property of Sir James St. Clair 
Erskine, (now Earl of Rosslyn,) representative 
of the family It was long a principal residence 
of the Bamns of Roslin. 



Uunbar was fous:ht. When my f?ood-father 
vviis buried, his (i. e. Sir William's) corpse 
seemed to be entire at the opening of the 
cave ; but when they came to touch his body, 
it fell into dust. He was laying in his armour, 
with a red velvet cap on his head, on a flat 
stone ; nothing was spoiled except a piece of 
the white fmiin? that went round the cap, and 
answered to the hinder part of the head. All 
his predecessors were buried after the same 
manner, in their armour: late Rosline, my 
good father, was the first that was buried in a 
coffin, aeainst the sentiments of King James 
the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and 
several other persons well versed in antiquity, 
to whom my mother would not hearken, 
thinking it beggarly to be buried after that 
manner. The great expenses she was at in 
buryin? her husband, occasioned the sumptu- 
ary acts which were ni.ide in the following 
parliament." 



\ 



Note 4 N. 

Seem'd nil on fire within, around, 

DcfV sncrisly and altar's pa/f ; 
Sho7ie rvrry pi/tnr foliaaf bound. 

And glimnifrhl ail tfie dead Mai's mail.— P. 40. 

The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in to- 
lerable preservation. It was founded in 1416, 
by William St Clair, Prince of Orkney. Duke 
of Oldenbureh, Earl of Caithness and Stratli- 
eme. Lord St Clair, Lord Niddesdale. Lord 
Admiral of the Scottish Seas, Lord Chief 
Justice of Scotland. Lord Warden of the three 
Marches, Baron of Roslin, Pentland,Pentland- 
moor, &c.. Knight of the Cockle, and of the 
Garter, (as is affirmed,) Hish Chancellor, 
Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of Scotland. 
This lolly person, whose titles, says Godscroft. i 
might weary a Spaniard, built the castle of 
Roslin, where he resided in princely splendour, 
and founded the ch;ipel, which is in the most 
rich and florid style of Gothic architecture. 
Among the profuse carving on the pillars and 
buttresses, the rose is frequently introduced, 
in allusion to the name, with which, however, 
the flower has no connection; the etymology 
being Rosslinnhe. the promontory of the linn, 
or water-fall. The chapel is said to appear 
oil fire [irevioiis to the death of any of his de- 
scendants. This superstition, noticed by Sle- 
zer, in his Thratrum Scolice, and alluded to in 
the text, is probat)ly of Norwegian derivation, 
and may have been imported by the Earls of 
Orkney into their Lotliian dominions. The 
tomh-fires of the noith are mentioned in most 
of the Sagas. 

The Barons of Roslin were buried in a vault 
beneath the chapel floor. The manner of their 
inieriiieiit is thus described by Father Hay, in 
the MS. history already quoted 

"Sir William Sinclair. the father, was a leud 
man. He kept a miller's daughter, with 
whom, it is alleged, he went lo Ireland ; yet I 
think the cause of his retreat was rather oc- 
casioned by the Presbyterians, who vexed him 
sadly, because, of his religion being Roman 
Catholic. Hi.s son. Sir William died during the 
troubles, and was interred in the cliapel of 
Roslm the very same day that the battle of 



Note 4 0. 

For he was speechless, ghnsllu. wan, 

Like him of whom the story ran. 

Who spoke the sjnctre-hound in Man.— ?. 41. 

The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle 
of Man, is surrounded bv four churches, now 
ruinous. Through one of these chapels there 
was formerly a passage from the guard-room 
of the garrison This was closed, it is said, 
upon the following occasion : " They say, that 
an apparition, called, in the Mankish language, 
the MutUhe Dooo, in the shape of a large black 
spaniel, with curled shaggy hair, was used to 
haunt Peel-castle ; and has been frequently 
seen in every room, but particularly in the 
guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles 
were lighted, it came and lay down before the 
fire, in presence of all the soldiers, who. at 
length, by being so much accust(Tmed to the 
sifflit of it, lost great part of the terror they 
were seized with at its first appearance. 
They still, however, retained a certain awe, 
as believing it was an evil spirit, which only 
waited permisNioii to do them hurt; and, fi)r 
that reason foiebore swearing, and all profane 
discourse, while in its company. But though 
they endured the shock of such a guest when 
altogether ill a body, none cared to be left alone 
with it. It being the custom, therefore, for 
one of the soldiers to lock the gates of the 
castle at a certain hour, and carry the keys to 
the ca|itain, to whose apartment, as 1 said be- 
fore, the way led through the church, they 
agreed among themselves, that whoever was 
to succeed the ensuing night his fellow in this 
errand, should accompany him that went first, 
and hy this means no man would be exposed 
singly to the danger; Air I forgot to mention, 
that the Mauthe Doog was always seen to come 
out from that passage at the close of the day, 
and return to it again as soon as the morning 
dawned ; which made them look on this place 
as its peculiar residence 

" One night a fellow being drunk, and by the 
strength of his liquor reniered more daring 
than lu-dinanly, laughed at the simplicity of 
iiis companions, and. though it was not his 
turn to go wilh tl.e keys, would needs lake 
that office upon nim. to testify his courage. 
All the soldiers endeavoured to dissuade him ; 



Z 



7 



MARMION 



73 



but the more they said, the more resolute he 
seemed, and swore that he desired notUins 
more than that the Maulhe Doo<j would follow 
him, as it had done the others ; for he would 
try if it were do°: or devil. After having talked 
in a very reprobate manner for some time, he 
snatched up the keys, and went out of the 
Kuard-room. In some time after his depart ure, 
a ereat noise was heard, but nobody had the 
lioldness to see what occasioned it, till the ad- 
venturer returning, they demanded tlie know- 
led^ of him ; but as loud and noisy as he had 
been at leaving them, he was now become 
sober and silent enough ; for he was never 
heard to speak more; and though all the time 
he lived, which was three days, he was en- 
treated by all who came near him, either to 
speak, or, if he rould not do that, to make 
some signs, by which they might understand 
whiit had happened to him, yet nothing intel- 
ligible could be got from him, only that, by the 
distortion of his limbs and features, it might 
be guessed that he died in agonies more than 
is common in a natural death. 

•' The Mauthe Doog was. however, never 
after seen in the castle, uor would any one 
attempt to go through that passage ; for which 
reason it was closed up, and another way 



made. This accident happened about three 
scoie years since; and I heard it attested by 
several, but especially by an old soldier, who 
assured me he had seen it ofiener than he had 
then hairs on his head." — Waldrou's Descrip- 
tion of the Isle of Man, p. 107. 



Note 4 P. 



^: 



St. Bride of Douglas.— ?. 41. 



This was a favourite saint of the house of 
Douglas, and of the Earl of .\ngus in particu- 
lar, as we learn from the following passage :— 
"The Queen-regent had proposed to raise a 
rival noble to the ducal dignity; and discours 
ing of her purpose with Angus, he answered, 
* Why not, madam T we are happy that have 
such a princess, that can know and will ac- 
knowledge men's services, and is willing to 
recompense it; but. by the might of God,' 
(this was his oath when he was serious and in 
anger; at other times, it was by St. Bryile of 
Douglas,) • ii he be a Duke, 1 will be a Drake !' 
— So she desisted from prosecuting of that 
purpose."— Godscroft, vol. ii. p I3i. 



31 AR MI ON: 

A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.i 
IN SIX CANTOS, 



Alas '. tliat Scottish maid should sing 
The eomhat where hei lover fell ; 

That Scottish Bard should wake the string 
The triumph of our foes to tell ! 

heyden 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Sdme alterations in the te.xt of the Introduc- 
tion to Marmion, and of the Poem itself, as 
well as various additions to the Author's 
Notes, will be observed in this EdiTioii. We 
have followed Sir Walter Scott's interleaved 
copy, as finally revised by him in the summer 
of 1331. 

The preservation of the original MS of the 
Poem has enriched this volume with numerous 
various readings, which will he found curious 
and interesting. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

What I have to say respecting this Poem 
may be briefly told. In the Introduction to 
the "Lay of the Last Minstrel,'" I have men- 
tioned the circumstances, so far as my literary 
life is concerned, which induced me to resign 
the active pursuit of an honourable profession, 
for the more precarious resources of literature. 



I PublisbKl, in 4to, IL. lit (M.. February 1S08. 



^ 



My appointment to the Shenttdom of Selkirk 
called for a change of residence I left, there- 
fore, the pleasant cottage I had upon the side 
of the Esk. for the " pleasanter banks of the 
Tweed," in order to comply with the law, 
which requires that the Sheriff shall be resi- 
dent, at least during a certain number of 
months, within his jurisdiction We found a 
delightful retirement, by my becoming the 
tenant of my intimate fnend and cousin- 
german. Colonel Russell,^ in his mansion of 
Ashestiel, which was unoccupied, during his 
absence on military service in India. The 
house was adequate to our accommodation, 
and the exercise of a limited hospitality. The 
situation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side 
of a fine river, whose streams are there very 
favourable for angling, surrounded by the re- 
mains of natural woods, and by hilis abound- 
ing in game. In point of society, according to 
the heartfelt phrase of Scripture, we dwelt 
"amongst our own people;" and as the dis- 
tance from the metropolis was only thirty 
miles, we were not out of reach of our Edin- 



RuiwII, K. C. B.— 8e« 



A 



SCOTT'S POETICxVL WORKS. 



bnrgh friends, in wluoh city we spent the terms 
of the siifiiiner and winter Sessions of the 
Court, tliat IS, tive or six rnontlis iii the year. 

An important ci"ciiinslanf:e iiad, al)out the 
same time, taken place in my life. Hopes had 
been held out to me from an influential quarter, 
of a nature to relieve me from the anxiety 
which I must have otherwise felt, as one upon 
the precarious tenure of whose own life rested 
the principal prospecis of his family, and espe- 
cially as one wlio had necessarily some de- 
pendence upon the favour of the public, which 
is proverbially cai)ncioub ; though it is but 
justice to add, tiiat. in my own case, I have 
not found it so Mr. Pitt had expressed a wish 
to my personal friend, the Riglit Honourable 
William Dundas, now Lord Clerk Resister of 
Scotland, that some fitting opportunity should 
be taken to be of service to me : and as my 
views and wishes pointed to a future rather 
than an immediate provision, an opportunity 
of accomplishing this was soon found. One 
of the Principal Clerks of Session, as they are 
called, (official persons who occupy an import- 
ant and responsible situation, and enjoy a con- 
siderable income.) who had served upwards 
of thirty years, felt himself, from age. and the 
infirmity of deafness with which it was accom- 
panied, desirous of retiring from his otficial 
situation. As the law then stood, such official 
persons were entitled to bargain with their 
successors, either for a sum of money, which 
was usually a considerable one, or f(jr an in- 
terest in the emolumenis of the office during 
their life. My predecessor, whose services 
had been unusually meritorious, stipulated 
for the emoluments of iiis office during his 
life, while I should enjoy the survivorship, on 
the condition that I discharged the duties of 
the office in the meantime. Mr. Pitt, however, 
having died in the interval, his administration 
was dissolved, and was succeeded l)y that 
known by the name of the Fox and Grenville 
Ministry. My atfair was so far completed, that 
my commission lay in the office subscribed by 
his Majesty; but, from hurry or mistake, the 
interest of my predecessor was not expressed 
in it, as had been usual in such cases. Altliough, 
therefore, it only required payment of the fees, 
1 could not in honour take out the commission 
in the present state, since, in the event of my 
dying before him, the gentleman whom I suc- 
ceeded must have lost the vested interest 
which he had stipulated to retain. I had the 
honour of an interview with Earl Spencer on 
the subject, and he, in the most handsome 
manner, gave directions that the commission 
should issue as originally intended; adding, 
that the matter having received the royal as- 
sent, he regarded only as a claim of justice 
what he would have willingly done as an act 
of favour. I never saw Mr. Fox on this, or on 
any other occasion, and never made any ap- 
plication to him, conceiving that in doing so I 
might have been supposed to express political 
opinions contrary to those which I had always 

1 See Lift, vol. iii. p. 4. 

3 " Next view In sfate, proud prancing on his roau. 
The Bolden-crested liaughly Mannion, 
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 
Not quite a felon, yet but half a kniaht, 
The gibbet or the field prepared to ("race ; 
A mightx mixture of the great and base. 



professed. In his private capacity, there is no 
man to whom I would have been more proud 
to owe an obligation, had 1 been so distin- 
guished. 

By this arrangement I obtained the survivor- 
ship of an office, tiie emolumenis of which 
were fully adequate t<) my wishes; and as the 
law respecting the mode of providing for su- 
perannuated officers was, about five or six 
years after, altered from tliat which admitted 
the arrangement of assistant and successor, 
my colle.tgue very handsomely took the op- 
portunity of the "alter.ition. to accept of the 
retiring annuity provided in such cases, and 
admitted me to the full l)enefii of the office. 

But although the certainty of su('ceeding to 
a considerable income, at the time I obtained 
it, seemed to assure me of a quiet harbour in 
my old age, I did not escape my share of in- 
convenience from the contrary tides and cur- 
rents by which we are so often encountered 
in our journey through life. Indeed, the pub- 
lication of my next poetical attempt was pre- 
maturely accelerated, from one of those un- 
pleasant accidents which can neither be 
foreseen nor avoided. 

I had formed the prudent resolution to en- 
deavour to bestow a little more labour than I 
had yet done on my productions, and to be in 
no hurry again to announce myself as a candi- 
date for literary fame. Accordingly, particular 
passages of a poem, which was finally called 
" Mannion," were laboured with a good deal 
of care, by one by whom much care was sel- 
dom bestowed. Whether the work was worth 
the labour or not, I am no conifietent judge; 
but I may be permitted to say, that the period 
of its composition was a very happy one, in 
my life ; so much so. that I remember with 
pleasure, at this moment, some of the spots in 
which particular passages were composed. It 
is probably owing to this, that the Introduc- 
tions to the several Cantos assumed the form 
of familiar epistles to my intimate friends, m 
which I alluded, perhaps more than was ne- 
cessary or graceful, to my domestic occupa- 
tions and amusements— a loquacity which may 
be excused by those who remember, that I 
was still young, light-headed, and happy, and 
that "out of the abundance of the heart the 
mouth speaketh." 

The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, 
which happened at this time, led me to alter 
my prudent determination, which had been, to 
use great precaution in sending this poem into 
the world ; and made it convenient at least, if 
not absolutely necessary, to hasten its publi- 
cation. The pulilisners of "The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel," emboldened by the success of 
that poem, willingly offered a thousand pounds 
for '• Marmion." i The transaction being no 
secret, afforded Lord Byron, who was then at 
general war with all who blacked paper, an 
apology for including me in his satire, entitled 
"English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." 2 f 
never could conceive how an arrangement 



M 



And thiiik'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perchance. 
On public taste to foist ihy stale romance. 
Though Murray with his Miller may combine 
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? 
No ! when the sons of song descend to trade, 
Their hays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Ijct such forego the poet's sacred name. 
Who rack their brains ^Dr lucre, not for fame: 



rA 



7" 



MARMION 



between an author and his publishers, if satis- strance on the subject. I have, nevertheless, 
factory to the persons concerned, could alford always been of opinion, that corrections, hiw- 
matter of censure to any third party I had evenn themselves judicious, have a bad effect 
taken no unusual or uiiirenerous means of —after pubhcation An author is never so de- 
enh.inrin?' the value of my merchandise — I had cidedly condemned as on his own confession, 
never hiErq:led a moment at)()Uttliel)arsain. but and may long find apologists and partisans, 
accepted at once what I considered the hand- < until he gives up his own cause. I was not, 
some offer of my publishers These gentle- tiierefore, inclined to afford matter for censure 
men, at least, were not of opinion that ihey out of n)y own admissions; and, by good for- 
bad been taken advantage of in the transaction, tune, the novelty of the subject, and, if 1 may 
which indeed was one of tlieir own framing; say so, some force and vivacity of description, 
on the contrary, the sale of the Poem wiis so were allowed to atone for many imperfections, 
far bi-yond theirexpeciation,;is toinduce them 'I'hus the second experiment on the public 
to supply the .Amhor's cellars with what is patience, generally the most perilous,— for the 



less, N 



always an acxjeptuble present to a young Scot- 
ti.sh housekeeper, namely, a hogshe:ul of ex- 
cellent claret 

The Poem was finished in too much haste, 
to allow me an opportunity of softening down, 
if not removinir, some of its most prominent 
delects. The nature of Marnnon's guilt, al- 
though similar instances were found, and 



public are then most apt to judge with nsfour, 
what, ill the fir.4 instance they had received, 
peiha()s. with imprudent, generosity.— was in 
my case decidedly successful. I had the good 
fortune to pass this ordeal favourably, and the 
return of sales before me makes the copies 
amount to thirty-six thousand printed between 
18*)8 and 1826, besides a considerable sale since 



might, be quoted, as existing m feudal times, that period.' I shall here [)ause upon i he sub- 
was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to ject of " Marmion." and. in a few prefatory 
be indicative of the character oi the period, words to "The Ladv of the Lake." the last 
forgerybeingthecrlmeof a ciimmercial, rather poem of mine which obtained eminent suc- 
tlian a proud and warlike age This gross ce.ss, I will continue the task which I have 
defect ought to have been remedied or pal- imposed on myself respecting the origin of ray 
liated. Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it had productions. 
fallen. I remember my friend, Dr Levden, , , , , . •, ,0^^ 
then in the East, wrote me a furious remou- Aoooiajora, Apni, ituu. 



Marmion. 



RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY LORD MONTAGU,' 

^c. ^*c. ^c. 

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

// is hardly to he frpecled. that an Author whom the Public have honoured imth some degree of 

appUiuse, should not be aijam a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author of Marmion must be 

supposed to leel some anneiy conceridng its success, since he is sensible that he hazards, hy this 

second intrusion, any reputation which his first Poem may have procured him. The present story 



Still for etern Mammon may lln-y toil in Tain '. 
And Badly gate on aold iliey caiinol gain ! 
Sarh be ihfir mfcd. such aiill ihp just reward 
or prnaiiiultxl muse and tiirelliig bard ! 
For this we spurn .■Kpollo's venal son, 
And bid a long • Goo.l-nistit tn Marmion.' " 

Byron'a Works, vol. vii. p. 335-6. 

Ob flrst reading tliis satire, IS09, Scott nays. " It is funny 
enough to see a wtielp of a young Lord Bymn abusing me. 
Of whose circumstances he knows nothing, for endeavour- 
ing to s^-ratch out a living wrb my pen Ood help the 
bear, if. liaving lillle else lo eat, he mu.si not even aU' k his 
own paws. I can assure the noble imp of fame it is not 
my fauli that I w:i« not born to a park and 5000 pounds a- 
year. as it is not his lordship's merit, although it may be 
bi« great good fortune, that he was not born lo live bv his 
literary lalenis or 8Uc<-ess "—Life, v..|. iii. p. 19.5.— See 
also Correspondence with Ixird Byron, Ibid. pp. 393. 398. 

1 " M.irmion was first printed lu a splendid quarto, price 
one guinea and a half. The 2000 copies of this edition 
ware all disposed of in less than a moui h, wh^ n a second 



of 3000 copies, in 8vo, was sent to press. There followed 
a third and a fourth edition, each of 3000, in 1809; a fiftb 
of 2000, early in 1610; and a sixth of 3000, in two volumes, 
crown 8vo, wiih twelve designs by Singleion, before the end 
of that year ; a seventh of 4000, and au eighth of 6000 
copies 8vo, in It'll ; a ninth of 3000 in 1S16 ; a tenth of 600, 
In 1820; and eleventh of .'JOO, and a twelfth of 2000 copiea, 
in foolscap, bolh in 1825. The legitimate sale in Ihia 
country, therefore, down to the time of its being included 
in the tirst collective edition of his poetical works, amount- 
I ed ;o 31,(100; and the a;;gregate of that sale, down to the 
1 period at which I am writing (May 1830). may be .stated 
at 50 000 copies. I presume it is right for me to facilitsto 
i the task of future historians of our literature by preserr- 
1 ing these details as often as I can. Such particulars re- 
specting many of the great works even of the last century, 
are already sought for wiih vain regret; and 1 anticipate 
j no day when the student of English civili-atioii will pass 
without curiosity the contemporary reception of the Tnle 
of Flodden Field."— Lockhart, Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 66. 
I 2 l.ord Montagu was the second son of Henry Duke of Bur- 
cleucb, by the only daughter of John last Duke of Montagu. 



N 



A 



7 



76 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Uirtis upon the private adventures of a ficlitiovs character; but is calif d a Tale 'f Flodden Field, 
birause the hero's fate is connected with that memorable defrat, and the causes which led to it. 
The drsian of the Author was, if possible, to apjirize his readers, at the outset, of the date of his 
Story, and to prepare thein for the manners of the A(/e in which it is laid. Any Historical Narra- 
tive, far more an attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tnk ; yet he may 
be permitted (ohope, from the popularity of The Lay of llie Liist Minstrel, that an attempt to paint 
the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and in the course of a more mleresliny story, 
will not be unacceptable to the Public. 

The Poem (rpens ahout the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 
9th September, 1513. 

Ashestiel, 1808. 



:^ 



l^nrmfon. 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 

TO 

WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. i 
Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
November's sky is chill and drear, 
Noveiriher's leaf is red and sear: 
Late, saziiigdiiwti the steepy linn, 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dari< and narrow g^len, 
Yon scarce tlie rivulet niifflit ken, 
So thick the tangled greenwood grew. 
So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : 
Now. murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green, 
All angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed, 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
No more, beneath the evening beam. 
Fair 'i'weed reflects their purple gleam; 
Away hath pass'd the heather-bell 
That bloom d so rich on Needpalh-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet hare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair 
The sheep, befori? the pinching heaven. 
To slieller'd dale and down are driven, 
*Vhere yet some faded herbage pines, 
And yet a watery sunbeam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The wither'd sward and wintry sky, 
And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill : 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
And wraps him closer from tiie cold ; 
His dogs, no merry circles wheel, 
But, shivering, follow at his lieel ; 
A cowering glaiK^e they ofien cast. 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, 
As best befits the mountain child. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower; 
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return. 
And birds and lambs again be gay. 
And l)l(iss(tms clothe the hawthorn spray? 

For tlie origin and progress of Scott's acquaintanrp with 

Row, see Life, vols. ii. iii. iv. vi. Part of Marmion 

B rompo»«l at Mr. Roue's Beat lu the New Forest, Ibid. 



Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round. 
And while vou frolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings; 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And m her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate! 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wise ; 
The mind that thought for Britain's weal, 
The hand that grasp'd the victor steel 1 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows, 
But vainly, vainly may he shine. 
Where glory weeps o er Nelson's shrine ; 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 
That shrouds, Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
O never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here liis grave. 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ; 2 
To him, as to the burning levin, 
Short, bright, resistless course was given. 
Where'er his country's foes were found, 
Was heard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on ytmder shore, 
RoU'd. blazed, destroy'd,— and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth. 
Who bade the conqueror go forth. 
And launch'd that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia,3 Trafalgar; 
Who. born to guide such high err.prize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sms, an early grave ! 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power. 
Spurn 'd at the sordid lust of pelf. 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strain'd at subjection's l)ursting rein, 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd. 
The pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, 
Show'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause. 
And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the free- 
man's laws. 

S Nelaon. 

3 Copenhagen. 



z 



t7" 



MARMION. 



^ 



Had'sl thou but lived, thougli stripp'il of 
power. 
A watohiiian on the lonely tower, 
Tliy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
When fraud or danjfer were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beucon-lisjUr. 
Our pdots had ke[>t course aiiRlit; 
As some proud column, thuu^li alone. 
Thy strensfth had propp'd the tottering throne : 
Now is the stately column broke. 
The beacoii-lia:ht is quencli'd in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still, 
The warder silent on the lull ! 

Oh think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claiui'd his prey, 
With Paiinure's unalter'd mood, 
Firm at Ins iians;eriius post he stood; 
Each call for needful rest repell'd. 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway. 
'I'he steenige of the realm gave way i 
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains, 
One unpolluted church remains. 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddeuiu? sound, 
But still, upon the hallow'd day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear.— 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here ! 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his rival slumbers nigh; 
Nor be thy requiesoil dumb. 
Lest It be said o'er Fox's tomb i 
For talents mourn, untimely lost. 
When best employ 'd. and wanted most 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
And wit that loved to play, luit wound ; 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave, 
Be every harsher tlujught suppress 'd, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots. barJs. and kings; 
Where si iff the hand, and still the tongue. 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; 



" If genius higti and judgment Koiind, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound, 
And all the reason inj; powers diviue, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine. 
Could »ave one mortal of the herd 
From error — Fox bad aever err'd." 

"While Srolt wa« correcting a second proof of the pas- 
•age where Pitt and Fox are mentioned together, at Stnn- 
morc Priory, in April 1S07. L,ord Abeicorn 8ugge»led that 
the compliment to the Whit; siaiesmau ought to be still 
further heightened, and several lines- 



were added accordingly. I have heard, indeed, that they 
came from the Marqui>'s own pen. Ballantyne, however, 
from some inadvertence, had put the sheet to press Uforo 
the revile, as it is called arrived in Edinburgh, and some 
few copies got abroad in which the additional couplets were 
oiuilted. A Loudon jouruul (the Morniug Chronicle) was 



Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song. 
As if some angel spoke asren, 
"All peace on earth, good-will to men;" 
If ever from an English heart, 
O, here let prejudice depart. 
And. partial feeling cast aside. 
Record, that Fox a Briton died ! 
When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm i{ussian's purpose brave. 
Was barter'd by a timorous slave. 
Even then dishonour's peace he spurn'd. 
The sullied olive-branch relum'd, 
Stood for his country's glory fast, 
And nail'd her colours to the mast! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness gave 
A portion in this honour'd grave. 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 

With more than mortal power endow'd. 
How high they soar'd above the crowd 1 
Theirs was no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
Beneath each banner proud to stand, 
Look'd up the noblest of the land. 
Till through the British world were known 
The uaiiies of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
K'er framed in dark I'liessalian cave, 
Thoush his could ilram the ocean dry. 
And force the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with 

these. 
The wine of life is on the lees. 
Genius, and taste, and talent gone. 
For ever tonib'd beneath the stone, 
VVhere— ttimmg thought to huniaii pride ! — 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 2 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
'I'he solemn echo seems to cry, — 
" Here let their discord with them die. 
Speak not for those a separate doom, 
Wlioin Fate maile Brothers in the tomb ; 
But search the land of living men. 
Where wilt thou find their hke agea?" 



stupid and malignant enough to insinuate that the author 
had his presentation copie.i struck oft' with or without 
ihem, according as they were for Whig or Tory hands. I 
mention the circumstance now only because I see by a 
letter of Heber's ihal .Scott had thought it worth his while 
to contradict the absurd charge in the newspapers of the 
day."— Lockhart, Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 61. 

2 " Reader ! remember when ihou wert a lad. 
Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much. 
His very rival almost dcem'd him such. 
We, we have seen the inielleciual rai* 
Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face; 
Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea 
Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free, 
As the deep billows of the Aegian roar 
Betwixt the Hellenic and Ihe Phrygian shore. 
But where are they—the rivals!— a few feet 
Of sullen earth divide each winding-sheet. 
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave 
Which hushes all : a calm unstormv wave 
Which oversweeps the world. The Iheme is oM 
Of • dust to dust ;• but half its tale untold; 



\_ 



yA 






^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Re-;t. ardent Spirits! till the cries 
Ofdyms; Niiture liid you rise: 
Not even your I'ntam's groans can pierce 
Tlie le;uleu silence of your hearse; 
Tiieii. O, how inipoieiit and vain 
This Krateftil triLjtaiy strain ! 
Though not unrjiark'd from northern clime, 
Ye heard the Border Minstrers rhyme: 
His Gothic harp has o'er you run?; 
The Bard you deign'd to praise, your deathless 
names has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a wliile, 
My vVilder'd fancy sull heenile ! 
From this lii^i theme how can I part, 
Ere half unloaded is my heart I 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And all the raptures faiiry knew, 
And all the Iveeiier rush of hlood. 
That throbs through baid in hard-like mood. 
Were here a tnhute mean and low. 
Though all their inins:led streams could 

flow — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation hi£?h, 
In one sprinj^-tidi' of ecstasy ! — 
It will not be— it may not last — 
The vision of eiichaiitmerit's past: 
Like frostwork in the morning ray, 
The fancied falnic melts away; i 
Each Gothic arch, memorial stone. 
And Ion?, dim. lofty aisle, are pone; 
And, linKerinK last, deception dear, 
Ttie choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down. 
The silent pastures hleak and brown. 
'I'he fai ni hesirt wiih copsewood wild. 
The gambols of each frolic (^liild. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
Meeter, she says, for me to stray. 
And waste the solitary day. 
In plucUins: from yon fen the reed. 
And watch n floa'tms down the Tweed; 
Or idly list the shrilling lay, 
Willi which the milkmaid cheers her way. 
Marking its cadence rise and fail. 
As from the field, beneath her pail. 
She trips it down the uneven dale : 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 
I'he ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 
Though oft he si op in rustic fear, 
I/est his old legends tire the ear 
Of one, who, in his simple mind, 
ilay boast of book-learn 'd taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, can'st fitly tell, 
(For few have read romance so well,) 
How suU the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds. 
By warriors wrought in steely "weeds, 
Siill throb for fear and pity's sake; 
As when the Champion of the Lake 

1 •' If but a beam of sober reason play, 

Lo ; Fancy's fairy frostwork raelu :iway." 

Rogere Pleasure* 0/ Memory. 
5 Bee Appendix. Note A. 
V bet; Appendix, Note B. 



Enters Morgana's fated house. 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and demons' force 
Holds converse with tli-e uiiburied corse;' 
Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move, 
(Alas, that lawless was their love !) 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man, and unconfess'd. 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest. 
And, slumherins, saw the vision high. 
He might not view with waking eye.* 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorn'd not such legends to prohmg : 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream. 
And mix 111 Milton's heavenly theme ; 
And Diyden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Round again,* 
But that a ribald King and Court 
Bade him tell on. to make tliem sport; 
Demanded for tlieir niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay. 
Licentious satire, song, and play; 
The world defrauded of the high design. 
Profaned the God-given strength, and niarr'd 
the lofty line. 

Warm'd by such names, well may we then. 
Though dwindled sons of little men. 
Essay to break a feeble iaiice 
In the fair fields of old romance; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell. 
Where long through talisman and spell. 
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius. Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the hafpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth. 
On venturous quest to prick asrain, 
In all liis arms, with all his tram. 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and 

scarf. 
Fay. giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf. 
And wizard with Ins wand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around ihe Genius weave their spells. 
Pure Love, who scat ce his passion tells; 
Mystery, half veii'd and halt reveal'd; 
And Honour, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fix'd eye: and Fear, 
That loves the tale she slirinks to hear; 
And gentle Ctmrtesy; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; 
And Valour, Iion-mettled lord. 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
Ytene's a oaks— beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made. 
Of Ascapart. and Bevisbold.s 
And that Red King,'' who, while of old. 
Through Boldrewood the ch.ase he led. 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renew'd such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how He of Gaul, 
That Amadis so famed in hall, 

4 See Appendix, Note 0. 

6 Tlie New Forest in Hampshire, ancieQlljr no called. 

6 See Appendix, Note D. 

7 William Rufus. 



7 



MARMION. 



::k 



7^ 



For Oriana, foilM iii fisrht 

The Necromancer's felon might; 

And well in modern verse liast wove 

Partenopex's mystic love: » 

Hear, then, allenlive to my lay, 

A kujghtly tale of Albion's elder day. 



piavinion. 

CANTO FIRST. 



THE CASTLE. 



Day set on Norham's castled steep.2 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. 

And Cheviot's mountains lone: 
The battled towers, the donjon keep,' 
The loophole grates, where captives weep, 
Tlie flaiiking walls that round it sweep, 

III yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high. 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seem'd forms of giant height : 
Their armour, as it caught tlie rays, 
Flash'd back again the western blaze, 

la lines of dazzling light. 

11. 
Saint George's banner, broad and gay, 
T^ow faded, as the fading ray 

Less briglit, and less, was flung; 
The evening gale had scarce the p(twer 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
Tlie scouts had parted ou their search. 

The Castle sates were barr'd ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
I'lining his footsteps to a march, 

The Warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along. 
Some aucieat Border gathering song. 

III. 
A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Horncliff-hill a plump* of spears. 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled cxiurser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
I'liat closed the Castle barricade, 

His bugle horn he blew; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And warn'd the Captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew; 
And joyfully that knight did call. 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 

^ IV. 

" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 
Bring pasties of the doe. 



^. 



1 Parlenopa de Btoit, a poem, by W. 8. Rosi 
published in l»-08 — Ed. 

a See Appendix, Note E. 3 Ibid 

4 This word properly applies to a fl\gh\ of • 
r applied, by analogy, to a body of horse. 



And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be. 
And every iiiiiisirel sound his glee, 

And all our irumjHits blow ; 
And. Iroiii the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvosliot ; 
wL^tftLMarniion waits below !" 
Then to the Ca.stle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The iron studded gates unharr'd. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard. 
The lofty palisade uiisparr'd 

And let the drawbridge fall. 



Alons the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 
Proudly his red-roan chareer trode. 
His helm hung at the saddlebow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knisht. and keen. 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown clieek reveal'd 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
Sliow'd spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn hare. 
His thick mustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turn'd joints, and strength of limb, 
Shovv'd liiin no carpet knight so trim. 
But III close fight a champion grim, 

la camps a leiuler sage. 

VI. 
Well was he arm'd from head to heel. 
In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 5 
But his strong helm, of mighty cost. 
Was all with burnish'd gold emboss'd ; 
Amid the plumage of the crest, 
A falcon hover'd on her nest. 
With wings outspread, and forward breast; 
K'en such a falcon, on his shield, 
Soar'd sable in an azure field : 
The golden legend bore aright, 
215Eto rfjrcks at me, to tiratl) is tJigfjt.s 
Blue was the cliarser's broider'd rein ; 
Blue ribbons deck'd his archins mane ; 
The knishtly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. 

VII. 
Behind him rode two eallant squires. 
Of noble name, and knightly sires; 
They biirn'd the gilded spurs to claim; 
For well could each a war-lior.se tame. 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIIL 
Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : 



" There is a knight of the Norlh Country, 
Which leads a lusty plump of spears " 

riodden Field, 
r, See Appendix, Note G. 
e See Appendix, Nole H, 



y 80^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



M 



hey bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
And led his sumpter-inules along. 
And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Hiin listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four. 
On high his forky pennon bore : 
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
FhUter'd the streamer glossy l)lue, 
Wliere, blazon'd sable, as before, 
The towering falcon seern'd to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
111 hosen black, and jerkins blue. 
With falcons broider'd on each breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
Each, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend. 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys, and array, 
Sliow'd they had march 'd a weary way. 

IX. 
Tis meet that T shoold tell you now, 
How fairly arm'd, and onler'd how, 

The soldiers of the guard. 
With musket, pike, and morion, 
To welcome noble .Marmion, 

Stood in the Castle-yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpetei-s were there. 
The gunner held his linstock yare. 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Enter'd the train, and such a clang. 
As then through all his turrets rang, 

Old Norman never heard. 



The guards their morrioe pikes advanced. 

The trumpets flounsh'd biave. 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound. 
For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, 
- He scjilter'd angels round. 
" Welcome to Norham, Marmion ! 

Stout heart, and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy sallant roan. 

Thou flower of English land !" 
XL 
Two pursuivants, whom taharts deck. 
With silver scutcheon round their neck. 

Stood on the steps of stone. 
By which you reach the donjon gate. 
And there, with herald pomp and state, 

They hail'd Lord Marmion : 
They Iiail'd him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town ; i 
And he, their courtesy to requite. 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
" Now, largesse, largesse.2 Lord Marmion, 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazon'd shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guarded heart so bold," 

XIL 
They marshall'd him to the Castle-hall, 
Where the guests stood all aside. 




I Set Appendix, Note 1 



3 Ibid, Mole K. 



And loudly flourish'd the trumpet-call, 
.jViKLttie heralds loudly cried, 
— •• Rooiii, lordings. room for Lord Marmion, 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know the trophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainlv Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ; 
To hini he lost his lady-love. 

And to the King his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair ; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shiei'l, 

And saw his saddle bare; 
We saw the victor win tlie crest 

He wears with worthy pride ; 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon Knight! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay. 
For him who conquer'd in tlie right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye 1" 

XIII. 
Then stepp'd to meet that noble Lord, 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
Baron of 'I'wisell, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold. 3 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 
R.iised o'er the pavement high. 
And placed him in the ujiper place — 

They feasted full and high: 
The vvhiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly fend, 
" How the fierce Tfiinealls, and Ridleys all,* 
Siout WdLimonilswick, 
And Hardridimj Dick, 
And HwiMe of Ha wd on. and Will o' the WaU, 
Have set on Sir Albany Fralherslonbaugh, 
And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw" 
Scantily Lord Marmion's ear could brook 

The harper's barbarous lay ; 
Yet much he praised the pains he took. 
And well those pains did ()ay : 
For lady's suit and minstrel's strain. 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 

XiV. 
" Now, good Lord Marmion." Heron says, 

"Of your fair courtesy, 
I pray you bide some little space 

In "this poor tower with me 
Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

M.\v breathe your war-horse well ; 
Seklorii hath pass'd a week but giust 

Or feat of arms befell : 
The Sciits can rein a mettled steed ; 

.\nd love to couch a spear: — 
Saint George ! a stirring life they lead, 

That have such neighbours near. 
Then stay with us a little space. 

Our northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you, for your lady's grace !" 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. 

XV. 
The Captain mark'd his alter'd look. 

And gave a squire the sign; 
A mighty wassail bowl he took, 

And crown'd it high in wine. 
" Now pledge me here. Lord Marmion : 

But first 1 pray thee f:ur, 



I See .\ppenUix, Note L. 



4 Ibid, Note M. 



z 



y 



MARMION 



Where h:ist thou left that pase of thine, 
Tnat used to serve thy cup of wine, 

Whose beauty was so rare ? 
When last in llahy towers we met. 

The boy 1 closely eyed. 
And often mark'd his cheeks were wet, 

With tears he fain would hide : 
His was no ruirsfed horse boy's hand. 
To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 

Or saddle battle-steed : 
But nieeter seem'd for lady fair. 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair. 
Or throush embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, 

His bosom— when he sierh'd. 
The rus.set doublet's ru??ed fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast ihou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower? 
Or was the gentle pase, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour T' 

XVI. 
Lord Marmion ill could brook such Jest ; 

He roH'd his kindling eye, 
With pain his rising wratli suppress 'd, 
^ . Yet made a calm reply : 
"That boy thou thoughi'st so goodly fair. 

He might not brook the northern air. 
More of his f:ite if thou wouldst learn, 

I left hini sick in Lindisfarn :i 
Enough of him — But, Heron, say, 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day? 
Or h;is that danie, so fair and sage, 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage ?" 
"He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame. 

XVII. 
Unmark'd, at least unreck'd. the taunt, 
-J^^areless the Knight replied, 
"No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt, 

Delights in cage to bide : 
Norham is grim and grated close, 
Hemm'd in by battlement and fosse. 

And many a darksome tower; 
And better loves my la<ly bright 
To sit in lilierty and light. 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our gieyhonnd in our hand. 

Our falcon on our glove ; 
But where shall we tiiid lash or band. 

For dame that loves to rove ? 
Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 
- She'll stoop when she has tired her wing."' — 

XVHL 
" Nay, if with Royal James's bride 
The lovely Lady Heron bide. 
Behold me here a messenger. 
Your tender greethigs prompt to bear: 
For. to the .Scottish court address'd, 
I journey at our King's behest. 
And pray you. of your grace, provide 
For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 
I have not ridden in Scotland since 
James hack'd the cause of that mock prince, 
W arbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 
Who on the gibbet paid I he cheat. 

I flee Note 2 B, canto ii. glaiv I. 
3 See .-Vj-peiiJix, Nole N. 



Then did I march with Surrey's power. 
What time we razed old Aytoa tower." — ' 

XIX. 
"For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow; 
For here be some have prick'd as far. 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 
Have drunk the monks of St. Boihan's ale. 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And given them light to set their hoods."—* 

XX. 

" Now, in good sooth." Lord Marmion cried, 

•' Were I in warlike wise to ride, 

A better guard I would not lack. - -^ 

Than your stout forayers at my back ; 

But, as in form of peace I go, 

A friendly messenger, to know. 

Why through all Scotland, near and far, 

Their King is mustering troops for war, 

The sight of plundering Border spears 

Might justify su.spicious fears. 

And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, 

Break out in some unseemly broil: 

A herald were my fitting guide; 

Or friar, sworn in f)eace to bide; 

Or pardoner, or travelling priest. 

Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 

X.XL —- - 

The Captain mused a little space. 
And pass'd his hand across his face. 
—"Tain would I find the guide you want, 
But ill may spare a pursuivant. 
The onlyiTien that safe can ride 
Mine erj-ands on the Scottish side : 
And though a bishop built this fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort ; 
Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 
Since our last siege, we have not seen: 
The mass he might not. sing or say. 
Upon one stinted meal a day : 
So. safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
And pray'd for our success the while. 
Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 
Is all too well in case to ride ; 
The priest of Shoreswood ^ — he could rem 
The wildest war-horse in your tram ; 
But then, no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man : 
A blithesome brother at the can. 
A welcome guest in hall and bower. 
He knows each castle, town, and tower. 
In which the wine and ale is good, 
'Tvvi.Tt Newcastle and Holy Rood. 
But that good man, as ill befalls. 
Hath seldom left our castle walls. 
Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 
In evil hour, he cross'd the Tweed, 
To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
Old Bughtrig found him with his wife ; 
And John, an enemy to strife. 
Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 
The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 
That, if again he venture o'er. 
He shall shrieve penitent no more. 
Little he loves such risks, I know ; 
Vet, in your guard, perchance will 50." 




V 



/: 



^ 82 



:^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



XXII. 
Young: Selby. at the fair hall-board, 
Carved to his uncle and that lord, 
And reverenllv took up the word. 

"HRTiud uncle, woe were we each one, 
If liarm should hap to brother John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech. 
Can many a a^anie and grambol teach : 
Full well at tables can he play. 
And sweep at bowls the .stake away. 
None can a lustier carol bawl, 
The needfullest amona: us all. 
When time bans;? heavy in the hall, 
And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
A forav on tiie Scottish side. 
The vow'd revenue of Biislitris: rude, 
May end ni worse than loss of iioud. 
Let Friar John, in safety, still 
In chimney-corner snore his (ill. 
Roast hissinsr crabs, or fiasons swill : 
Last night, to Norhatn there came one. 
Will better ffuide Lord Marmion "— 
" Nephew," quoth Heron, "bv my fay, 

--Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say."- 

XXIII. 
" Here is a holy Palmer come, 
From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 
One, that hath kiss'd the blessed lonib. 
And visited each holy shrine, 
In Araby and Palestine ; 
On hills of Armenie hath been. 
Where N()ah's ark may vet be seen ; 
By that Red Sea. too, haih he trod. 
Which parted at the prophet's rod : 
In Sinai's wilderness he .saw 
The Mount, where Israel heard the law. 
'Mid thunder-dint, and flashing; levin, 
And shadows, mists, and darkness, ffiven. 
He shows Saint James's cockle-shell, 
Of fair Montserral, too. can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod, 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie retired to God.i 

XXIV. 
" To stout Saint George of Norwich merry. 
Saint Thomas, too. of Canterburv, 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Cede, 
For his sins' [lardoii hath he pray'd. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; 
Little he eats, and long will wake. 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But, when our John hath quaff d his ale, 
As little as the wind that blows. 
And warms itself against his nose. 
Kens he. or cares, which way he goes."— 

XXV. 

"^Gramercy !" quoth Lord Marmion, 
" Full loth were I. that Friar John, 
That veneralile man. for nie. 
Were placed in fear or Jeopardy 
If tins same Palmer will me lead 
From hence to Holy-Rood. 



Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, 

Instead of cockle-shell, of bead, 
With angels fair and good. 

I love such holy ramblers ; still 

They know to charm a weary hill, 
With song, romance, or lay : 

.Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 

Some Wing legend, at the least. 
They bring to cheer the way."— 
XXVI. 

" Ah ! noble sir " young Selby said. 
And finger on his lip he laid, 

"This man knows much, perchance e'en mors 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

Still to himself he's muttering, 

And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we lislen'd at his cell : 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 

He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er 

No living mortal could be near. 

Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 

As other voices spoke again. 

I cannot tell— I like it not— 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote. 

No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 

Can rest awake, and pray so long. 

Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have inark'd ten aves, and two creeds."—* 

XXVIL 
Let pass," quoth Marmion r " by my fay, 
This man shall guide me on my way. 
Although the great arch-fiend and he 
Had sworn themselves of company. 
So please you. gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer a to the Castle-hall." 
The summon 'd Palmer came in place; 
His sable cowl o'erhung his face : 
In his black mantle was he clad. 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 

On his broad shoulders wrought; 
The scallop shell his cap did deck; 
1 he crucifix around his neck 

Was from Loretto brought , 
His sandals were with travel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; 
The fiided palm-branch in his hand 
Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land. 

XXVIIL 
When as the Palmer came in hall. 
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall. 
Or had a statelier step withal. 

Or look'd more high and keen; 
For no saluting did he wail. 
Hut strode across the hall of state. 
And fronted Marmum where he sate. 

As he his peer had been 
But his gaum frame was worn with toil; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while! 
And when he struggled at a smile. 

His eye look'd haggard Wild : 
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there. 
In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair, 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 
Soon change the form that best we knoW'^ 
For deadly fear can time outgo. 

And blanch at once the hair: 



K 



1 See Appendix. Not,- Q. 
3 See Apijeudix, Mole K, 



Sue Appemlix, Note 8. 



^ 



7 



^ 



MARMION 



^ 



Hard toil can roughen form and laci;. 
Atid want can quencli tlie eye's linjjlit 
Nor does old age a wrinkle tracu 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall. 
Bui this poor Palmer new them all. 

XXIX. 
Lord .Mamiion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took ou him the task, 
^^<> he would march with nioriiintr tide, 
_Xu Scottish court to be his guide. 
" But I have solemn vows to pay. 
And may not Imser by the way, 

'I'll fair ^<t. Andrews bound, 
W'ltjiiu the ocean cave to pray. 
Where good i>nnit Rule Ins holy lay 
i'roMi midnisht to the dawn ol day, 

Sum; lo I he billows' sound ; ' 
'I'lieiice lo Saint Killan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 

And the crazed brain reslore : 2 
S.iiiil Mary grant, that cave or spring 
CduM back to peace my bosom bring, 

Or bid it throb no more !" 

XXX. 

And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
III massive bowl ofsilver deep, 

'I'iie pase presents ou knee. 
Lord .Marmioii drank a fair good rest, 
'I'tie Captain pledged Ins noble aruest. 
The cup went through among liie rest, 

Whodraiii'd it merrily; 
Alone the Palmer pass'd it by. 
Though Selby press'd him (courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er; 
It liush'd the merry wassel roar. 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was heard, 
But the sliiw footstep of the guard. 

Pacing liis sober round. 

XXXI. 
With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 
And first the ciiapel doors unclose; 
I'hen. after morning rites were done, 
{A hdsiy in;i.ss from Friar John, 3) 
And knight and squire had broke their fast. 
On rich .substantial repast. 
Lord .Marimoirs bugles blew to horse : 
Then came the stirrup-cup in course : 
Between the Baron and his host. 
No point of courtesy was lost; 
High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid. 
Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
'I'lll. tiling from the gate, had pass'd 
■■I'hat noble train, their Lord the hist. 
Then loudly rung the trumpet call; 
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall. 

And shook the Scottish shore ; 
Around the castle eddied slow. 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow, 

And hid its turrets hoar; 
Till they roll'd forth upon the air. 
And met the river breezes there. 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 

1 S« Apienclix, NoteT. 

2 Sre AppHiidix, Nole U. 

3 •• la (Jaiholic couiiiries, in order to reooiirile the plea' 
sucex of th«? sjreat with the observances of religion, it wai 
oimmnii, when a party was bent for the chase, to celebralt 
muM, abn igcd uuii laaimeU of its rites, called a huuliiig' 



^t 



l^;irmion. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 



TO THE 

REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M. 

Ashestiel, Ellrick Forest. 
The scenes are desert now, and hare. 
Where flourish'd once a forest fair,-i 
When these waste glens with copse were 

lined. 
And peopled with the hart and hind 
Yon Thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced him for three hundred years, 
^hile fell around his green compeers— 
'Yon lonely I'horn. would he could tell 
The changes of his parent dell, 

/Since he, so grey and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 
Would he could tell how deep the shade 
A thousand mingled branches made; 
How broad the shadows of the oak. 
How clung the rowan* to the rock. 
And through the foliage show'd his head. 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pines on every mountain sprung, 
O'er every dell what birches hung, 
111 every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my shade,'' methinks he'd say, 
"The mighty stag at noon-tide lay : 
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, 
(The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) 
With lurching step around me prowl. 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 
While doe, and roe, and red-deer gootl. 
Have bounded by. through gay green-wood. 
Then oft, from Newark's 6 riven tower. 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: 
A thousand vassals mustered round. 
Wit h horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; 
And I might see the youth intent. 
Guard every pass with crossbow bent; 
And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in green-wo(»d trim. 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim. 
Attentive, as the bralchet's'? bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain. 
As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rockins hills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry. 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." 

m.-iKs, the brevity of which was designed lo correspond with 
the impatieuce of the audience."— A'o/e to -Tke Abba." 
\ew Edit. 
4 See Appendix, Note V. 6 Mnuntain-a»h. 

6 See Notes lo the Lay of the tast Miusttel. 

7 Slowhouud. 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Of such proud tiunting:s, many tales 
Yet Imyer in our lonelv dales. 
Up pHlhless Ettrick and on Yarrow. 
Where erst the outhtw drew his arrow.! 
But not more bhthe tliat silvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler sport ; 
Though small our pomp, and mean our 

era me, 
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true? 
O'er holt or hill there never flew, 
From slip or leasii there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry cliase 
I'ass'd by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
We mark'd each memorable scene, 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now— for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! ' 
No longer, from thy mountains dun. 
The yeoman hears the well-known gun. 
And while his honest heart glows warm. 
At thought of his paternal farm, 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 
And drinks, "The Chieftain of the Hills!" 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 
Trip o'er the walks, or tond the flowers. 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Caterhaugh ; 
No youthful Baron 's left to grace 
The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase. 
And ape, in manly step and tone. 
The majesty of Oberon : a 
And she is gone, whose lovely face 
Is i)ut her least and lowest grace ; 
Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given. 
To show our earth the charms of Heaven, 
She could not glide along the air. 
With form more light, or face more fair. 
No more tlie widow's deafen'd ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear: 
At noontide she expects her not. 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Pensive she turns her humming wlieel, 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 
The gentle hand by which they're fed. 

From Yair,— which hills so closely hind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
Till all his eddying currents boil,— 
Her long-descended lord* is gone. 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys,6 
Companions of my mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side, with what delight 
They press'd to hear of Wallace wight. 



When, pointing to his airy mound, 
I call'd his ramparts holy ground ! 6 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak; 
And 1 have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite the difference of our years. 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure. 
They will not, cannot, long endure ; 
Condemn'd to stem the world's rude tide. 
You may not linger by the side : 
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore, 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still. 
Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
When fiercer transport shall be dumb. 
And you will think right frequently, 
But. well 1 hope, without u sigh, 
On the free hours that we have spent 
Together, on the brown hill's bent. 

When, musing on companions gone, 
We doubly fee! ourselves alone. 
Something, my friend, we yet may gain, 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest, 
I Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 
"I'li silent amid worldly toils, 
AiiU stifled soon l)y mental broils: 
But, in a bosom thus prepared, 
Its still .small voice is often heard. 
WlLispermg a mingled sentiment, 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft 111 my mind such thoughts awake. 
By lone Saint Mary's silent lake : 7 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, 
Pollute the pure lake's crysial edire; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
At once upon the level brink ; 
And just a trace of silver sand 
Marks where the water meets the land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue. 
Each hill's huge outline you may view. 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, 
Save where, of land, yon slender line 
Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. 
Yet even this nakedness has power, 
And aids the feeling of the hour : 
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
Where living thing coiiceal'd might lie ; 
Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 
Where swam, or woodman lone, might dwell, 
There's nothing left to fancy's gues.s. 
You see that all is loneliness : 
And silence aids— though the steep hills 
Send to the lake a thousand rills; 
In summer tide, so soft they weep, 
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 
So stilly is the solitude. 

Nought living meets the eye or ear. 
But well I ween the dead are near: 



Ettr. 
V »llu<l 



1 The Tale of Ihe Outlaw Murray, wlio held out Newark 
Caitle and Kllrich Forest against Ihe Kiiig. may be found 
in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In Ihe Ma.farlane MS., 
among other causes of Jamt-H the Fifth's charter to the 
burgh of Selkirk, is mentioned, that the citiiens assisted 
him to suppress this dangerous outlaw. 

3 A seat of the Duke of Bucileuch on the Yarrow, in 

Ettrick Forest. See Notes to Ihe Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

Mr. Marnolt was governor to the young nobleman here 

alluded to, George Henry, Lord Scott, son to Charles, Karl 



of Dalkeith, (afterwards Du 
berry,) and who died early i 
iii. pp. 59-61. 

4 The late Alexander Pringle, Esq.. of Whytbank— whose 
beautiful seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two 
miles below .\^hestiel, the then residence of Ihe poet. 

6 The sons of Mr. Pringle of Whyibank. 

6 There is, on a high mouniainnus ridge above the fann 
of Ashesliel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench. 

7 See Appendix, Note W. 



^ 



^ 



MARMION, 



85 



For thouarh, in feudal strife, a foe i 
Hath laid Oar Lady's chapel low, 
Yet still, beneath the haliow'd sciil. 
The pe:u«iaiit resis him froiii his t»)U. 
And, dying, bids his bones he laid, 
Where erst his simple fathers pray'd. 



If a?e had tamed the passions' strife, 
And fate had cut niy ties to life. 
Here, have I tiiouglit. 'twere sweet to dwell, 
And rear again the chaplain's cell. 
Like Ihat same peaceful hermitage. 
Where Milton longed to spend nis age.^ 
'Tweie sweet to mark the setting day, 
On Bourliope's lonely top deaiy ; 
And, ;is It laint and feeble died 
On the broad lake, and mountain's side. 
To say. " Thus pleasures tade away ; 
Youth, talents. l)eauiy, thus decay. 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey ;" 
Then gaze on Diyhope's ruin'd tower. 
And tlimk on Yarrow's faded Flower : 
And when that inounlain-sound I heard, 
Which hids us be for storm pre[)ared, 
The d stant rustling of his wings. 
As up his force ihe Tempest brings, 
'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 
To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; 
That V\ izaid Priest's, whose bones are thrust 
From company of holy dust ;3 
On which no sunbeam ever .shines — 
(So superstition's creed divines)— 
Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, 
Heave her broad billows to the shore; 
And mark the wild swans mount the gale, 
Spread wide through mist their snowy sail. 
And ever stoop again, to lave 
Their bosoms on the surging wave : 
Then, wtien against the driving bail 
No longer might my plaid avail. 
Back to my lonely home retire. 
And light my lamp, and trim my fire , 
There ponder o'er some nr.stic lay, 
Till tlie wild tale had all Us sway. 
And. in the biUern's distant shriek, 
I heard unearthly voices speak. 
And thought the Wizard Priest was come, 
'I'o claim ai:ain his ancient home ! 
And bade my bu>y fancy range. 
To frame liim titling shape and stninge, 
■| ill from the task my brow I clear'd. 
And smiled to think that I liad fear'd. 



But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, 
(Though but escape from fortune's strife,) 
Something most malchless good and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour to mu.sing given, 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him, whase heart is ill at ease. 
Such peaceful solitudes displease : 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 



1 See Appeiidi: 

2 " Aud ni;iy a 

Find oui the pes 
Tbe liajry gown 



^ 



and mossy lell, 
nnd nghlly xpell 
t heaven doth «ho' 



And every herb Ibat sipa llie i 



And my black Palmer's choice had been 

Some ruder and more savage scene. 

Like that which frowns round dark Loch- 

skene* 
There eagles scream from rock to shore ; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
Dark misis infect the summer heaven; 
Through the rude barriers of the lake, 
Away Its hurrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter da.sh and curl. 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fogsmoke white ;is'siiow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below. 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave. 
Who, prison'd by enchanter's spell. 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
And well that Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene, 
Just on the edge, strainim; his ken 
To view the bottom of the den. 
Where, deep deep down, and far within. 
Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
White as the snowy charger's tail. 
Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. 

Marriott, thy harp, on Isis strung. 
To many a Border theme has rung:3 
Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 



^: 



i^Scifmfon. 



CANTO SKCOND. 



THE CONVENT. 

I. 

The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 

Round Norham Castle roll'd. 
When all Ihe loud artillery sfioke. 
With liffhtmng-flash, and thunderstroke, 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It cuii'd not Tweed alone that breeze. 
For. far upon Northumbrian seas. 

It freshly blew, and s rong, 
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile,* 
Bound to St. Cuthhert's Holy Isle,7 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stoop'd her side. 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide. 

As she were danciii? home ; 
The merry .seamen laughed, to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 



Till old experience do attain 

To Bomeihing like prophetic strain." 

Jl Pmseroto, 
See Appendix, Note Y. 4 Ibid, Nn;e Z. 

See various balla<l..< by Mr. Marriott, in Ihe 4Ih vol. 
Ihe Border Minslreluy. 
i See Appendix, Note 2 A. 7 Ibid, Nole 3 B. 



A 



r. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



86 



Much joy'il lliey in their hoiiour'd freight; 
For, on the deck, in oliair of stale. 
The Abhess of SaiiU Hilda placed. 
With five fair uuus, the galley graced. 

II. 
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 
Like birds escaped to g:reen-wood shades. 

Their first flight from the cage, 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was stramre and new. 
And all the common sights they view, 

Their woiiderineiit eiis;age. 
One eyed the shrouds and .swelling sail, 

Wiih niiinv a heiiedinte ; 
One at thf nppliiii; snr-e srew pale, 

And would forlfrnir |ir;,y; 
Then shnek'd. Itecaiise Mie sea-dog, nigh. 
His round black head, and sparkling eye, 

Rear'd o'er the foainiiig spray ; 
And one would slill adjust her veil, 
Disordered by the summer sale. 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair tiirn'd arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there, 
Save two. who ill might pleasure share, — 
Tlie Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 

HL 
The Abbess was of noble blood. 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Kie upon life she cast a look, 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fair loo she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
Combined with vanity and shame ; 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
Uounued within the cloister wall • 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 
VV;is of moiKistic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's lame. 
For this she gave her ample dower. 
To raise llie convent's e;istern tower. 
For this, with carving rare and quaint, 
She deck'd the chapel of the samt. 
And gave the relic shrine of cost, 
With ivory and gems emboss'd. 
'I'he poor her Convent's bounty blest, 
I'iie pilgrim iii its hulls found rest. 

IV. 
Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reform'd on Benedicime school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare , 
Vigils, and penitence austere. 
Had early quench'd the light of youth, 
But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
Though vain of her religious sway, 
She loved to see her mauls obey," 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And the nuns love their Abbess well. 
Sad was t Ins voyage to the dame ; 
Siimmon'd to Lindisfarne, she came. 
There, with Saint Hutlibert's Abbot old. 
And Tynemouih's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict. 



N 



On two apostates from the faith. 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 



Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair. 
As yet a novice iinprofess'd. 
Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 
She was betrotli'd to one now dead. 
Or worse, who had dishonour'd fled. 
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land : 
Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
Was bent, to take the vestal vow, 
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and willier'd bloom. 

VI. 
She sate upon the galley's prow. 
And seem'd to mark the waves below, 
.\ay. seem'd, so tix'd her look and eye, 
To count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not— 'twas seeming all- 
Far other scene her thoughts recall, — 
A sun scoicli'd desert, waste and bare. 
Nor waves, nor breezes, murmur'd there. 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand, 
I'o hide it till the jackals come. 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. 

See what a wnful look was given. 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 

VIL 
Lovely, and gentle, and distress'd— 
These charms might tame the fiercest breast: 
Harpers have sung, and poe's told, 
That he, in fury uncontroird, 
I'he shaggy monarch of the wood, 
Before a virgin fair and good. 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 
But passions in the human frame, 
Oft put the lion's rage to shame : 
And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 
With sordid avarice in league. 
Had practised with their bow] and knife. 
Asiamst the mourner's harmless hie. 
I his crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 
Prison'd in Cuthberl's islet grey. 

vin. 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and halls, succe.ssive rise, 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk- Wearinoutli soon behind them lay, 
And Tynemouth's (iriory and bay ; 
They inark'd, amid her trees, the hall 
Of h)fty Seaton-Delaval; 
I hey saw the BIythe and Wansbeck floods 
Rush to tlie sea through sounding woods ; 
They pass'd the tower of Widderington,' 
Mother of many a valiant son ; 
At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 
To the good Saint who own'd the cell; 
Then did the AIne attention claim. 
And Warkworth proud of Percy's name; 
And next, they cross'd themselves, to hear 
The whitening breakers sound so near. 
Where, boiling through the rocks they roar. 
On Uunstanborough's cavern'd shore ; 



1 ».'< 



Chti!\i Chase. 



ry'H HtUque*. 



'^ 



A 



7 



^ 



^ 



MARMION 



^ 



Thy tower, proud Bamborough, iiiark'd tliey 

tliere. 
Kins: Ida's castle, lius:e and square, 
From iu tall n)nk look grimly down. 
And on the swcllms: ooeaii tVown ; 
'I'lien from the coast ihey bore away, 
And reach'd the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flond-mark gain. 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For. with tlie flow and ebb. its style 
V;iries from continent to isle ; 
Diy-.shod. o'er sands, twice every day, 
Tiie pikrims to the shrine find way ; 
Twice every day, the waves efface 
Of -staves and sandall'd feet the trace. 
As to I he port the gn ley Hew, 
Hiirher and liigher rose to view 
The Castle with its battled walls, 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A solemn, hu^e, and dark-red pile 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that Abbey frown'd, 
VViih masMve arclies broad and round, 
Tliat rose allernale. row and row. 
On ponderous columns, short and low. 

Built ere the art was known. 
By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, 
I'he arcades of an alley 'd walk — 

To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had f)our'd his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful was such strength to these, 
txposed to the tempestuous seas. 
Scourged by the wind s eternal sway. 
Open to rovers tierce as they. 
Which c()Uld twelve hundred years withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not iMit that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style, 
Shovv'd where the spoiler's hand had been, 
Not but the was:ing sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint. 
And moulder'd in his niche the saint, 
And rounded, with consuming power, 
'I'he pointed angles of each tower; 
Yet still entire the Abbey stood, 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 

XI. 
Soon as they near'd his turrets strong. 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 

And with the sea-wave and the wind, 

'I'heir voices, sweetly shrill, combined. 
And made harmonious close ; 

Then, answering from the sandy shore, 

Half-drowii'd amid the breakers' roar, 
According chorus rose : 

Down to the haven of the Isle. 

The monks and nuns in order file. 

From Cuthberfs cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there. 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, tliey bjire; 
And, as they caught the sounds on air. 

They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood. 
Kush'd emulously thnjugh the flood. 

To hale the bark to land ; 



^ 



1 See Appendix, Nole 2 C. 



3 IbiU. Note 2 D. 



Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 
Signing the cro<!S. the Abbess stood. 
And bless'd them with her hand. 

XII. 
Suppose we now the welcome said, 
Sufipose the Convent banquet made : 

All through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vesial maid might pry. 
Nor risk to meet unhallow'd eye. 

The stranger sisters roam : 
Till fell the evening damp with dew. 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew. 
For there, even summer night is chill. 
Then, having stray 'd and gazed their fill, 

Tliey closed around the tire ; 
And all, in turn, essuy'd to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid; for, be it known. 
That their saint's honour is their own. 

XIII. 
Then Whitby's nuns exulting told. 
How to their house three Barons bold 

Must menial service do;i 
While horns blow out a note of shame. 
And monks cry " Fye upon your name ! 
In wrath, for loss of silvan game. 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 
^llWrts, on Ascen.si(in-day, each year, 
While labouring on our harbour pier. 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." — 
They told, how in their convent-cell 
A Saxon princess once did dwell. 

The lovely Edelfled ;2 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone. 

When holy Hilda pray'd ; 
Themselves, within their holy hound 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 
As over Whitby's towers they sail,3 
And, sinking down, with flulterings faint. 
They do their homage to the saint. 

XIV. 
Nor did Saint Cuthberfs daughter's fail. 
To vie with these in holy tale ; 
His body's resting-place, of old. 
How oil their patron changed, they told :* 
How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, 
The monks fled forth from Holy Isle : 
O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor. 
From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
Seven years Saint Cuthberfs corpse they bore. 

They rested them in fair Melrose : 
But though, alive, he loved it well, 

Not there Ins relics might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 

In his stone-coflfiii forth he rides, 

A ponderous bark for river tides. 

Yet light as gossamer it glides. 
Downward to Tilmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there. 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hail'd him with joy and fear; 
And, after many wanderings past. 



3 See Appendix, Note 2 1 



4 Iliid. .Noie t r. 



T 



■7 



Z 



/ 



V 



83 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



He chose his lordly seat, at last, 
Where iiis cathedral, huse and vast, 

LKioks down upon the Wear : 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid; 

But none may know the place, 
Save of his holiest servants three, 
Uee[i sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 

XV. 

Who may his miracles declare ! 

Even Scotland's dauntless kins, and heir, 

(Allhoush with them they led 
GalvvoKians, wild as ocean's Rale. 
And Lndori's kniifhts. all sheathed in mail, 
And the bold men of Tevioidale,) 

Befi.rehissiandard fled.' 
'Twus he, to viiiilicate his rei^n, 
Edjied Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
And lurn'd the Conqueror back aa:ain,2 
When, with his Norman hovvyer hand. 
He came to vvaste Nortiiumberland. 

XVI. 
But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 
Saint Cutlibert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name ;3 
Such tales had W|iitl)y's tishers told. 
And said they mi?ht his shape behold, 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadeii'd clans —a hujie dim form, 
Seen l)ut, and heard, when gathering: storm 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 

XVU. 
While round the fire such legends go, 
Far different was the scene of woe, 
Wjiere, in a secret aisle beneath. 
Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone that vault, 
Than the worst dunseon cell : 

Old Colwulf ■» built It, for his fault, 
in penitence to dwell, 
When lie, fur cowl and beads, laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight. 
Was call'd the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light. 
Was, by the prelate Sexllelm, made 
A place of burial for such dead, 
As. having died in mortal sm. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'Twas now a place ol [lUmshnieiit; 
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, 

As reach'a the upper air, 
The hearers bless'd themselves, and said. 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Benioaii'd their torments there. 

XVIII. 
But though, in the monastic pile. 
Did of this penitential aisle 
Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where ttie place lay : and still more few 

1 See Appendix. Note 2 G. 
asre Appendix. Note 2 H. 
3 See Appendix, Note 2 I. 



Were those, who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blindfold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung. 
From the rude rock the side-walls sprung, 
The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er, 
Half sunk in eartli, by time half wore, 
Were all the pavement of the floor; 
The mildew-drops fell one by one. 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset,5 in an iron chain, 
Which served to light this drear domain. 
With damp and darkness seem'd to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
Tlie awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 
There, met to doom in secrecy. 
Were placed the heads of convents three: 
All servants of Saint Benedict, 
The stidutes of whose order strict 

On iron table lay ; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
Behind were these three judges shown 

By the pale cresset's ray : 
The Atibeus of Saint Hilda's, there. 
Sat for a space with visage bare. 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
And tear-drops that for pity fell. 

She closely drew lier veil : 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess. 
By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress.6 

And she with awe lo()ks pale : 
And he. that Ancient Man, wliose sight 
Has long been quench'd by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone. 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown. 

Whose look IS hard and stern,— 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style; 
For sanctity call'd, through the isle, 

The Saint of Lindisfarne. 

XX. 
Before them stood a guilty pair, 
But, though an equal fate they share, 
Yet one alone deserves our care 
Her sex a (lage's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, 
Oliscured her charms, but could not hide 

Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
And, on her doublet bie;ist. 

She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
Lord Marniion's falcon crest. 
But. at the Prioress' coininand, 
A Monk undid the silken band. 

That tied her tresses lair, 
And raised the bonnet from her head. 
And down her slender form they spread, 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know. 
Sister profess'd of Fontevriiud, 
Whom the church number'd with the dead. 
For broken vows, and convent fled. 

XXI. 
When thus her face was given to view, 
(Although so palLd was her hue, 

4 See Appendix, Note 2 K. 

5 Antique chaiidiller. 

6 8ee Appeudix, Mole 2 L. 



r 

A. 



y- 



MARMION 



89 ^ 



It did a ghastly cuntrast bear 
To those hris:lil ringlets i^listerins fair,) 
Her look composed, and steady eye. 
Bespoke a inatcliless constancy; 
And there she stood so rahii and pale, 
'I'hat. hut her hreathing did not faii, 
And motion slight of eye and head, 
And of lier bosom, warranted 
That neither s.snse nor pulse she lacks. 
You iniifht have tliou^'ht a form of wax, 
Wrouglit to the very hfe, w;is there; 
So still she was, so pale, so lair. 

XXII. 
Her comrade w:is a .sordid souT, 

Such as does murder for a tneed ; 
Who. but of fear, knows no control. 
Because his conscience, sear'd and foul, 

Feels nr)t tlie import of his deed ; 
One, whose hrute-feeiina: ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the Tempter ever needs. 
To do the savasest of deeds; 
For them no vision'd terrors daunt, 
'I'heir inghts no fancied spectres haunt, 
One fear with them, of all most base, 
The fear of death.— alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl. 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl. 
His body on the floor to dash. 
And crouch, like hound beneath the lash; 
While his mute partner, standing near, 
Wailed her doom without a tear. 

XXIII. 
Yet well the luckie.ss wretch might shriek, 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 
For there were seen in that dark wall, 
Two niches, narrow, d(!ep and tall; — 
Who enters at such grisly door, 
Shall ne'er, I ween, tind exit more. 
In each a slender mea. was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
By each, in Benedicl.ine dress. 
Two h;ig?ard monks stood motionless : 
Who, hi)lding hish a blazing torch, 
Show'd the grim entrance of the porch: 
Retlectirig back the smoky beam. 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were display'd, 
And building tools in order laid. 

XXIV. 

These executioners were chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes, 
And with despite and envy fired, 
Into the cloister had retired: 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 

Strove, by deep penance, to efface 
Of some foul crime the slain ; 

For, as the vassals of her will. 

Such men the C;hurch selected still. 

As either joy'd in doing ill. 
Or thought more grace to gain. 
If, in her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings their nature strove to own. 
By strange device were they brought there, 
U'hey knew not how, nor knew not where. 



And now that blind old Abbot 
To speak the Ciiapter's doom, 



On those the wall was to enclose. 
Alive, wnhin the tomb; i 

But stopp'd. because that woful Maid, 

Gathering her powers, to speak essav'd. 

Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain ; 

Her accents might no lUlerance gain ; 

Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 

From her convulsed and quivering lip; 
"I'wixt each attempt all was so still, 
Vou seem'd to hear a distant rill — 

'Twas ocean's swells and falls; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempest there you scarce could hear, 
So massive were the walls. 

XXVI 

At length, an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart. 

And light came to her eye. 
And colour dawn'd upon her cheek. 
A hectic and a flutter'd streak. 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 

By Autumn's stormy sky; 
And when her sdence broke at length. 
Still as she spoke she gather'd strength. 

And arm'd herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy. 

In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII. 
"I speak not to implore your grace, 
Well know I. for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain, 
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 

Vain are your masses too — 
I listen'd to a traitor's tale. 
I left the convent and the veil ; 
For three long years I bow'd my pride, 
A horse-boy m his train to rule ; 
And well my folly's meed he gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave. 
All here, and all beyond the grave. — 
He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of brtiad lands the heir. 
Forgot his vows, his faith foreswore. 
And Constance was beloved no more. — 

'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 
But did my fate and wish agree. 

Ne'er had been read, in story (rid. 

Of maiden true betray'd for gold. 
That loved, or was avenged, hke niel 

XXVIII. 
" The King approved his favourite's aim ; 
In vain a rival barr'd his claim. 

Whose fate wiih Clare's was plight. 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With trea.son's chnrge — and on they came. 
In morial lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said, 
Their prayers are pray'd. 
Their lances in the rest are laid. 
They meet in mortal shock; 
And, hark! the throng, with thundering cry, 
Shout • .Marniion, Marmion ! to the sky. 
De Wilton to the block !' 



^ 90 



SCOTT'S POE-TICAL WORKS. 



^; 



Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide 
When in the lists two rliainpioiis ride, 

Say, was Heaven's justice here? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overlhiow or death, 

Beneath a traitor's s[)ear ? 
How false the charffe, how triae he fell, 
'I'liis siiiliy packet hest can tell."— 
Then ilrew a packet from her breast, 
Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest. 

XXIX. 
"Still was false Marniion's bridal staid; 
To Whitby's convent fled the maid, 

The hated match to shun. 
* Ho ! shifts she thus V King Henry cried, 
'Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, 
• .^^Ifshe were sworn a nun.' 
Gfitirway remain'd— the Kiiisr's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 
I line;er'd here, and rescue plann'd 

For Clara and for me : 
This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear. 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
And. by his drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath. 
Whose cowardice has undone us both. 

XXX. 
" And now my tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells. 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betray'd. 
This packet, to the King convey "d. 
Had given him to the headsman's stroke. 
Although my heart that instant broke.— 
Now. men of death, work forth your will, 
For I can sutfer. and be still; 
And come he slow, or come he fast. 
It is but Death who conies at last. 

XXXI. 
" Yet dread me, from my living tomb. 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome I 
If Marmion's late remorse sliould wake, 
Full soon such vengeance will he take. 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends, 
The ire of a despotic King 
Hides forth upon destruction's wing: 
Then shall the.se vaults, so strong and deep 
Burst open to the sea-wind.s' sweep; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 

.Marvel such relics liere should be." 

~-^-.. XXXII. 

Fix'd was her look, and stern her air : 
Back from her shoulders stream'd her hair ; 
The locks, that wont her brow to shade, 
Stared up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seem'd to rise more high; 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 



See Note 2 M on Stanza 



. ante, p. 69. 



2 William Erskinf, Esq., advocate, Sheriff-depute of the 
OrknefH, brcaine a Judge of I he Courl of Session by the 
tl(lt) of Lord Kiunedder, and died at Ediuburgli iu Autjuiit 



Appall'd the astonisli'd conclave sate; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the lisht inspired form. 
And listen'd for the avenging storm; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was said, 
'I'ill thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven :— 
"Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
Sinlul brother, part in peace !"• 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 

Of execution too, and tomb. 
Paced forth the judges three; 

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 

The butcher-work that there befell. 

When they had glided from the cell 
Of sill and misery. 

XXXIII. 
An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
Hut. ere they breathed the fresher air. 
They heard the shriekings of despair. 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they take, 
(Such ^peed as age and fear can make,) 
And cross'il themselves for terror's sake. 

As hurrying, tottering (m : 
Even 111 the vesper's heavenly tone. 
They seem'd to hear a dving groan. 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; 
To VVarkwt)itli cell the echoes roll'd. 
His beads the wakeful lieniiil told. 
The Bamborougli pca.sant lai.sed his head. 
But slept ere half a praver he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell. 
The slag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind, 
Li.sted before, aside, behind. 
Then couch'd him down beside the hind. 
And quaked among the mountain fern. 
To liear that sound so dull and stem. 



iEiirmfoHL 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 
TO 

WILLIAM ERSKINE, Esq." 

AsheslM. Etliick Forest. 
Like April morning clouds, that pass. 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass, 
And imitate, on field and furrow. 
Life's chequer'd scene of joy and sorrow; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now winding slow its silver train. 
And almost slumbering on the plain; 



1822. He had been from early youth the most inlima 
the I'oei's friends, and his chief conlidani and adviser ; 
all literary matters. See a police of his life and chan 
by the Lite IVIr. Hay Donaldson, lo which Sir Waller t 
contributed several paragraphs. —£J. 



A 



y- 



MARMION. 



Like breczfs of the autumn il.iy. 

Whose voice incunstaiii. dies away, 

And ever swells ;is;iiii as fust, 

U'lieii the ear deems its miinnur past; 

Tlius various, my romantic theme 

Flits, winds, or sinks, a rnornmg; dream. 

Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 

Of Lisjhl and Shade's inconstant race ; 

Plea-sed, views the rivulet afar, 

Weaving its maze irregular; 

And pleased, we listen as the breeze 

Heaves its wild sish Ihroush Autumn trees; 

Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or uaie, 

Flow on, flow uncoiitiiied, my Tale ! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license all too well. 
Ill sounds now lowly, and now stroagr, 
To raise the desultdiy sons ?— 
Oft. when 'mid such capricious chime, 
Some iransient fit of lofty rhyme 
To thy kind judffinent seem'd excuse 
For many an error of the muse. 
Oft hast thou said. '• If. still mis spent, 
Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
Gq, and to tame thy wandering course. 
Quaff from the fountain at the source; 
Approach those ma.sters, o'er whose tomb 
Immortal laurels ever hloom : 
Instructive of the feebler bard, 
Still from the grave iheir voice is heard ; 
From them, and from the pat lis they show'd. 
Choose honour'd guide and practised road , 
Nor ramble on through brake and maze. 
With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later time 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse T 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valour bleeds for liberty?— 
Oh, liero of that glorious time. 
When, with unrivall'd light sublime. — 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Kussia, and the Gaul. 
Though bunded Europe stood her foes — 
The siar of Brandeiibursh arose ! 
Thou couldsi not live to see her beam 
For ever queiich'd in Jena's stream. 
Lamented ("hief!— it was not given 
To thee to chaiiae the doom of Heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth, 
Preilestmed scoursre of guilty earth. 
Lamented Cliief !— not tliiiie the power, 
To save in that presumptuous hour, 
When Prussia hurried to the field. 
And snatch'd the spear, hut left the shield ! 
Valour and skill 'twas thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 'twiis thine to die. 
HI had it seem'd thy silver hair 
I'lie last, tlie bitterest pang to share. 



1 " Scolt seems to liave commanicaled fragments of the 
poem very freely during ttie whole of ils progress. As early 
as ihe 22a February 1807. I find Mrs. Hayman arknow- 
ledging. in Ihe name of Ihe Princess of Wales, Ihe receipt 
of a copy of Ihe Introduction lo Canto III., in which occurs 
the tribute to her royal highness's heroii; father, mortally 
wounded the year before at Jena— a tribute so grateful to 
her feelings that she herself shortly after sent the poet an 
elegant silver vase as a memorial of her thankfulness. And 
about the same time the Marchioness of Abercorn expresses 
the delight with which both she and her lord had read the 



For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven 
And birthnghis to usurpers given; 
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, 
And witness woes thou couldst not heal ' 
On thee relenting: Heaven bestows 
For honour'd life an honour'd close ; 
And when revolves, in tune's sure change. 
The hour of Germany's revenge, 
W'hen, breathing fury for her sake. 
Some new Arminius shall awake. 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb.i 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero2 teach. 
Dauntless in dungeon :is on breach: 
Alike to him the sea. the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar: 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shatter'd walls. 
Which the grim Turk, besmear'd with blood, 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of tlie polar lake. 
When stubborn Riiss, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warp'd wave their death-game play "J ; 
Or that, where Veiiseance and Affright 
Howl'd round the father of the fight, 
W ho snatch'd, on Alexandria's sand. 
The conqueror's wreath with dying hand.S 

" Or. if to toucli such chord be thine. 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that wrung 
From the wild harp, which silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an hundred years roll'd o'er; 
When she, the bold Enchantress.-* came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame ! 
From the pale willow snatch'd the tre;isure 
And swept it with a kiiidred measure. 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With iMontfort's hate and Basil's love. 
Awakening at the inspired strain, 
Deeyi'd their own Shakspeare lived again." 

Thy friendship thus thy jiidsment wronging 
With praises not to me belonging. 
In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'd 
That secret power by all obey'd. 
Which warps not less the passive mind, 
Its source conceal'd or undefined ; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
One with our feelings and our powers. 
And rather part of us than ours: 
Or whether titlier term'd the sway 
Of habit, form'd in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast. 
And drass us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 5 



M; 



1 verses on Pitt and Fox in another of those ep 
les."— LiY« of Scolt. vol. iii. p. 9. 

2 Sir Sidney Smith. 

3 Sir Ralph Abercromby. 

4 Joanna BaiUie. 

6 " As man, perhaps, the mompnt of his breath. 
Receives Ihe lurking principle of death; 
The young disease, that must subdue at lenglli. 
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with toa 
strength : 



^ 



T 



A 



tTt 



:i 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Look east, and ask the Belsrian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
He seeks not eager to inhiile 
The freshness of the nuluniam fjale, 
Content to rear his wljiteii'ti wall 
Beside liie dank and dull (-anal? 
He'll say, from yonlli he loved to see 
The white sail Klidinir by the tree. 
Or see yon weatherbeaien hind. 
Whoseslussrish herds before him wind, 
Whose tatter'd plaid and rnsged cheek 
His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laiighinar meads he groes, 
And England's wealth around him flows ; 
Ask, if it would content him well. 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell. 
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
And spires atid forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between? 
No ! not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range : 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis grey, and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charm'd me yet a child. 
Rude though they be. still with the chime 
Return the tlioughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour. 
Though no broad river swept along. 
To claim, perchance, heroic snng ; 
Though sigh'd no groves in summer gale, 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 
Yet was poetic impulse given, 
By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild. 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the hmely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
And honey-suckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruin'd wall. 
I deeni'd such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all its round survey'd; 
And still I thought that shatter'd toweri 
The mightiest work of human power; 
And marvell'd as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewiich'd my mind. 
Of forayers, who. with headlong force. 
Down from that strength had spurr'd their 

horse. 
Their southern rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 
And, home returning, fill'd the hall 
With revel, wassel-rout. and brawl. 
Methought that still with trump and clang. 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
Methought grim features, seam'd with scars, 
Glared through the window's rusty bars, 



And ever, by the winter hearth, 
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth. 
Of lovers' slights, of laiiies' charms. 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 
Of patriot battles, won of old 
Jv Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 
Of later fields of feud and tight, 
When, pouring from their Highland height, 
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 
Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
While stretch'd ut length upon the floor. 
Again' I fought each combat o'er. 
Pt^!)bles and shells, in order laid. 
'I'lie mimic ranks of war display'd ; 
And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 
And still the sc.atter'd Southron fled before i* 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, 
Anew, each kind familiar face. 
That brighten'd at our evening fire ! 
From the thatch'd mansion's gieyhair'd Sire,3 
Wise without learning, plain and good. 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye. in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
Show'd what in youth its glance had been; 
Whose doom discording neighbours sought. 
Content with equity unbonght ; 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest. 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke: 
For 1 was wayward, bold, and wild. 
A self-will'd imp. a grandame's child ; 
But half a plague, and half a. jest. 
Was still endured, beloved, caress'd. 

P'or me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-conn'd task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nay— On the wild hill 
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still; 
Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. 
But freely let the woodbine twine. 
And leave, untrinim'd the eglantine: 
Nay, my friend, nay— Since oft thy praise 
Haili given fresh vigour to my lays: 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 
My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line; 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend. 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale! 



\ 



Bo. cast and mineled with hiN very frame. 
The Miiid'.s di«ease, its Ruliiij Passion came ; 
Each vital humour which should feed the whol 
Snon flows lo this, in body and in soul ; 
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head. 
Ax the mind opens, and its functions spread, 
Imagination plies her dangerous art. 
And pours it all upon the peccant part. 

" Nature its moiher. Habit is its nurse; 
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it wor^e; 



ittarmfon. 



CANTO THl 



THE HOSTEL, OR INN 
I. 
The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
The mountain path the J'alnier show'd. 



1 Smailhnlm Tower, 
Author's infancy, is situated 
burgh Abbev. 
a See note's on T!ie Eve of S 
3 Robert Smtt of Saiidykii 
Poet. 



and power; 

.-iiiegar more sour," dcOk 

i Essay on .Man. — Ed. 



the grandfather uT .ue 



'T 



z 



7^ 



MARMION, 



By glen and sireaiiilet wiiuled si ill. 
\\ here siuiiieil hirclies liid the rill. 
They niisrht not clmose the lowland road, 
For the Merse fomyers were abroad, 
W'lio, tired witli hale and thirst of prey, 
Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way. 
Oft on the tranipiins band, Ironi crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heatli, the black-cock rose; 
Sprung from the gorse the tinud roe, 
iSor wailed for the bending bow; 
And when the stony path began, 
By which the naked peak they wan. 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
Ihe noon had long been pass'd before 
They gam'd the height of Laiiimernioor;t 
Thence winding down the norlhern way, 
Before them, at the close of day. 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.2 

ir. 

No summons calls them to the tower, 
To sfjend the hospitable hour. 
To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone; 
His cautious dame, in bower alone. 
Dreaded her castle to unclose. 
So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On tlirough the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a porch, whose front was graced 
With bush and flagon trimly placed. 

Lord Marmion drew his rem : 
The village inu seem'd large, though rude; 
Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
.Might well relieve his train. 
Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 
They bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call. 
And various clamour fills the hall : 
Weighing the labour with the cost, 
Toils everywhere the bustling host. 

ni. 

Soon, hv the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel misht you gaze; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store. 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savoury haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, around it, and beside. 

Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implemeut.s of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state. 
On oaken settle Marmion-sate, 
And viewd around the blazing hearth, 
His followers mix in noi.sy mirth : 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide. 
From ancient vessels ranged aside, 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV. 

Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 



See Notes to " The Bride < 



ammermoor.' 



And oft Lord Marmion deign 'd to aid, 
And minsle in the mirth they made; 
Foe though, wiih men of high degree. 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 
To will the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; 
Wiih open hand, and brow as free. 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy; 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower: — 
Such buxom chief stiall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 



Resting upon his pilgrim staff. 

Right opposite ihe Palmer stood ; 
His thin dark visage seen but half. 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still fix'd on .Marmion was his look. 
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 

Strove by a frown to quell ; 
But not for thai, though more than once 
Full met their stern encountering glance, 

The Palmer's visage fell. 

VI. 
By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 
For still, as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard. 

Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, 

Thus whisper'd forth his mind :— 
'• Sainl Mary ! saw'.-t thou e'er such sight T 
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 
Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl." 

VII 
But Marmion. as to chase the awe 
Which thus had quell'd their hearts, who s 
The ever-varying fire-light show 
That figure stern and face of woe. 

Now cali'd upon a squire : — 
"Fitz Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. 
To speed the lingering night away ] 

We slumber by the fire." — 

vin. 

" So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd, 
"Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to ple.-ise your ear, 
Accustom'd Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 
Sings hvelier from a spring-tide bush. 
No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
Detains from us his melody. 
Lavish'd on rocks, and billows stern. 
Or duller monks of Lmdisfarne. 

quis of Tweeddale. and a liitle farther ur ll)e stream, »t 
descends fmm Ihe hills of Lammermoor, are the rema 
of Ihe old casile of the family. 
3 See Appendix, Note 3 N. 




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Now must I venture, as \ iriiiy, 
To smg his lavounle roundelay." 

IX. 
A mellow voice Fitz-EusUce hpd, 
The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
Such have I heard, in Scottish land, 
Ri.se from the busy harvest band, 
When falls before the mountaineer, 
Oil Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 
Now one .shrill voice the notes prolong, 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
Oft have I listen'd, and stood still. 
As it came soften'd up the hill, 
And deeni'd it the lament of men 
W ho languish'd for their native glen ; 
And thought how sad would be such sound 
On Susquehanna's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood encumber'd brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 
Where heart-sick exiles, m the strain, 
Recall'd fair Scotland's hills again! 



SONG. 
Where shall the lover rest. 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast 

Parted for ever ? 
Where, through groves deep and high, 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. 

There, through the summer day. 

Cool streams are laving; 
There, while the lempesi s sway. 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There, thy rest shalt thou lake, 

Parted for ever, 
Never again to wake, 

Never, O never! 

CHORUS. 

ELcu Ixrro, &LC. Never, never! 

XI. 
Where shall the traitor rest. 

He, the deceiver, 
WHio could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin, and leave her J 
In the lost battle. 

Borne down by the flying. 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Elm loro, &c. There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it,— 

Never, never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eku loro, &c. Never, O never ! 



XII. 

It ceased, the melancholy sound; 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear. 
And plain'd as if disgrace and ill. 

And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face, 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space. 

Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween. 
That, could their import have been seen. 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce have wish'd to be their prey, 
For Luiterwaid and Foiiteiiaye. 

XIII. 
High minds, of native pride and force, 
Mo.st deeply feel thy [)aiigs. Remorse ! 
Fear, for their .scourge, mean villains have, 
Thou art the torturer of the brave! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the Wounds they feel. 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion riii.sed his head, 
And, smiling, to I'itz- Eustace said, — 
•• Is It not strange, that, as ye sung. 
Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung. 
Such as in imnneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul? 

Say. what may this portend ?" — 
Then first the Palmer silence broke, 
(The livelong day he had not srioke,) 

" The death of a dear friend."! 

XIV. 
Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity; 
Marmion. whose soul could scantly brook. 
Even from his King, a haughty look ; 
Whose accent of command controll'd. 
In camps, the boldest of the bold- 
Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now, 
Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow : 

For either in Hie tone. 
Or something in the Palmer's look, 
So full upon his conscience strook, 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft It haps, that when vvithin 
I'hey shrink at sen.se ot secret sin, 

A feather daiinis the brave ; 
A fiiol's wild speech confounds the wise. 
And proudest princes veil their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 

XV. 
Well might he falter!— By his aid 
Was Constance Beverley belray'd. 
Not that he augur'd of the doom, 
Which on the living closed the tomb : 
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upltraid; 
And wroth, because m wild despair. 
She practised on the life of Clare ; 
Its fugitive the Church he gave. 
Though not a victim, but a slave ; 



1 See Appeudix, Note 3 O. 



y^ 



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MARMION. 



Ami (ieem'd restraint in convent strange 

Would hide her wnmss. and lier revenge. 

Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer, 

Held Romish thunders idle fear. 

Secure his pardon he nii>;ht hold, 

For some slisjhl mulcr of pen nice-gold. 

Thus.judgin?, he gave secret way. 

When the sierri priests surprised their prey. 

His train but deeni'd the favourite page 

Was left behind, to spare his asre ; 

Or other if they deem'd, none dared 

To mutter what he thoii^iit and heard: 

Woe to the vassal, who durst pry 

Into Lord Alarmion's privacy ! 

XVI. 

His conscience slept— lie deeni'd her well. 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 
Bu'. waken'd by her favounie lay, 
And that strange Palmer's bfKling say, 
That fell so ominous and drear, 
Full on the object of his fear, 
'lo aid remorse's venom'd throes. 
Dark tales of convent-veiif^eance rose; 
And Constance, late betray 'd and scorn'd. 
All lovely on his soul return'd ; 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call. 
She lelt her convent's peaceful wall. 
Crimsoii'd with shame, with terror mute, 
I>reading alike escape, pursuit. 
Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid fears and bluslies in his arms. 

XVII. 

•^Alas!" he thought, "how changed that 

mien! 
How changed these timid looks have been, 
Since years of guilt, and of disjuise, 
Have steei'd her brovv. and arm'd her eyes! 
No more of virsin terror speaks 
Tne Ii1o(kI that mantles in her cheeks; 
Fierce, and unfeminine. are iliere. 
Frenzy forjuy. for grief despair ; 
And I'the cause— for whom were eiven 
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven !— 
Would." thousht he, as the picture grows, 
'• I on its stalk had left the roe ! 
( >li. why siiould man's success remove 
The Very charms that wake his love I — 
Her convent's peaceful .soli, inle 
Is now a prison harsh and rude: 
And. pent wuhin the narrow cell. 
How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 
How brook the siein monastic laws! 
The [leiiance how — and 1 the cau-.e ! — 
Vigil and sM)ur^e — perchance even worse !"'— 
And twice he rose to cry. - To li«r>e !''— 
And twice his Sovereign's mandate came, 
Like damp upon a kindling fl une ; 
And twice he thought, "Gave 1 not charge 
She should be safe, though not at large ? 
Tlu^y durst not. for their island, shred 
One goldeu ringlet from her head." -_ . 

XVIII. 

While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 
Repentance and reviving love. 
Like whirlwinds, wliose contending sway 
1 Te seen Loch Vennachar oliey, 



Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard 
Aii'l, talkative, took up the word : 
-Ay, reverend Pilsrim, you, who stray 
From Scotland's simple land away. 

To vi.sit realms afar. 
Full often learn the art to know 
Of future weal, or liiture woe. 

By word, or smn. or star; 
Yet mi-ht a knight his fortune hear. 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Mot far from hence ;— if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet lesreiid told."— 
The.se broken words the menials move, 
(For marvels still the vuljrar love,) 
And. Marmion giviii? license cold, 
ILs tale the host thus gladly told :— 

XIX. 

THE host's tale. 

•• A Clerk could tell what years have flown 

Since Alexander fill'tl our throne. 

(Third monarch of that warlike name,) 

Ami eke the tune when here he came 

To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 

A braver never drew a sword ; 

A wiser never, at the hour 

Of midnisht, spoke the word of power: 

The same, whom ancient records call 

The founder of the Goblin-Hall, i 

I would. Sir Knight, your looser stay 

Gave you that cavern to survey. 

Of lofty roof, and ample size. 

Beneath the casile deep it lies: 

To hew the living rock profound, 

Tlie floor to pave, the arch to round. 

There never toii'd a mortal arm. 

It all was wrought by word and charm; 

And I have heard my grandsiie say. 

That the wild clamour and affray 

Of those dread artisans of hell. 

Who laboui 'd under Hugo's spell, 

Sounded as loud as ocean's war, 

A moiig the caverns of Dunbar. 

XX. 

•• The King Lord Gifford's ca.stle sought, 
Deefi labouring with uncertain thought; 
r>en then he muster'd all his host, 
To meet upon the western coast : 
For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
Their oars wiihin the frith of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim, 2 
Above Norweyan warriors firiiii. 
Savage of heart, and lar?e of limb ; 
Threaten ng both continent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 
Lord Gitford, deep beneath the ground, 
Heard Alexander's bugle sound. 
And tarried not his garb to change, 
Hut. in Ins wizard habit strange.3 
Came forth,— a quaint and fearful sight ; 
His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
A poinied cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore : 
His shoes were mark'd with cross and spell. 
Upon his breast a pentacle \* 
His zone, of virgin parchment thin. 
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 



95 > 



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IJore m:inv a planetary si?n, 
Coiiibiist.aiid retr((griidi% and trine; 
And in Ins liand he heid prepared, 
A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI. 
" Dire dealing with the fiei\dish race 
Had niark'd stransje lines upon iiis face; 
Visil and fast had worn him grim. 
His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 
III his unwonted wild attire; 
Unwonted, for traditions run. 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 
•I know,' he said— his voire was hoarse, 
And broken seem'd its hollow force.— 
' I know the cause, although untold. 
Why the King seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kmgdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strons his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 

xxn. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud, 

Who ride upon the rackiiisc cloud. 

Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, 

The issue of events afar; 

But still their sullen aid withhold, 

Save when by mightier force controU'd. 

Such late I sumiiion'd to my hall; 

And though so potent was the call, 

That scarce the deepest nook of liell 

I deem'd a refuge from the spell, 

Yet, obstinate in silence still, 

The haughty demon mocks my skill. 

But thou— who little know'st thy might. 

As born upon that blessed nighH 

When yawning graves, and dying groan. 

Proclaim 'd hell's empire overthrown,— 

With untaught valour shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell.'— 

'Grameicy,' quoth our Monarch free, 

• Place him but front to front with me. 

And. by this good and honour'd brand, 

I'lie gift of Coeur-de-Liou's hand, 

Soothly 1 swear, that, tide what tide. 

The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 

His bearing bold the wizard view'd. 

And thus, well pleased, his speechTenew'd :- 

'There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark : 

Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. 

The rampart seek, whose circling crown 

Crests the ascent of yonder down : 

A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 

There halt, and there thy bugle wind. 

And trust thine elfin foe to see, 

In guise of thy worst enemy : 

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 

Upon him I and Saint George to speed ! 

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 

Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; — 

If thy lieart fail thee in the strife, 

I am no warrant for thy life.' 

XXIII. 
"Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 
Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 



K 



1 8te Appendix, Note 2 T. 

a BUward I., ouruanied Longsha 



To that old camp's deserted round : 

Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound, 

Left hand the town,— the Pictish race. 

The trench, long since, in blood did trace : 

The moor around is brown and bare, 

The space within is green and fair. 

The spot our village children know. 

For there the earliest wild-flowers grow; 

But woe betide the wandering wight, 

That treads its circle in the night I 

The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 

Uives ample space for full career: 

Opposed to the four points of heaven. 

By four deep gaps are entrance given. 

The southernmost our Monarch past, 

Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 

And on the north, within the ring, 

Appear'd the form of England's King, 

Who then, a thousand leagues afar. 

In Palestine waged holy war: 

Yet arms like England's did he wield, 

Alike the leopards in the shield, 

Ahke his Syrian courser's frame, 

The rider's length of limb the same . 

Long afterwards did Scotland know, 

Fell Edward "•' was her deadUest foe. 

XXIV. 

" The vision made our Monarch start, 
But soon he mann'd his noble heart. 
And In the first career they ran. 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man. 
Yet did a splinter of liis lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance. 
And razed the skin— a puny wound. 
The King, light leaping to the ground, 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compel I'd the future war to show. 
Of I.args he saw the glorious plain. 
Where still gigantic hones remain. 

Memorial of the Danish war; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandish'd waraxe wield. 

And strike proud Haco from his car. 
While all around the shadowy Kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings. 
' lis said, that, in that awful night. 
Remoter visions met his sight. 
Foreshowing future ronque.'its far, 
When our sons' sons wage northern war; 
A royal city, tower and spire, 
Redden'd the midnight sky with fire, 
And shouting crews her navy bore. 
Triumphant, to the victor shore. 3 
Such signs may learned clerks explain. 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 

XXV. 

" The joyful King turn'd home again. 
Headed his host, and quell'd the Dane; 
But yearly, when return 'd the inght 
Of his strange combat with the sprite, 

His wound must bleed and smart; 
Lord Giff ird then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander fills his grave. 

Our Lady give him rest! 



Jon to Copi^nhageu 11 



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7" 



M A R M 1 N . 



07 



Vet still the kniehtly spear and shield 
T lie Elfiii Warrior (ioth wield. 

I'lxtn the brown hiU'.s Itreast ;i 
And many a knight liuih proved his chance, 
In the charcn'd ruts to break a lance, 

But all have foully sp.^d; 
Save two, as leueiids lell, atul they 
Were Wallace wiirht, and Gilbert Hay.— 

Gentles, my tale is said." 

XXVI. 

The quaighs^ were deep, the liquor strong. 
Ami oil the tale the yeoinau thioiis 
Had made a comment suge and Ion?, 

But Marmion ?ave a si^n : 
And, with their lord, the squires retire; 
'I'lie rest, around the hostel tire, 

'I'lieir drowsy liiiihs recline; 
For pillow, underneath each head. 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
D.-ep sluiiibeiius: on the hostel floor, 
Op()iess'd with toil and ale. they snore : 
Tlie dying flanie. in fitful chaiiffe. 
Threw oa the group its shadows strange. 

XXVII. 

Apart, and nestling in the hav 
Of a waste loti, Fitz-Eusiace lay; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dreanj, 
Oi sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove. 
Or. lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A c:iutious tread his slumber broke. 
And. close beside him, when he woke, 
III iiiooiibeam half, and halt in gloom, 
Stood a tall form, with nodding' plume. 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marauon's voice he knew. 

xxvrii. 

— " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, I cannot rest ; 
Von cluirl's wild legend haunts inv breast. 
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood : 
Tiie air must cool my feverish blood; 
And fain would I ride forth, to see 
The scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 
I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale. 
That 1 could credit such a tale."— 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable, door undid. 
And. darkling, Maimion's steed array'd, 
While, whispering, thus the Barou said: — 

XXIX. 

" Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell. 
That on the hour when 1 was born, 

Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 

Down from his steed of marble fell, 
A wean,- wight forlorn ? 

The flattering chaplains all agree. 

The champion left his steed to me. 

I would, the omen's truth to show, 

That 1 could meet this Elfin Foe! 



18ee Appendix, Noie 2 U. 

3 A wooOeii cup. coinpo^jd of R'avi 

t IWc, used by oM poeis for weiW. 



i hooped togetlier. 



Blithe would I battle, for the right 
Ti) :u5k one question at the sprite : — 
Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 
All empty race, by fount or sea. 
To dnshing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring.' 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 
Fifz- Eustace followed him abroad, 
And niark'd liini pace the village road, 

And listen'd to his horse's tramp, 
Till, by the lessening sound. 

He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord .Marmion sought the round. 
Wonder it seem'd, in ihe squire's eyes, 
That onCy'so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the church believed,— 

Should, stiri'd by idle tale. 
Ride forth in silence of the night. 
As hopiiiir half to meet a sprite, 

Array'il in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know, 
Thai pas.sions. iii contending flow. 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee. 
We welcome fond credulity, 

Guide confident, though blind. 
XXXL 
Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But. patient, waited till he heard. 
At distance, prick'd to utmost speed. 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come tovva-ward rushing on ; 
Fii-st, dead, as if oa turf it trode. 
Then, clattering on the village road, — 
In other pace than forth he yode,3 

Return'd Lord .Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle. 
And. in his haste, welliiigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw 
And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon-crest was soil'd with clay; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
By stains upon the charger's knee. 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long mu;-ing on these wondrous signs. 
At length to rest the squire reclines. 
Broken and short; for stiU. between 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did neer so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 



JAMES SKENE, Esq.* 

Ashestiel. Etlrick Forest. 
An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 
" Where is the life which late we led ?" 



^: 



4 James Skene, Esq., of Rubi^law. Aberdrenshir 
Cornet in Ihe Koyal Edinburgh Licht Horse Tolut 
Bud Sir Waller Scod was Quarlerniaaler of ibe bame coii«. 



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98 



That motley clown in Atden wood, 

Whom huinoroiis Jacques with envy view d, 

Not even that clown could aiiiplil'y, 

On this trite text, so long: as I. 

Eleven years we now Tuay fell. 

Since we have known each other well; 

Since, riding side hy side, our hand 

First drew the voluntary hrand ; 

And sure, through many a varied scene, 

Unkindness never came between. 

Away these winged years have flown, 

To join tlie mass of ages gone ; 

And though deep niark'd, like all below, 

With chequer'd shades of joy and woe ; 

Though thou o'er realms ami seas hast ranged, 

Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed, 

While here, at home, my narrower ken 

Somewhat of manners saw, and men: 

Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 

Fever'd the progress of tlieSe years, 

Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem 

The recollection of a dream. 

So still we glide down to the sea 

Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
Since first I tuned this idle lay ; 
A task so often tiirown aside. 
When leisure graver cares denied, 
Tiiat now, November's dreary gale, 
Whose voice inspir'd my opening tale. 
That same November gale once more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky, 
Once more our naked birches sigh. 
And Blaokhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 
Have donn'd their wintry shrouds again ; 
And mountain dark, and flooded mead, 
Eid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mix'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 
The shepherd, who in summer sun, 
Had something of our envy won. 
As thou with pencil. 1 with pen, 
The features traced of hill and glen;— i 
He who, outstretch'd the livelong day. 
At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 
View'd the light clouds with vacant look, 
Or slumber'd'o'er his tatter'd book, 
Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessen'd tide ; — 
At midnight now, the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labour for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamle.ss snn. 
Through heavy vapours dark and dun; 
When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain. 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox. 
To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
'i'o dismal and to dangerous task, 
tnt he looks forth, and hopes, in vain. 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above, and white below, 
Decided drives the flaky snow. 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 



^ 



Long, with dejected look and whine. 

To leave the hearth his dogs repine; 

Whistling and cheerin;; them to aid. 

Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 

His flock he gathers, and he guides, 

To open downs, and inonntain-sides. 

Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 

Least deeply lies tlie drift below. 

The blast, that whistles o'er the fells. 

Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 

Oft he looks back, while streaming far, 

His cottage window seems a star,— 

Lo.ses its feeble gleam.— and then 

Turns patient to the bia.st again. 

And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 

Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 

Benumbing death is in the gale : 

His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 

Close to the hut, no more his own, 

("lose to the aid he sought in vain. 

The morn may find the stiffen'd swain :' 

The widow sees, at dawning pale. 

His orphans raise their weeble wail ; 

And, close beside him, in the snow. 

Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe. 

Couches upon his master's breast, 

And licks his cheek to break his rest. 



Who envies now the sliepherd's lot. 
His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood tree, 
His rustic kirn's 3 loud revelry. 
His native hill-notes, toned on high. 
To Marion of the blithesome eye; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
And all Arcadia's golden creed I 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer (tft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the ancient Chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy ; 
But Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Cail'd ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those, since each must drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
Whose lenient S(utovvs find relief. 
.Whose joys are chasten'd hy their grief. 
And such a lot. my Skene, was thine. 
When thou of late, wert doom'd to twine,- 
Just when thy bridal hour was by,- 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled. 
And liless'd the union of his child. 
When love must change its joyous cheet, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end. 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes' paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade; 
The tale of friendship scarce was told. 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 



X 



1 Varioui illnetrations of the Poetry and NoveU of Sii 
Walter ScotI from designs by Mr. Skene, have since been 
publifhed. 

t Compare the celebrated description of a man perishing 



in Thomson's Winfcr.— See Appendix, Soto 



^ 



y- 



MARMION. 



99 



^ 



Far m:iv we search before we fiod 
A heiirt so manly and >o kind ! 
Dm not around his honour'd urn, 
Miall friends alone and kindred mourn; 
Tiie thousand eyes his rare liad dried, 
P.iUr at his name a biiter tide; 
And frequent falls I he sratefnl dew, 
For hfiieti's the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Alimslity's attributed name, 
Inscrib • above his monlderiiiK clay, 
i I In; wido.v's shield, the orphan's stay." 
Nor. tliouicli it wake thy sorrow, deem " 
Mv verse intrudes on I his sad theme ; 
.. For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
•■ I liy father's friend fora:et thou not:**^" 
And grateful ti'le may I plead, 
l-'or ni:.nv a kindly word and deed. 
To bring my iribute to his irrave :— 
'lis liule— but 'tis ail I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks ojiain; 
When, doing nought.— and. to speak true. 
Not anxious to hnd aught to do,— 
The wild unbounded hills we raiieed. 
While oft, our talK its topic changed, 
And. desultory as our way. 
Ranged, unconlined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flag:;'d. as oft wdl chance, 
No effort made to break its trance, 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence loo ; 
Thou araveiv labouring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray; 
I 8,)e ling o'er, wi; h much delight. 
The legend of that aiit;ique knight, 
Tirante by name, y<'lep'd the White. 
At either's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp,' with eyes of fire, 
Jealous, each other's niotioiis view'd. 
And scarce suppress'd their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled fiom the cloud ; 
The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
.Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossoiii'd bough, than we 

And blithesome niglils. too, have been ours, 
When Win'er stript the sumnif-r's bowers. 
C ireless we beard, what now I hear, 
The Wil 1 blast sighing derp and drear, 
When fires were brisht, and lamps beam'dgay, 
And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggard soul, 
Vyiiu sliunn'd to quatt the sparkling bowl. 
Tlien he. whose atisenre we deplore. 3 
Who breathe^ the gales of Devon's shore, 
The longer in ss'd hewail'd the more; 
Anil thou, an I I. and dear-loved R — -? 
And one wnose name I may not say,^— 
F'or not .Mimosa's tender tree 
Shrinks sooner from the touch tliau he.— 



Camp wa< a favouritf dog of the Poel'a, a bull-lrrrier 
xtraorili ;iry waEaiity. He is inlroduced in Raeburn'a 
rail of 8lrWal:er Stoit. now ai Dalkeiih Palace— Ed. 
Colin Mackenzie, E~q. of Porlmore. one of the Prmti- 
nierka of 8e>.sion ai Kd.nburgh, and through life an 
oni- friend of S/r Waller Scon, died on lOlh Beniem- 
1680— El. 

Sir Willian Rie of St. Catharine's, Bart., xubw 
lly Lord Advoeate of Scollaml, was a distinguished 
lb r of Ih-; volunteer corps to which Sir Waller Scott 
ns<^ ; and he, the Poel, Mr. Skene, .Mr. Mackeiiiie, aiid 



In merry chorus vvell combined. 

With laughter drown'd the whistling wind 

Mntb was williin; and ("are without 

Might ffiiaw her nails to hear our shout. 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene— 

Uf the iiood horse that bore him best, 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 

For, like m id Tom's.* our chiefest care, 

Was hor.se to ride, and weapcm wear 

Such nights we've bad : and, though the game 

Of manhood be more sober tame, 

And though the field-day. or the drill, 

Seem less imporfam now— yet still 

Such may we liope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain I 

And mark, how, like a horseman true. 

Lord Marmion's march 1 thus renew. 



Ittarmfon. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



THE CAMP. 



Eustace, T said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang shrill, the cock he creW, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And With their light and lively call, 
Brought e:room and yeoman to the stall. 
Whistlins: they came, and free of heart, 

But soon their mood was changed ; 
Complaint was he.ird on evei'y part. 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamour'd loud for armour lost ; 
Some brawl'd and wrangled with the host ; 
'^By Beckei^s bones," cried one, " I fear, 
pear 



i"_ 



That some false Scot has stolen my 

Youns Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 

Found his steed Wet with sweat and mire ; 

Alihouiih the rated horse-boy sware. 

Last night he dress'd him sleek and fair. 

While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 

Olil Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder,— 

•■ Help, s-entle Blount ! help, comrades all 1 

Bevis lies dying in his stall : 

To Marmioii who I he plight dare tell. 

Of the ffood steed he loves so well?" ^- -_ 

Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 

The charger panting on his straw ; 

Till one, who would seem wi.^est, cried, — 

" What else but evil could betide, 

With that cursed Palmer for our guide T 

Better we had through mire and bush 

Been lantern-led by Friar Rush."6 



a few oiher frieiuln, had formed IheinselTes inio a litile 
semi-military club, the meetings of which were held at 
their family aupper-tables in roialion —Ed. 

4 The gentleman whose name the Poet " might not say,-' 
waa the laie Sir William Forbes of Pitaligo, Bin., son of 
the auihor of the Life of Beanie, and hrrther-in-l;iw of Mr. 



foe 



of Sir Waits 
6 See King hear. 
6 S«e Appendix, Mote 3 X. 



Scoti— died 3llh Ocloberi 16*.— Ed. 



V 



A 



ft 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



II. 

Fii /.-Eustace, who the cause hut gueJs'd. 

Nor wholly niiderstodd, 
His comnides' clamorous plaints suppress d ; 

He knew Lord Mstniiion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did his tale di.splay 
Simply as if he knew of nought 
To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmiou gave attention cold, 
Nor marvell'd at tlie wonders told,— 
Pass'd them as accidents of course. 
And bade tiis clarions sound to horse. 

III. 
Voung Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoii'd with their Scottish host; 
And, as the charge lie cast and paid. 
-•• HI ihou deserv'st thy hire," he said ; 
" Dost see. thou knave, my horse's plight? 
Fairies have ridden him all the night, ^- ' 

And left him in a foam ! 
I trust that soon a conjuring band, 
Wiih English cross, and blazing brand, 
Shall drive the devils from tins land, 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I trow. 
All night they trample to and fro."— 
'I'he laughing host look'd on the hire,— 
" Graniercy, gentle southern squire, 
And if thou coniest among the rest. 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
And short the pang to undergo " 
Here stay'd their talk,— for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way 
They journey'd all the morning day. 

IV. 
The green-sward way was smooth and good. 
Through Humbie's and tlirough Saltoun's 

wood ; 
A forest glade, which, varying still, 
Here gave a view of dale and hill. 
There narrower closed, till over head 
A vaulted screen the branches made. 
" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eusiace said , 
"Such as where errant-knights might see 
Adventures of high chivalry; 
Might meet some damsel flying fast. 
With hair unbound, and looks aghast ; 
And smooth and level course were here. 
In her defence to break a spear. 
Here, too. are twilight nooks and dells: 
And oft, in such, the story tells. 
The daiTiNel kind, from danger freed. 
Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmioii's mind : 
Perchance to show his lore design'd ; 

For Eustace much li;id poured 
Upon a huge romantic tome. 
In the hall window of his home, 
Imprinted at the antique dome 

Of Caxton, or De Worde.i 
Therefore he spoke,— hut spoke in vain. 
For Marmion answer'd nought again. 



V. 



Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill, 
In notes prolong'd by wood and hill, 

Were heard to echo far ; 
Each ready archer grasp'd his bow. 
But bv the flourish soon they know. 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band. 

Some opener ground to gam ; 
And scarce a furhing had they rode, 
When thinner trees, receding, show d 

A little woodland plain. 
Just 111 that advantageous glade, 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 

VI. 

First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
So late the forest echoes rang ; 
On prancing steeds they forward press d, 
With scarlet mantle, azure vest: 
Each at his trump a banner wore, 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came, 
in painted tabards, proudly showing 
Gules, Argent. Or, and Azure glowing, 

Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held, 
That feudal strife had often quell'd, 

When wildest its alarms. 

VII 

He was a man of middle age ; 
In aspect manly, grave and sage. 

As on King's errand come; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home ; 
The flash of that satiric rage. 
Which, bursting on the early stage, 
Branded the vices of the age. 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk white palfrey forth he paced , 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast, 

Silk housings swept the ground. 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 

Embroider'd round and round. 
The double treasure might you see, 

First by Achaius borne. 
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, 
And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the King's armorial coat. 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
In living colours, blazon'd brave. 
The Lion, which his title gave, 
A train, which well beseem'd his state. 
But all unarm'd, around him wait. 
Still is thy name in high account. 
And still thy verse has charms, 
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion Kmg-at-arms !2 



:\ 



1 William Caxton, tlie earliest 1 
In Kent, A.U. 1412. and dinl 14»1. 
hit Best tuccewor in the procJucii< 



" Rare volumes, dark ■ 
vhioh are now the delight of b 
•1 See Appendix, Mote 2 Y. 



sh'd gold,' 



y 



y- 



MARMION. 



101 



^ 



VIII. 
Down from his horse did Marmion spring, 
Soon as he saw the Lion King; 
For well the stately Baron knew 
To hull such courtesy was due, 
VV'hdiu royal James liim-elf had crown'd, 
And on his temples t>l;tr.«d the round 

Of S>cotland's aiicienl diadem : 
And wet his hrnw with haliow'd wine, 
And on his tinirer siveii to shine 

The eiijlilematic srem. 
Their mutual sreeiinirs duly made, 
The [.ion thus his message said : — 
" I'hough Scotland's King hath deeply swore 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more," 
And strictly hath forliid resort 
From Knglaiid to his royal court; 
Vet. for he knows Lord .Marmion's name. 
And honours much his warlike fame. 
My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack 
Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
And. by his order, I. your guide. 
Must Imlgiiig tit and fair provide. 
Till tinds King James meet time to see 
'I'he flower of English chivalry." 

IX. 
Though inly chafed at his delay, 
Lord Marmioii bears it as he niay. 
The Palmer, Ins mysterious guide, 
Beholding thus hisplace supplied, 

Sotiglit to take leave in vain : 
Strict was the Lioii-King's command, 
That none, who rode in Marmion's band, 

Should sever from the tram : 
" Liiglaiid has here enow of spies 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes :" ' 
To Marciiiiiount thus, aiiari. he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right hand path they now decline. 
And trace against tlie stream the Tyne. 

X. 
At length up that wild dale they wind. 

Where Crichtoii thistle' crowns the bank : 
For there the Lion's care assigned 

A lodgms meet for Marmion's rank. 
That Casile rises on the steep 

Of I he green vale of Tyne : 
And far beneath, where slow they creep. 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
Where aiders moist, and willows weep. 

Vou hear her si reams repine. 
The towers in diflferent as;es rose; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands; 
A mighty m:iss. that could opfiose. 
When deadliest haired tired its foes. 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 
XI. 
Crichtoun! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 

Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced, wiihin thy fort. 

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, 

Scutcheons of honour, or (iretence, 
Quarter'd in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 



I See AppenJi: 
r-X Criihtoo Gas; 
Prose Works, vo 



Nor wliolly yet had time defaced 

'I'liy lordly gallery fair; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, 
VVliose isvisted knots, with roses laced. 

Adorn thy ruin'd stair. 
Still rises uniinpair'd below. 
The court-yard's graceful portico; 
Above Its cornice, row and row 
Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form. 
Though there but houseless cattle go, 

To shield them from the storm 
And, shuddering, still may we explore. 

Where oft whilom were captives pent. 
The darkness of thy Massy More ;2 
Or, from thy grass-grown battlement. 
May trace, in undulating line. 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

XII. 
Another aspect Crichtoun show'd. 
As through its ponal Marmion rode. 
But yet 'twas melancholy state 
Keceived him at the outer gate ; 
For none were in the Castle then. 
But women, boys, or ;iged men. 
VVith eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, 
To welcome noble .Marmion. came; 
Her son. a stripling twelve years old,, 
Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold: 
For each man that could draw a sword 
Had marcird that mornins with their lord. 
Earl .'\dam Hepburn.— he who died 
On Flodden, by Ins sovereign's side, 3 
Long may his Lady look in vain ! 
She ne'er shall see his gallant train. 
Come sweeping back through Cnchtoua- 

Dean. 
'Twas a brave race, before the name 
Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. 

XIII. 
And here two days did Marmion rest. 

With every rile that honour claims, 
Attended as the King's own guest ;— 

Such the (tommand of Royal James, 
Who marshaU'd then his land's array, 
Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry." 
I ill full prepared was everv band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lmdesay's wit 
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 
And, ill his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,— 
Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece. 
And policies of war and peace. 

XIV. 
It chanced, as fell the second night. 

That on the battlements they walk'd. 
And. by the slowlv fading light. 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And. unaware, the HeraUl-bard 
Said, Marmion might his toil have spared. 

In travelling so far; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the Enulish war ;< 



2 The pit. or prison vault.— See Appendix 

3 See Appendix. Note 3 A. 

4 See Appeudix, Mote 3 B. 



:8Z. 



'T 



A 



/ 



f 102 

^ And I 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



And. closer quest ion'd, thus he told 
A liile. wliicli clironicles of old 
la Scoltish slory have enroll'd : — 



SIR DAVID LINDESAY S TALE. 

"Of all tiie palaces so fair. 

Built foillie royal dwellinj,', 
III Scotland, far beyon I compare 

Ljiilillif^ow IS excelliii!?;' 
And in its park in jovial June, 
How sweet the iiieiiy linnet's tune. 

How hlitlie the black hi id's lav ! 
The wild buck-bells^ from ferny brake, 
'I'lie coot dives merry on the lake. 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all iiaiure p-ay. 
Bui June is to our sovereign dear 
The heaviest month iti all the year: 
Too well his cause of priefyou know, 
June saw his father's overthrow. 3 
Woe to the traitors, who could brings 
The princely boy aarainst his Kins ! 
Siill III his conscience burns the sling. 
hi offices as si net as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 

XVI. 
•' Wheti last this ruthful month was come, 
And in l.inliihgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying. 
While, for his royal father's soul, 
I'lie chanters sung, the bells did toll, 

The Bishop mass was saying— 
For now the year brought round again 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, 
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt, 
And eyes with sorrow streaming; 
Around hmi in tlieir stalls of state, 
'I'he Thislle's Knight-Companions sate. 

Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and sooth to tell, 
Bedeafen'd with the jaiiglins knell. 
Was watching where the sunbeams fell. 

Through the stain'd casement gleaming. 
But. while I mark'd what next befell. 
It seem'd as I were dreaming. 
Stejip'd from the crowd a ghostly wight. 
In azure gown, with cincture white; 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair — 
Now. mock me not. when, good my Lord, 
1 pledge to you my kniglitly word," 
That, when I saw his placid grace, 
His simple majesty of face. 
His solemn bearinsr. and his pace 



. Ill Scotluiid Ihe 



! about Iwenty palaces, castles, and 



^ (olloi 



" Where Scotia't kings of other years" 
had their royal home. 

'• Linlilhsow.diBlinguishedby the combined xlrenglh and 
beauty of ii« siiualion, must have been early selected as a 
royal residence. David, who bought (he liile of saint 
hi" liberality to Ihe Church, refers several of his chart 
lo hi- town of LiiilithKOw: and in that of Holyrood . 
pressly besiow« on the new monastery all the skins of Ihe 
rarns, ewes, and lambs, belonging to his casile of Linl 
Rhich shall die during the year. . . . The convenience 
afforded for the spori of falconry, which was so great a fa 
Tourite during the feudal ages, was probably one cause 01 
•he attachment of the ancient Scottish monarchs to Lin- 
lithgow and its fine lake. The sport of hunting was also 
ilh succ^a-i in the neighbourhood, from which 



So stately gliding on, — 
Seem'd t.t me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the Saint, 
Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint, — 

The loved Apostle John ! 

xvn. 

" He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness tiiere. 

And little reverence made; 
Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent. 
But on the desk his arm he leant. 

And words like these he said. 
In a low voice, but never tone. 
So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and 

bone : — 
' My mother sent me froin afar, 
SirKiii?. to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woitnii fair, 
Her witchiiia: wiles tind wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warn'il. beware: 

God keep thee as he may !'— 
The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he rai.sed his head to speak, 
The monitor was gone 
The Marshal and myself had cast 
To slo|) him as he outward pass'd ; 
But. lighter than the whirlwmil's blast, 

He vanish'd from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on tlie billow cast, 

That glances hut. and dies." 

XVIH. 
While Lindesay ttild his mai-vel strange. 

The twilight was so [lale. 
He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, 

While listeiiins to the tale : 
But. afier a suspended pause. 
The Baron spoke :— "Of Nature's laws 

So strong I held the force. 
That never su|ierhiinian cause 
Could e'er control their course. 
And. three days since, had judged your aim 
Was but to make your guest your game. 
But 1 have seen, since past the Tweed. 
What much has changed my sceptic creed, 
And matie me credit aught."— He staid. 
And seem'd to wish his words unsaid : 
But. by that stroiii; emotion press'd. 
Which prompts us to unload our breast, 

Kvt-n when discovery 's pain. 
To l.indesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told. 

At (jifford. to his train. 
Nought of the Palmer says he there. 
And nought of Constance, or of Clare , 



circumstance it probably arises that the ancient arms of 
Ihe city represent a blacit greyhound bitch tied to a tree. 
The situation of Linlithgow Palace is eminently 
beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some elevation, 
which a-lvances almost into Ihe midst of Ihe lake. The 
form is thai of a square court, composed of buildings of four 
stories high, with lowers at Ihe angles. The fronts within 
the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and 
Ihe size of the rooms, as well as Ihe width and character 
of Ihe stain-ases, are upon a magnificent scale. One ban- 
quet-room is ninety-four feel long, thirty feet wide, and 
ihirty-ihree feet high, wiih a gallery for music The king's 
wardrobe or dressing-room, looking to the west, projects 
over the walls, so as to have a delicious prospect on three 
sides, and is one of the most enviable boudoirs we have e '.T 
seen."— Sir Waller Scott's Mitccllantims Proie Worki, vol. 
vii. p. 382, &c. 
3 See Appendix, Note 3 C. S Ibid. Nolt 8 D. 



y^ 



7 



^ 



MARMION 



103 



The tlKumlUs. wliicli hnikc liis sleep, he seems Dead or alive, Rood cause had he 
To iiieiilioii but as levt risU dreams. lo be my niorlal enemy." 



XIX. 
"In vain," said he, "to rest 1 spread 
My Imrnins: limbs, and conrh'd my head: 

Faataslic thoujrhts return'd ; 
And, by their wild dominion led, 

iMy heart wiliiin me hurii'd. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I tooli my steed, and forth 1 rode. 
And. as the moon shone bright and cold. 
Soon reacli'd the camp upon the wold. 
'I'lie .souiliern entrance 1 pass'd through. 
Ami lialt.ed. and my bugle blew. 
Mi'ihoiislit an answer met my ear, — 
Vet was the bhist so low and diear, 
So hollow, aud so faintly blown. 
It might be echo of my own. 

XX. 

' 'I nils milgiiis, for a little space 
\ listen'd. ere I left the place , 

But .scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think they served me true. 
When sudden in the ring 1 view. 
In form distmct of sliaf* and hue, 

A mounted chanipion rise. — 
I've fought, Lord-Uon, many a day. 
In single fight, and mix'd affray. 
And ever, I myself may say, 

Have bonie me as a knight ; 
But when this unexpected foe 
Seem'd starting from the gulf below, — 
i care not though the trutli I show,— 

I trembled with affright: 
And as I phiced in rest my spear. 
My hand so shook for very fear, 

1 scarce could couch it right. 

XXI. 
** Why need my tongue the issue tell T 
We ran our course.— my charger fell ; — 
What could he 'gainst I lie shock of hellT — 

I roU'd upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening hand. 
The spectre shook his naked brand, — 

Yet did the worst remain : 
My dazzled eyes 1 upward cast,— 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight, like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook,— 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern vindiciive look, 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 

I well believe the last; 
For ne'er, from viztr raised, did stare 
A human warrior, with a glare 

S») grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; 
But when to good Saint George 1 pray'd, 
(The first time ere 1 ask'd his aid,) 

He plunged it in the sheatli ; 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 
The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night 

Sunk down upon the heath — 

•Twere long to tell what cause I have 
To know his face, that met me there, 

Call'd by his hatred from the grave, 
lo cumber upper air 



XXII. 
Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount ; 
Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount 

Such chance had happ'd of old. 
When once, near Norliam, there did fight 
A spectre fell of fiendish might. 
In likeness of a Scottish knight. 

With Brian Bulmer bold. 
And traiu'd him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 
'• And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, 
VVit;h Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid. 

And fingers, red with gore. 
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade. 
Or where the sable pme-lrees shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchty, or Glenmore ' 
And yet, whate'er such legends say. 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay, 

On mountain, moor, or plain. 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. 
True son ol chivalry should hold. 

These midnight terrors vain. 
For seldom have such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour. 
When guilt we meditate within. 
Or harbour unrepented sin." — 
Lord Marmion turn'd him half asi'le. 
And twice to clear his voice he tried. 

Then press'd Sir David's hand.— 
But nought, at length, in answer said , 
And here their farther converse staid. 

Each ordering that his band 
Should bowne thein with the rising day. 
To Scotland's camp to take their way- 
Such was the Kmg's command. 

XXITI. 

Early they took Dun-Edin's road. 
And 1 could trace each step they trode : 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rook, lior stone 
Lies on the path to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passing such digression o'er, 
Sufl[ice it that the route was laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They pass'd the glen and scanty rill. 
And climb'd the opposing b;uik, until 
'Ihey gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast. 

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest. 
Or listed, as'l lay at rest. 

While rose, on breezes thin. 
The murmur of the city crowd. 
And, from his steeple jangling loud. 

Saint Giles's mmgling din. 
Now, from the sunimit to the plain. 
Waves all the hill with yelhiw grain; 

And o'er the landscape as 1 look. 
Nought do 1 see unchanged remain. 

Save the rude cliffs and cliimmg brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan, 
Of early friendships past and gone. 



1 See the traditions conrenims 
called Ijhamdearp, or Bloody-hand, 
Appendix, Note 3 U, 



A 



f 104 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



XXV. 

But difTeient far the chanse has heen, 

Since Marniion, from the crown 
Of Bliickford, saw that, martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown • 
Tliousanii pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Eoroufcli-moor below.l 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A Ihoasand did I say T I ween, 
Thousands on thousands there were seen, 

That chequer'd all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town ; ^^.'-''''^ 
In crossing ranks extending: far, ^-"^ 
Forming a camp irregular ; 
Oft giving way, where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak woad, 
That darkly hug;e did intervene. 
And tamed the glaring white with green : 
In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXVI. 

For from Hehudes, dark with rain. 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
And from the soutliern Redswire edge. 
To farthest Kosse's rocky ledge; 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
The horses' tramp, nnd tingling clank. 
Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank, 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance, 

The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII. 

Thin curling in the morning air. 

The wreaths of failing smoke declare 

To embers now the brands decay'd. 

Where the night-watch their fires had made. 

They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 

Full many a bagr.ige-cart and wain. 

And dire artillery's clumsy car, 

]}y sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 

And there were Bortliwick's Sisters Seven,^ 

And culverins which France had given. 

lll-omen'd gift! the guns remain 

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair; 

Various in shape, device, and iiue. 

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 
Broad, narrow, swallowtail'd. and square, 
Scndl, pennon, pensil. bandrol,3 there 

O'er the pavilions flew 4 
Highest and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floatins wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 
Pilch'd deeply in a massive stone. 
Which still iii memory is shown. 

Yet bent beneath the standard's weisrht 
When'er the western wind unroH'd. 

With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. 



1 Bee Appendix, Note 3 E. 

e Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borlliv 



And gave to view the dazzling field. 
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. 
The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.-'' 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,— 
He view'd it with a chief's delisrhi. — 

Until within him burn'd his heart. 

And lightning from liis eye did part, 
As on the battle-day; 

Such glance did falcon never dart. 
When stooping on his prey. 
■"Oh ! well. Lord- Lion, hast thou said. 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay : 
For, by St. George, were that ho.st mine. 
Not power infernal nor divine. 
Should once to peace my soul incline. 
Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine 

In glorious battle- fray !'" — ■ — 
Ansvver'd the Bard, of milder mood : 
" Fair is the sight,— and yet 'twere good. 

That kings would think withal, 
Wlien peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 
'Tis belter to sit still at rest. 

Than rise, percliance to fall." 

XXX. 

still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd. 
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'ii 

When sated with the martial show 

That peopled all the plain below. 

"The wandering eye could o'er it go, 

And mark the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendour red ; 

For on the smoke-wreatlis, huge and slow. 

That round her sable turrets flow, 
■^rhe iiiorniiiff beams were shed. 

And tinged them with a lustre proud. 

Like that which streaks a tliunder-clond. 
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height. 
Where the huge Castle holds its state, 

And all the steep slope down. 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 
Piled deep and massy, close and high. 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze. 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays. 
And as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gleam'd a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw: 
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick- Law : 

And, In-oad between tliem roll'd, 
The gallant Frith the eye miKht note, 
V\'hi)se islands on its bosom float, 

Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz-Eustace's heart felt closely pent; 
As if to give his rapt ore vent, " 
The spur he to his charger lent. 

And raised his bridle hand. 
And, making demi-volte in air, 
Cried, '' Where 's the coward that would not 
dare 

To fighi for such a Ian 1 !" 
The Limlesay smiled his joy to see ; 
ISor Marmion's frown repress'd ins glee. 

XXXL 
Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud, 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. 



3 Each of the! 
rank of thn.*ie eii 
1 4 See Aj.peiidu 



led ttie diOereal 



A 



7 



Z. 



:SIARMION 



105 \ 



And titp, ;ind keftle-druni, 
And sacklml deep. :ind psaltery, 
And w;ir-pipe wiili di.>-cordaiit cry 
And cynilial clailerinH: lo ilie sky, 
Making: wild music tiold and hi^U, 

Did up the iMoiintain Come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime. 
Merrily toll'd the hour of piiiiie, 

"AaU thus tlie Lindesay spoke : 
"Tlius clamour .-till the war-notes when 
The kin^ lo mass Ins way has ta'en, 
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne, 

Or Chapel of Saint Kocqiie. 
T.) you they speak of martial fame ; 
But me reiiiind of peaceful KUme, 

When liliiher was I heir cheer. 
Thiilliti!? in Falkland-woods the air. 
In sis^iial none his steed should Sf)are, 
But strive which foremost niislit repair 

1 o the downfall of the deer. 

XXXll. 

" Nor less," he said,—" when lookin? forth, 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hilly throne ; 
Her palace's nnperial l)owers. 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers. 
Her stalely hulls and holy towers— 

Nor less." he said. •' I moan. 
To think what woe mischance may bring, 
And how these merry hells may ring 
'I'lie <leaih-dirse of liur s'^dlaia king; 

Oi- with the lanim call 
The buisheis forth to walcli and ward. 
'Gainst somhern suck and fires lo guard 

Dun bJdiii's leascuerVI wail — 
But not for my piesasin;; tliousht, 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought! 

Lord Marmioii. 1 say nay; 
God is the guider of the field. 
He breaks the champion's spear and shield,- 

But ihou Ihyst-ll slialt say. 
When joins yon host m deadly stowre, 
'I'iial England's dames must weep in bower. 

Her monks I he death -mass sing; 
For never saw"st tlioii such a power 

Led on by such a King."'— 

Anil now, liown whkIhi;; to the plain. 
The barriers of the camp they gam. 

And there they made a stay — 
Tliere s'.ays the .Minstrel. liU he fling 
His Imiid o'er every Bonier slriiii;, 
And fit his harp the pomp lo sin?. 
Of Scotland's ancieni Court and Ilmg, 

In the succeeding lay. 



itt.irmioix. 

INTRODUCTION TU CANTO FIFTH. 



GEORGE ELLIS, EsQ.i 

Edinburgh. 
When dark December glooms the day. 
And takes our autumn joys away ; 
When short and scant the sunbeam throws, 
Upon I he weary waste of snows, 



A cold and profitless regard. 

Like patron on a neeily hard; 

When silvan occupation 's done. 

And o'er the chiinney rests the gun, 

And hang, in idle ti<>phy, near. 

The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 

When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 

And greyhound, with his lengtii of limb, 

And poiner, now employ'd no more, 

Cumber our parlour's narrow floor: 

When in his stall the impatient steed 

Is long condemn'd to rest and feed ; 

When from our snow-encircled home. 

Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 

Since path is none, save that to bring 

The needful water from the spring ; 

When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er 

Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 

And darkling politician, cross'd. 

Inveighs ajiamst the lingering post. 

And answering housewife sore complaiits 

Of carriers' snow-impeded wains; 

When such the country cheer. 1 come, 

Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 

For converse, and for books, to cliaus:e 

The Forest's melancholy range. 

And welcome, with reuew'd delight, 

I'lie busy day and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time, 
As erst by Newark's riven towers. 
And Etinck stripp'd of forest bowers.2 
True,— (;aledonia's Queen is changed,^ 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
V\ ithin its steepy limits pent. 
By bulwark, line, and battlement. 
And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
Guarded and garrison'd she stood. 
Denying entrance or resort. 
Save at each tall embattled port ; 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Poncnllis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone.— but not so long, 
Since, early closed, and openins: late, 
Jealous revolved the studded gate. 
Who.se task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dnn-Edin ! O, how alter'd now. 
VVliKU safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sifst, like Empress at her sport. 
And liberal, unconfined, and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the seu,* 
Foi thy dark cloud, wiih umber'd lower. 
That huiii; o'er clitf, and lake, and tower, 
Thou gleam'st asaiiisL the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 



1 Ttiis acromplish«) geiiileman, the wellkiinwn coailjn- 
!or of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frrre in the • .\niijacoi.in." 
and i^iior of " Spei-inien< of Ancient Knglish Romances," 
Jcc . died lOih April 1816, aged 70 years: being succeeded 
in his estalen by his broUier, Charles Ellis, i^., created, ia 
li:27. Lord Seaford — JEd. 

2 See iulroduclion to canto ii. 

3 See Appendix. Note 3 H. 

4 Since writin? this !ine, I find I have inadterfenlly lior- 



Irilain heard Ihe deicant bold, 
She flung her wh.te arms o'er the 

•roi;d in hrr leafy bosom to tufolU 
The frcipbl of harmony." 



::^ 



f 106 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^; 



Not she, the Championess of old, 
111 Sp«n!>er's tiiaKio Uile ennill'd, 
Mie for I he ol\:inned spe;ii- renown d, 
VVIiirli forced ea(^li kiii!?lit to kisrf the ground ; 
Not, she more cliaiiRed. when, placed at rest, 
VVliat time she was Malhecco's ?uest,l 
She save to flow her maiden vest; 
Wtieii from the corslefs Rrasp relieved, 
Free to the sisht her bosom heaved ; 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 
ImsI hidden bv the aVentiiyle; 
And down her shoulders ^rnceful roll'd 
Her locks profns^e, of paly sold 
'riicv who wluloin, ill midnight fight, 
Had marvell'd at her matchless might, 
No less her maKleii charms approved. 
Hut looking lii<ed. ami liking loved "■» 
'I'he sight could joalous pangs hegnile, 
And cliarin Malhecco's ( jtres a while: 
And he, the wandering "iMUiie of Uames, 
Forgot his Coluinhella's claims. 
And passion, erst, unknown, could gain 
The breast of hlunl Sir Sa yrane; 
Nor durst light I'aridel advain-e, 
Bold as he was. a looser giaiice. 
She charm'd, at once, and lamed the fteart. 
Incomparable Brilomarie ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarray'd 
Of battled wall, and ramparli's aid, 
As stately seem'st. I)ut lovelier far 
't'liali 111 that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Si length and security are flown; 
Still, as of yore. Queen of the North ! 
Si ill canst thou send thy children forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm hell's call 
'I'hy burghers rose to man thy wall, 
Than now. in danger, shall he thine, 
Thy dauuiless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to slund. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, tram'd to martial toil. 
Full red would stain their native soil. 
tre from thy mural crown there fell 
'I'he slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if It come,— as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renown'd for hospitable deed, 
Tiiat virtue much with Heaven may plead, 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Desceiiuiiig angels deign'd to share ; 
That claim may wrestle lilessiniis down 
On those who tight for The Good Town, 
Destined in every age to he 
Refuge of injured royally; 
Since (irst, when roiitiuering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose,* 
Till late, with woiuler. grief, atid awe. 
Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw.* 

Truce to these thoughts!— for, as they rise, 
How gladly I avert mine eyes. 



B(»dings, or true or false, to change. 
For Fiction's fair romantic range. 
Or for traditUHi's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim. 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. 
Creation of my fantasy, 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen, 
And make of mists invading men. 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon! 
The moonlight than the fog of frost ? 
And can we say, which cheats the most! 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain, 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could will the njyal Henry's ear.8 
Famed lieauclerc call'd, fur that he loved 
The nuiistrel. and his lay approved .' 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem, 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
.\larie translated, Blondel sung ?— 
O I horn. Time's ravage to repair, 
And make the dying Muse thy care; 
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe 
Was poising for the linal blow, 
The weapon from his hand could wring, 
And'tueak his glass, and shear his wing, 
And hid. reviving in his strain. 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic nuu'al gay. 
Nor le.ss the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of uiie.vpected wit; 
In letters as in life approved, 
Example honour'd, and beloved,— 
Dear Ellis I to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art. 
To win at once the head and heart, — 
At once to charm, instruct and mend. 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend !• 

Such minstrel les.<!on to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task,— but, ! 
No more by thy example teach, 
—What few can practise, all can preach,- 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure, 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude 
Enough, the lesson has been given: 
Forbid the repetition, Heaven ! 



Come listen, then ! for thou hast known, 
And loved the Minstrel's varying tone, 
V\'ho. like his Border sires of old. 
Waked a wild measure rude and hold, 
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 
With wonder heard the northern strain.' 



1 See "The Fairy dueen," book iii. canto ix. 
a " For every one her liked, and every one he 



^ from 



4 In January 1796, the exiled Count d'Artols ^rierwarila 
Charles X. of France, took up his residime iji Holyiood, 
• he remaineil uiilil .\ii^u.st 1799 Wlir-n a'.'aii driven 
bin country by Ibe KlvuIuiioh or July 1«.;U, I lie same 



all the in 



nedii 



: members of hia 



1 the aniienl |i.il< 



laris, ana rem^iiiied i 
I See Apiieiidix, Nott 



< Ittth September ls3-i. 



Pope to Bulmgbrote. 



■ WindNur, p.* it of 



yA 



7" 



MAllMION 



Come listen! hcild in ihy applause, 
Tlie Bard shall scoiii pedantic laws ; 
And, as ilie aiicieiil art could stain 
Achievements (in Hit- stoned pane, 
Irregrularly traced and t>iantrd. 
Hut yet so frlowini": and so grand. — 
So siiali lie strive, in chanceful hue. 
Field, feast, and conihat, to renew. 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the jKiiiip of chivalry. 



JttarmioiT. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



THE COURT. 

I. 

The train has left the hills of Braid ; 
The tiarrier griiard have open made 
(So Lindesay hade) the palisade. 

That closed the tented fjround ; 
Their men the warders backsvaril drew, 
And carried pikes as they rode through. 

Into its ample bound. 
Favt ran the Sc.ottish warriors there. 
Upon the Southern band to stare. 
And etivv with their wonder rose. 
To see such well-appointed toes; 
Such leusth of shalts, such nnjflity bows, 
So huffe. that many simply thought. 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought; 
And little deem'd their force to feel. 
i'hrouRh links of mail, and plates of steel. 
When rattling upon Floddeii vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail i 

II. 

Nor less did Marniion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through. 
And much he marvell'd one small land 
Could marshal forth such various baud : 

For men-at-arms were here, 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With battle-axe and si)ear 
Young knights and squires, a lighter train. 
Practised their chargers on the plain, 
By aid of leg. of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show. 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
I'he sword sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below. 2 
He saw the hardy burghers there 
March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare,3 

For V zor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight; 
Bu' burnished were their corslets bright, 
Their brigaa'mes, and gorgets light, 

Like very silver shone. 



Long pikes they had for slandiiig light, 
Two-handed swords they wore. 

And many wielded in.ice of weight. 
And bucklers bright they bore. 

in. 

On foot the yeoman too, but dress'd 

In his steel jack, a swarthy vest, 
With iron quilted well; 

Each at his back (a slender store) 

His forty days' provision bore. 
As feudal'sialutes tell. 

His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,* 

A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 
A dagger-knife, and brand. 

Sober he seeiu'd, and sad of cheer. 

As loth to leave his cottage dear. 

And march to foreign strand: 

Or musing. wIk) would guide his steer, 
I To till the fallow land. 
j Vet deem not iii his thoughtful eye 

Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 
More' dreadful far his ire. 

Than theirs, who. scorning danger's name, 
I 111 eager humkI to battle came, 
[Their valour like light straw on Hanie, 
: A fierce but fading fire. 

IV. 

Not so the Borderer :— bred to war. 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And joy'd to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease : 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The light-arm'd pricker plied his trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead. 
Burghers to guard their townships bleed. 

But war's the Borderer's game. 
Their gam, their glory, their delight. 
To sleep the day. maraud the night. 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor; 
Joyful to fight they took their way. 
Scarce caring who might win the day. 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as L<jrd Marniion's train pass'd by, 
Look'd on at first with careless eye. 
Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the Lord array 'd 
In splendid arms and ric h brocade. 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 
^•' Hist, Rincan ! see'st thou there ! 
Canst guess which road they'll homeward 

ride ? — 
0! could we but on Border side. 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide. 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
Might chance to lose his glistering hide i 
Brown .Maudlin, of that doublet pied. 

Could make a kirtle rare." 



Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race. 
Of diflerent language, form, and face. 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the Chiefs their tribes array'd. 




i7^— 

f 108 

^ Ami Willi Mllll e 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



IM 



...id wild and garish semblance made. 
Tlie clieqner'd trews, and belled plaid, 
And varying; notes the war-pipes bray'd, 

id everv varyiii? clan; 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Look'd out their eyes with savage stare, 

On Marra.on as he pass'd ; 
Their less above the knee were bare : 
'I'heir frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 

And harden'd to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undiess'd hide 
Their hairy buskins well .supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet d>;ck'd their head: 
Back iVoni iheir shoulders hung the plaid; 
A broadsword of unwieldly length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore, 
And quivers, bows, and shafts,— but. O ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow, 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry, 

As with his guide rode Marniion by. 

Loud were their clainounng tongues, as when 
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 

And. with their cries discordant mix'd. 

Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. 
VI. 

Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd. 

And reach'd ihe City gale at last. 

Where all around, a wakeful guard, 

Anii'd burghers kept tlieir waich and ward. 

Well had they cause of jealous fear. 

When lay encaiup'd. in tield so near, 

The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 

As through Ihe busiliiig stieeUs iliey go. 

All was alive wiih martial show: 

At every turn, with dinning clang. 

The armourer's anvil clash'd and rang , 

Or toil'd the swarthy smilh, to wheel 

Tne bar that arms the charger's heel . 

Or axe, or falchion, to the siile 

Of jarring grindstone was applied. 

Page, groom, and squire, willi hurrying pace. 

Through street, and lane, and market place. 
Bore lance, or casque, or sword : 

While burghers, with important face. 
Described each new-come lord, 

Piscuss'd his lineage, toid his name. 

His following.' and his warlike lame. 

The Lion led to lodging meet. 

Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street; 
'J'liere hiust the Baron rest. 

Till past the hour of ves()er ride. 

And then to Holy-Kood must ride. — 
Such was the King's behest. 

Meanwhile the Lion's cure assigns 

A banquet rich, and cosily w ines. 
To Marmion and his train ;2 

And when the appointed hour succeeds, 

'I'he Baron dons his peaceful weeds. 

And following Lmdesay as he leads 
'I'he palace-halls they gain. 
VII. 

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily. 

That night, with wassell. mirth, and glee : 



King James within her princely bower. 
Feasted tlie Chiefs of Scotland's power, 
Summon'd to spend the parting hour; 
For he had charged, that his array 
Should southward march by break of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song. 
By day the tournev, and by night 
The merrv dance,"traced fast and liglit. 
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 

Tlie revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past, 
It was his blithest— and his last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, 
Cast on tlie Court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing; 
Their ladies touch'd a softer string; 
With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest, 
The licensed fool retail'd his jest; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
While some, in close recess apart, 
Courted the ladies of their heart, 

.Nor courted them in vain; 
Nor ofien, in the parting hour. 
Victorious Love asserts Ins power 

O'er coldness and disdain; 
And thiily is her heart, can view 
To battle march a lover true- 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu. 
Nor own her share of p;un. 
VIII. 
Through this mix'd crowd of glee an 1 game, 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 

While, reverent, all made room. 
An easy task it was, 1 trow. 
King James's manly form to know. 
Altliouyh, his courtesy to show, 
He doff d, to Marniion bending low, 

His broider'd cap and plume. 
For royal was his garb and mien. 
His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 
Tiiinm'd with the fur of mariin wild; 
His vest of changeful satin sheen, 

The dazzled eye lieguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown, 
The thistle brave, of old renown : 
His trusty blade, Toledo right. 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
Was bulton'd with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble inien. 

IX. 
The Monarch's form was middle size : 
For feat of strength, or exercise. 

Shaped in proportion fair; 
And hazel was his eagle eye. 
And auburn of the darkest dye. 

His short curl'd beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the danrfe. 

And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance. 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
And loved to plead, lament, and sue : — 



1 fo//ou>iiif— Feudal rclaimrs.— Th s word, by the way, Knglish, and cspeeially iutc 
has bien, siiiie iho Aiilhor of Marmion u.-.ed ii, and Kd. 
ihought it culled for exi<lauaiion, coiapleiely adojjied into 'i. See .\ppeiidix, Noie 3 P. 



tary parlaut e.- 



\ 



^ 



A 



7 



^. 



MARMION. 



109 



X 



Suit lislitly won, and short-lived pain, 
For monarchs seldom sish in vain. 

I s:ii(l he joy'd in banquet bower; 
But. 'mid his mirtii. 'twas often strange, 
How suddeidy ins cheer would change, 

His look o'ercast and lower, 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressiire of his iron belt. 
That bound his breast in penance pain, 
in memory of liis fatlier slam ' 
Even so 'tw;is strange how. evermore, 
Sr.on as tlie passing pans was o'er 
Forward he rush'd. with double Rlee, 
Into the stream of revelry : 
'I'lius, dmi-seen object of aflTrisht 
hjtanlt's the ccjurserin ius tli^lit. 
And half lie halts, half spiin^s aside; 
Dut feels the (juickenms: spur apfilied. 
And, straining on the lishien'd rein, 
Scours doubly swift o'er hiU and jilain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir Hiiali the Heron's wife held swayi^ 

To Scotland's Citurt she rame, 
To be a hosi.'uje for her lord. 
Who Cessford's arallaiit lieart had arored, 
And with the Kin? to mai<e accord, 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the say Kin? allesiaiice own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a inrquois rins and glove. 
And charged liim. as her iinight and love, 

For her to breal< a lance; 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand, 3 
And march three miles on Souihron land, 
And bid the banners of liis band 

In Knglish breezes dance 
And thus, for France's Queen he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest; 
And tlius admitted English fair 
His inmost counsels still to share ; 
And thus, for bolli. he madly plann'd 
The rum of himself and land ! 
And yet, the sooth to fell, 

Nor Engl.Mid's fair, nor France's Queen, 

Were worth (me pear-drop, bright and sheen, 
From Margaret's eyes that fell.— 
His own Qneea Margaret, who. in Lithgow's 

bower, 
AH lonely stit, and wept the weary hour. 

XI. 
The Queen sits? lone in Lilhgow pile. 

And weeps tiie weary day. 
The war against lier native soil. 
Her Monarch's risk in battle broil : — 
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while, 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm. as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as siie louch'd and luued them all. 
Ever lier bosom's rise and fall 

Was phiiner given to view; 
For. all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 O. 
8 See Appeiidix, Nole3S. 
* Tlie ballad of Lorhinvar ix 
fouuded on a baltad called - Ku 



And first she pitch'd her voice to siic, 

Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 

And then around the silent ring; 

And laugh'd. and bliish'd. and oft did say 

Ifer pretty oatli. by Yea. and Nay. 

She ciiuld not, would not, durst not puy ! 

At length, upon the harp, witii glee. 

Mingled with arch simplicity, 

A s(»f't. yet. lively, air she rung, 

Willie tlius the wily lady sung: — 

XXII. 

LOCH1NVAR.4 

_ LADY heron's SONG. 

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 

Through all the wide Border Ins steed w;is tlie 
best ; 

And save his good broadsword he weapons 
had none. 

He rode all unnrni'd, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Tliere never was kniglit hke the young Lo- 
chinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for 

stone. 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was 

none; 
But ere he alighted at Netherhy gate. 
The bride had consented, the gallant came 

late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
Wiis to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Netherhy Hall. 

Anumg bride's-men, and kinsmen, and bro- 
thers, and all : 

Then s|)oke the bride's father, his hand on his 
sword. 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a 
word.) 

" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin- 
var ?" — 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you de- 
nied ;— 

Love swells like the Solvvay. but ebbs like its 
tide— 5 

And now am I come, with this lost love of 
mine. 

To lead but one measure, drink one cu|) of 
wine. 

There are maidens in Scotland moie lovely liy 
far. 

That would gladly be bride to the young Lo- 
chinvar." 

The bride kiss'd the goblet : the knight took 

It up. 
He quafTd off the wine, and he threw down 

the cup. 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up 

to sigh, I 

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her 

eye. 



ly be found in the " Mil 



5 See Itie novel of RedgaunllPt, f 
pome of the extraordinary pheiionkei 
Ihe Solwiiy Frith. 



Isy of Ihc ScoUish Border," 



^ 



10 



f no 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nt 



He took her soft hand, ere her mother could 

bar — 
♦' Now tread we a measure !" said young Lo- 

cliinvar. 

So statelv his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace : 
While her mother did fret, and her father did 

fume, 
And the bridegroom stood danglin? his bonnet 

and plume ; 
And the hruie-maidens whisper'd, "'Twere 

better by far. 
To have matrh'd our fair cousin with young; 

Lochmvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her 

ear. 
When they reach 'd the hall-door, and the 

charg:er stood near ; 
So light to the croupe tiie fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the 
Netherhy clan; 

Forstere, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 
and they ran : 

There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie 
Lee, 

15in the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they 
see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lo- 
chinvar I 

xin. 

The Monarch o'er the siren hung 
And beat the measure as she sung; 
And. pressing closer, and more near, 
lie whisper'd praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 
And ladies wink'd. and spoke aside. 

Thf. witching (lame to Marmion threw 
A glance, where seem'd to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due, 

And of her royal conquest too. 
A real or feign'd disdain ; 
Familiar was the look, and told, 
Miirmion and she were friends of old. 
The King ob.served their meeting eyes. 
With something like displeased surprise; 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad, 
Which Marmion 's high commission show'd : 
"Our Borders sack'd by many a raid. 
Our peaceful liege-men robh'd," he said : 
"On day of truce our Warden slain. 
Stout Barton kill'd. his vassals ta'en — 
Unworthy were we here to reign. 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 
Our full defiance, hale, and scorn, 
Our herald has to Henry borne." 

XIV. 
He paused, and led where Douglas stood, 
And with stern eye the pageant vievv'd : 



^ 



I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
Who coronet of Angus bf)re. 
And, when his blood and heart were high. 
L»id the third James in camp defy. 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary flat : 
Princes and favourites long grew tame 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ;i 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its lowers. 
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air. 
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair. 

To ti.\ his princely bowers. 
Tliongh now, in age, he had laid down 
His armour for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff his brand. 
Yet often would flash forth the fire. 
'I'liat could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand; 
And even that day. at council board. 

Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood. 

Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal lord. 2, 

XV. 

His giant-form, like ruin'd tower. 
Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt. 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, 

Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks and heard in silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
•' Lord Marmion. since these letters say 
That in the North you needs must stay. 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern. 
To say— Return to Lindisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in Tanlallon Hold :8 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold,— 
A chief unlike liis sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade, < 
Their blazon o'er his towers display 'd ; 
Yet loves his sovereign to o[)pose, 
More than to face his country's foes. 
And. 1 betliink me. by St. Stephen. 

But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first Inins of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Sliall safe return to cloister shades. 
And. while they at Taiit^llon stay, 
Hequieiii for Coclnan's soul may "say" 
And. with the slaughterd favourite's name. 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse and shame. 

XVI. 
In answer nought could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swell'd wellnigli to break: 
He turn'd aside, and down his ciieek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch suddt n took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook . 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul. 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive: 
For sure as doth his spirit live, 

3 See ,^p|ifii<lix, Nolf 3 V. 

4 See AH't-iiUix, Note 3 \V. 



A 




^ 



MEETING OF KING JAMES, LORD MARMION, AND ANGUS. 

In answer nought could Angus speak. 
His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break. 

Page 110, Verse xvi. 



T 



7 



MxVRMION. 



11 



N 



As he said of the Douglas old, 

1 well may say of you. — 
'I'liiit never kiiii? did subject hold, 
111 speech more free, in war more bold. 

More tender ami more true :' 
Forgive me, Doujrlas, once !i?ain.'ir=^ 
And, while the king his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To se.ze the momeni Marmion tried. 
And whisper'd to the King aside : 
'Oh ! W.\ such tears unwimietl plead 
For respite short from dubious deed ! 
A (;hikl will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to .see her S()Urrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart: 
Hut wiie awaits a country, when 
She sees the teal's of bearded men. 
'I lieu, oil ! what omen, dark and high. 
When Douglas wets his manly eyel" 

XVII. 
Di.spleased was James, that stranger view'd 
And tamier'd with his changing mood 
'• Laugh those that can, weep those that 

may.' 
Thus did the fiery .Monarch say. 
"Southward I m.iich by break of day ; 
And if within rantalloii strong, 
The good Lord Manuuui tarries long. 
Perchance our meeliiig ne.xt may fall 
Ai Tamworth. in Ins castle liall."' — 
The haughty Marmmn felt the tannt, 
And answer'd, sirave. the royal vaunt : 
" .Much honour'd were my humble home, 
Jf in Its halls King James should come; 
iiut .N'oitiiigham lias archers good. 
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ; 
Noriliuinbrian piickers wild and rude. 
On Derby Hills the paths are sleep; 
Jn Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; 
And many a banner will be torn. 
And many a knight to earth be borne. 
And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 
lire Scotland's King shall cross the Trent : 
Yet pause. brave_Friiice. while yet you 

may !"— 
The Monarch lightly turn'd away. 
And to his nobles loud did nail,— 
'-Lords, to the dance.— a hall ! a hall !"2 
llimsell his cloak and sword lluug by. 
And led Dame Heron Kallanlly; 
And ininstreis. at tlie royal order, 
.Kuiig out—" Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.'^ 

XVIII. 

Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell. 
Whose galley, as they sail'd auaiii 
To Whiiby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 
I'lll James should of their fate decide, 

And soon, by his command. 
Were eently summon'd to prepare 
I'o journey under Marniion's care. 
As escort honour'd, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
Nor knew which saint she should implore ; 
For, when she thought of Constance, sore 



" O, Dowglat : Dowglas '. 
TenUir and irew." 

The Houlate. 
9 The ancient cry to make room for a ilaiice, or pageant. 



She fear'd Lord .Marmion's mood. 
.And judge what Clara must have felt! 
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, 

Had drunk De Wilton's blocKl. 
Unwittingly, King James had given, 

As guard to Whitby's shades. 
The man most dreaded under Heaven 

By these defenceless maids: 
Yet what petition could avail, 
Or who would listen to the tale 
(tf woman, prisoner, and nun, 
'.Mid biis'le of a war begun? 
They deem'd it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 

XIX. 
Their lodging, so the King assign'd. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, join'd ; 
And thus it fell. that, pas.sing nigh. 
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 

Wlu) warn'd him by a scroll. 
She had a secret to reveal. 
That much concern 'd the Church's weal, 

And health of sinners soul ; 
And. with deep charge of secrecy. 

She named a place to meet. 
Within an open balcony, 
I'hat hung from dizzy pitch, and high, 

Above the stalely street ; 
To which, as comiiion to each home, 
At night they might in secret come. 

XX. 

At night, in secret, there they came. 
The Palmer and the holy Dame. 
The moon among the clouds rose high, 
And all the city hutii was by 
Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar. 

You might have heard a pebble fall, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 
An owlet flap his boding wiiig 

On Giles's steeple tall 
The antique buildings, climbing high. 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky. 

Were here wrapt deep in shaile ; 
There on their brows the moon-beam broke, 
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke. 

And on the casements play'd. 

And oiher light was none to see. 
Save torches gliding far, 

Before some chieftain of degree. 

Who left the royal revelry 
To bowne him for the war.— 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 

XXL 

"0, holy Palmer!" she began, — 
"Tor sure he must be sainted man. 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
For His dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attenil. nor deem of light avail. 
Though 1 must speak of worldly love. — 
How vain to those who wed above !— 
De Wilton and Lord Marmioii woo'd 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
(Idle it were of Wjiithy's dame. 
To say of that same blood I came ;) 
And once, when jealous rage was high. 
Lord Marmioii said despileously. 



i^ 



z 




:^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Wilton was traitor in his heart, 

And liaii injuie lea^ne wjili Martin Swart.J 

When he came here on Sininel's part; 

And only cowardice did restrain 

His rehej aid oti Stokefield's plain, — 

And <lown lie threw his glove :— the thing 

Was tried, as wont, hefore the king; 

Where frankly did De Wdton own. 

'i'hat Swart in Gneldres he liad known: 

And that between Ihetn then there went 

Some scroll of courteous compliment. 

For this he to his casile sent; 

lint when his messenuer return'd. 

Judire how de Wilton's fury huru'd! 

F'or in Ills packet there was laid 

Letters that, chilni'd disloyal aid. 

And proved Kms Henry's cause betray'd. 

His fame, thus bliKliled. in the field 

He strove to clear, by spear and shield ; — 

To clear his fame in vain he si rove. 

For wondrous are His ways above ! 

Perchance some form w.is unobserved ; 

Percliaiire in prayer, or faith, he swerved;* 

Else how could Ruilfless champion quail, 

Or liow the blessed ordeal fail ? 

XXII. 
" His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recieant dooin'd to suffer law, 

Kepenlant. own'd m vain. 
That, while he had the scrolls in care. 
A straiiirer maiden, passing fair. 
Had drench'd linn with a beverage rare , 

His words no faith could gam. 
With Clare alone he credence won. 
Who, rather than wed Marmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
'I'o give our house her livings fair 
And die a vestal vot're.xs there. 
The iin|)ulse from the earth was given, 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 
Ne'er slielter'd her in Whitbv's shade, 
No. not since Saxon Edelfled; 

Only one truce of earthly strain, 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain, 
And murmurs at the cross. — 

And then her heritage ; — it goes 
Along the banks of Tame ; 

Deep tields of grain the reaper mows. 

In meadows rich the heifer lows. 

'I'lie falconer and liuiiisman knows 
Its woodlands for the same. 
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 
And 1. her humble vot'ress here. 

Should do a deadly sin. 
Her temple spoil'd before mine eyes, 
If this false Marmioii such a prize 

By my consent should win ; 
Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 
That Clare shall from our house be torn; 
And grievous cause have 1 to fear. 
Such mandate doth Lord Marniion bear. 

xxin. 

" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd 
To evil powen I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine and grotto dun. 



*v 



By every martyr's tortured limb, 
By anael, saint, and seraphim. 

And by the Church of God ! 
For mark :— When Wilton was betray'd. 
And with his squire forged letters laid. 
She was. al:is 1 that siiilul maid. 

By whom the deed was done. — 
O ! shame and horror to be said ! — 

She was a perjured nun ! 
No clerk in all the land, like her. 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem, 

Tliat Marmion's paramour 
(For such vile I hing she was) should sciieme 

Her lover's nuptial hour; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 
As privy to Ins honour's stain. 

Illimitable power: 
For this she secretly retain'd 

Each proof that might the [ilot reveal, 

histriiciioMS Willi his hand and seal; 
And thus Saint Hilda deign 'd. 

Through sinner's perfidy impure, 

Her house'.x glory to secure, 
And Clare's immortal weal. 

XXIV. 
•"Twere Ions:, and needless, here to tell, 
How to my hand these papers fell; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true ! 
Who knows what outrage he mig:ht d<», 

\Miile journeying by the way !— 
O. blessed Saint, if e'er again 
1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by land or main. 

Deep penance may 1 pay ! — 
Now. saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
I give this packet to thy care. 
For thee to stop they will not dare; 

And O ! with cautious speed. 
To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 
That he may show them to the King : 

And. for thy well earn'd meed. 
Thou holy man. at Whitby's shrine 
A weekly mass shall still "be thine, 

While priests can sing and read.— 
What ail'st thou ?— Speak !"— For as he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 

His frame ; and. ere reply. 
They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown, 

I'hat on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear. 
"Saint Withold, save us!— What is hsrel 

Look at yon City Cross? 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to re ar, 

And blazon'd banners tossJilJ— « "— — 

XXV. 

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone. 

Rose on a turret octagon ; 

(But now is razed that monument. 

Whence royal edict rang. 
And voice of Scotland's law was sent 

In glorious trumpet-clang. 
O ! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malisonS is said ^) — 



4 See A|>|<>-ndix, Nole 3 2. 



Z 



7^ 



MARMION 



113 > 



Then on its hattlements they saw 
A vision, passing- Nature's law, 

Stran!?e, wilt] anil ihmly seen : 
Figrmes that seein'J to rise and die, 
Gihber and siifu. advance and rtv, 
Willie noii-rhl coiitirm'd couhl ear or eye 

Uisrern of sdiukI or mien 
Yet darkly did it seem, as ijiere 
Heralds and Pursuivanis prepare. 
With iruinpet sound :iiid blazon fair, 

A siiiiiinons to proclaim; 
But indistinct the pay:eant proud. 
As fancy forms of nndni^lit cloud, 
When fliiiss the moon upon her shroud 

A \vavenii!f tinse of rtamt;; 
It flits, expands, and shills. till loud. 
From inidinust of ihe spectre cwovvd. 

This awful summons came : — * 

XXVI. 

'• Prince, prela'e. potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now siiail call, 
Scottish, or foreii^ner, give ear ; 
Subjects of him who sent me here, 
At his tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
" I cite you by each deadly sin. 
That e'er hath solid yoiir hearts within. 
I cite you by each brutal lust, 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear. 
By each o'er-mastering passum's tone. 
By the dark arave, and dying groan I 
When forty days are pass'd and gone, 
I cite you, at your Mimarch's throne. 

To answer and appear." 
Then thunder'd for.li a roll of names: 
The first vv;is thine, unhappy James! 

Then all thy nobles came; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Arg>'le, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyl'e,— 
Why should I tell their separate style , 

bJach chief of birth and fame. 
Of Lowland. Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-dooin'd to Floilden's carnage pile. 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion. Lord of Fontenave, 
Of Lut'erward. and Scrivelbaye; 
De Wiltoii, erst of Aberley, 
T'he self same thundering voice did say.— 

But then another spoke : 
" Thy fatal summons I denv, 
And thme infernal Lord deiy. 
Appealing me to Him on Hiih. 

Wild burst the sinner's yoke. " — — ' 
At that dread accent, with a scream. 
Parted the pageant like a dream, 

The sumnioner was gone 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did te'I , 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She niark'd not, at the scene aghast. 
What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd. 

XXVII. 

Shift we the scene.— The camp doth move, 
Dun-Edin's streets are empty now. 

Save when, for weal of those ihev love. 
To pray the prayer, and vow the vow. 



The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
'riie grey-hiiir'd sire, with pious care. 
To chapels and to shrines repair- 
Where IS the Palmer now? and where 
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare?— 
Bold Douglas I to Tantallon fair 

I'liey journey in thy charge: 
Lf>rd Marmion i<Kle on his nslit hand. 
The Palmer still was with the band ; 
Angus, like Lindesay. did command. 

That none should roam at l.irge. 
But in that Palmer's alter'd mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen, 

Freely he spoke of war. 
Of marvels wrought bv single hand. 
When lifted for a native land : 
And still look'd high, as if he plann'd 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke. 
And. tucking up his sable frocke. 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe or quell Ins pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw. except. Lord .Marnnon, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

xxvin. 

Some half hour's march behind, there came, 
By Eustace govern'd fair, 

A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 
With all her nuns, and Clare. 

No audience had Lord Marmion sought; 
Ever he fear'd to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 

And safer "twa.s. he thought. 
To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self .approved. 

Her slow consent had wrouirht. 

His was no flickeriinj flame, that dies 
Unless when fann'd by looks and sighs. 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He long'd to stretch his wide command 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 
Although the pang of humbled pride 
The place of jealousy supplied. 

Yet conquest by that n'leanness won 

He almost loath'd to think upon. 

Led him at times, to hale Ihe cause. 

Which made him burst through honours 
laws. 

If e'er he lov'd. 'twas her alone. 

Who died witliin that vault of stone. 

XXIX. 

And now, when close at hand thev .saw 
Ninth Berwick's town, and lofty Law, 
Fnz-Eustace bade them pause a wnile. 
Before a venerable pile. 2 

Whose turrets view'd, afar. 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And pray'd Saint Hilda's Alibe.ss rest 
With her. a loved and liononr'd guest. 
Till Douglas should a bark i.repare 
To waft her back to Whilliy fair 



z 



/ 



/ \u 



:^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL AVORKS. 



^ 



Glad wns the Abbess, vmi mny sness, 

Atiil tliank'd tlie Scutlisli Prioress; 

And tedious were to tell. I ween. 

'I'lie courteous speech that puss'd between. 

O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave ; 
But when fair Clara did intend. 
Like them, iVoin horseback to descend, 

Fitz-lMistare said.—'" I grieve. 
Fair lady. Kiieve e'en from my heart, 
Such gentle company to part;— 

Think not discourtesy. 
But lords' commands must be obey'd, 
And Marmion and the Douglas said, 

'I'hat you must wend wiUi me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 
Whicli to the Scottish Earl he sliow'd, 
ComniandinK. that, beneath his care, 
Without delay, you shall repair 
To your good" kmsmuii, Lord Fi z-Clare." 

XXX. 

The s'artled Abbess loud exclaim'd ; 
But she. at whom the blow was aim'd, 
Grew pale as death, and cold sis lead, — 

ghe deeni'd she heard her death doom read 

" Cheer thee, niv child !'" the Abbess .said, 
"'I'hey dare not" tear thee from my hand. 
To ride alone with armed band."— 

"Nay. holv mother, nay," 
Fitz-Kustace said, "the lovely Clare 
VS'ill be in Laily Angus' care. 

In Scotland while we stay; 
And. when we move, an easy lide 
Will briiiff us to the English side. 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir : 
Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord. 
Bv slightest look, or act. or word. 

To harass Lady (hire. 
Her faithful guardian he will be. 
Nor sue for slightest courte.sy 

That e'en to stranser falls. 
Till he shall place her. safe and free, 

Wiihin her kinsman's halls." 
He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace. 
His faith was [)ainted on his tace, 

.4iid Glare's worsi fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed, 

Entreated, ihrealen'd, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd. 
Against Lord Marmion inveigh'd. 
And call'd the Prioress to aid. 
To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cisteriian shook : 
"The Douglas, and the King," she said, 
" In I heir commands will be obey'd ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tautallon hall." 

XXXL 
The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again,— 

For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head. 
And—" Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

" 'I'liy master, bold and bad. 
The records of his hou.se turn o'er. 

And, when he shall there written see. 

That one of his own ancestry 



Drove the Monks forth of Coventry,! 
Bid hiin his fate explore! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust. 

His charger hurl'd him to the dust. 

And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
He died Ins band before 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 

He is a Chief of high degree. 
And I a poor recluse : 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the o[)pressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin. 

And Jael thus, and Deborah "-r-— ' ' 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
" Fitz-Eiistace, we mu.st march our band : 
St. Anton' tire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet m thy hand. 

To hear the Lady preach ? 
Ky this good light! if thus we stay, 
Lord M;ini)ion. for our fond delay, 

V\ ill sharper sermon teach. 
Come, d'oii thy cap. and mount thy horse. 
The Dame must patience take perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"Submit we then to force." said Clare, 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed :iim to win; 
Let him take living, land, and life ; 
But to be Marinion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the King's decree. 
That I must find no saiictiiaiy, 
In that inviolable dome. 
Where even a homicide might come, 

And sal'ely rest his lieail. 
Though at Its open portals stood. 
Thirsting to pour forth blood fur blood, 

The kinsmen of the dead : 
Yet one asylum is my own 

Against the dreaded hour; 
A low, a silent, and a lone, 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there — 

Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 

Kemember your unhappy Clare!" - — ' 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows • 

Kind blessings many a one : 
Weeping and wailingloud arose, 
Hound patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle En.stace dried. 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 

Then took the squire her rein. 
And gently led away her steed. 
And. by each courteous word and deed, 

To cheer her strove in vain. 

xxxni. 

But scant three miles the band had rode 
When o'er a height they pass"d. 

And. sudden, close before them shov/'d 
His lowers, Tautallon vast ;2 

Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. 

And held impregnable in war. 

On a projecting rock they rose. 

And round three sides the ocean flows. 

The fourth did battled walls enclose, 



v^ 



MARMION, 



And double mound and fosse.s 
Bv narrow drawtjnd^e. outworks strong, 
Thioiiarli studded siates. au entrance long, 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square : 
Around were lodiji'isrs. fit and fair, 

And lowers of various form. 
Which on the court projecUed far. 
And liroke its lines quadrangular. 
Here w:is square keep. I here turret high, 
Or pmnacle that sought the skv. 
Whein-e oft tiie Warder could descry 

The gathering: ocean-storm. 



XXXIV. 

Here did they rest.— The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should 1 declare, 
Or say they met reception fair? 

Or why the tidings sav, 
Which, varyin?. to Tantallon came, 
By hurryinsr posts or fleeter fame, 

With ever varying day ? 
And. first they heard Kin? James had won 

Etall. and VVark, and Ford ; and then, 

That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvell'd Marmion; — 
And Doughus hoped his Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland: 

But whisper'd news there came. 
That, while his host inactive lay. 
And melted bv desfrees away. 
Kin? James was daliyimr off the day 

With Heron's wilv dame — 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there, and see : 
Mine IS a tale of Fiotlden Field, 

And not a history — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that hisli rid?e had made their post. 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain: 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gathered in the Southern land. 
And march'd into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en 
Marmion. like charger in the stall. 
That hears, without, the trumpet-call. 

Began to chafe, and swear :— 
sorry thin? to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid. 

When such a field is near ! 
Needs must I see this battle-day : 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fousht. :md Marmion awav! 
The Douglas, too. I wot not why, 
Haih 'baled of his court esv : 
No longer in his halls I'll stay." 
Then bade his band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 



1 " During the reijency (subsequent to the death of James 
V ) the Dowiiger (iueen Regent, Mary of Guise, became de- 
Birnus of putting a French garrison into Tantallon, as she 
had into Dunbar and Inuhkeith, in order the belter to bridle 
the lords and barons, who inclined lo the reformed faith, 
and to secure by citadels the sea-coast of the Frith of Forth. 
Fnr ihis purpose, the Regent, to use the phrase of the time, 
' dealed with* the (then) Karl of Angus fo- his consent to 
the proposed measure. He occupied himself, while she was 
BpeakinB. in feeding a falcon which sat upon his wrist, and 
only replitsd by addressing the b ril. but leaving the Queen 
to make the application, ■ The devil is in this greedy gled— 
klje will never be fou.' But when the Queen, without ap- 
pearing to notice Ibis hiat, continued lo prew her obnoxious 



115 > 



ittarmfon. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 



RICHARD IIEBER, Esq. 

Mertoun-Housc,'^ Christmas. 

Heap on more wood !— the wind is chill ; 

But let it whistle as it will. 

We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 

Each ase has deem'd the new-bom year 

The fittest time for festal cheer : 

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain ;3 

High on the beach his galleys drew. 

And feasted all his pirate crew; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall. 

Where shields and axesdeck'd the wall; 

They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer; 

Caroused in seas of sable beer : 

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 

The half-a:naw'd rib. and marrow-bone : 

Or listen'd all, in srim delight. 

While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. 

Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. 

While wildly-loose their red locks flv. 

And daiicin? round the blazins; pile. 

They make such barbarous mirth the while. 

As best might to the miml recttll 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had roli'd. 
And brought blithe Christmas back again. 
With all his hospitable train 
Domestic and relierious rite 
Gave honour to the holy night ; 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung; 
On Christmas eve the mass vvas sung : 
That only night in all the year, 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear* 
The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dress'd with holy green; 
Forth to the wood did merry-men go. 
To sather in the misletoe. 
Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod of rule aside. 
And Ceremony dofTd his pride. 
I he heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night misht village partner choose , 
The Lord, underogatirig. share 
The viikar game of- post and pair." 



request. Angus replied, in the true spirit of a feudal uohle, 
' Yes, Madam, the castle is yours : God forbid else. But bv 
the might of God, Madam " such was his usual oath. ' I 
must be your Captain and Keeper for you, and I will keep 
it as we:i as any you can place there.' "-Sir Walter Scott's 
Mucellanroiu Proie Workt, vol. vii. p. 436. 

2 Mertoun-House, the seat of Hugh Scott, Esq of Har- 
den, is beautifully situated on the Tweed, about two miles 
below Dryburgh Abbey. 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 C. 

4 See Appendix, Note 4 D. 



^ 



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A 



f 116 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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All hail'd, with uncuiitroiril delisht, 
And general voice, the ha|)py iiiffht. 
That, t(» the, coUase, aslhe crown. 
Brought tidings of salvation dowa 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
Went roaiing up the chimney wide ; 
'I'lie iiuire iiali-table's oaken face, 
.•^cruljh'd till it shone, the day to grace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in I he lusty brawn, 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
I'hen the grim boar's head frown'd on high. 
Crested wil h bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell. 
How, when, and where, the monster fell, 
Wliat dogs before his deaiii he tore. 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
Tlie vvassel round, in good brown bowls, 
Uarnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
Tliere the htise sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; 
Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce. 
At such high tide, her savoury goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in. 
And carols roar'd with blithesome din; 
if unmelodious was the song, 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery ; i 
White shirts supplied the masquerade. 
And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
But, O! what maskers richly dight, 
Can boast of bosoms half so light! 
England was merry England, when 
Old Christmas brought Ins sports again. 
'Twas Christmas broaclTd the mightiest ale; 
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger, in our northern clime, 
Scmie remnants of the good old time; 
And still, within our valleys here, 
We hold the kindred tiile'dear, 
Even. when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-streaiii.2 
And thus, my Christinas still I hold 
Where my great-grandsire came of old. 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair.3 
And reverend apo.stolic air — 
The feast and holy-tide to share, 
And mix sobriety "with wine. 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine: 
Small thought was his, in after time 
E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme. 

1 See Appejidix, Note 4 E. 

1 " Blood iti warmer than water,"~a proverb meant to 
Tiiidliate our family predilection!.. 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 F 

4 " A lady of noble German descent, born CountcBS 
Harriet Bnihl of Mjrtinskirclien, married to H. Scoll, 
Esq. of Harden, (now Lord rolwarlli), Ihe aulhor's rela- 
tive and much valued friend almost from infancy "— 
Border MmHrelty. vol. iv. p. 59. 



The simple sire could only boast. 
That he was loval to his cost ; 
The baiiish'd race of kings revered. 
And lost his land,— but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
Is with fair liberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
And flies con.straint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land ; ■» 
Little we heed Ihe tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer, 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And iVIertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves I hem well, and turns again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain. 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome, 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee, 
Mv thoughts should, Heber. turn to thee! 
For many a merry hour we've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. 
And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore. 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
"Were pretty fellows in their duy ;'"» 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war—" Profane I 
What ! leave the lofty Latiau strain. 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms. 
To hear the clash of rusty arms; 
lu Fairy Land or Limbo lost. 
To jostle conjurer and ghost, 
Goblin and witch !"— Nay, Heber. dear. 
Before you touch my charter, hear : 
Though Leyden ^ aids, alas I no more. 
My cause with manylanguaged lore. 
This may 1 say: — in realms of death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith ; 
/Eneas, upon Thracia's shore. 
The ghost of murder'd Polydore , 
For omens, we in Livy cross. 
At every turn, loculus Bos. 
As grave and duly speaks that ox, 
As if he told the price of stocks; 
Or held, in Rome republican, 
The place of conimou-couucilman. 

All nations have their omens drear, 
Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
To Cambria look — the peasant see. 
Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 
And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree."* 



\ 



I singH no more: 



complet 



" Scenes sung by him wh 

His brief and bright career is o'er. 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
QueiichM is his lamp of varied lore, 
Thiit Iovt.ll the light of song to pour : 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has l.eyden's cold remains 1" 

Lord of i'te Isles, Canto IV. post. 



tho Author's 



A 



7 



Z. 



MxVRMION. 



;N 



The Highlander, whose red chiyinore 
Tlie biiUle inrn'd on Maida's sho.e, 
Will, oil a Friday morn, look pale, 
If ask\l to tell a fairy tale:' 
Hf fears the ven-cful tlliii Kin?, 
V\ In. leaves that day lii^ grassy ring: 
IllVl^ll)le to hiiiiian ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Did'st e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the lowers of Fraiioheniont; 
VVliurli, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Haiiif o'er the si reams and hamlet fair I 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say. 
A mmhtv treasure hurled lay. 
Amass'd through rapine ami through wrong 
By the last Lord of Kianchemiuit* 
'1'he iron chest is bolted hard, 
A huntsman sits, lis constant guard ; 
Arouiid his neck Ins h(nn is huiis:, 
His hanger in ins belt is slunu; ; 
Before his feet his hluodhouiids lie : 
An 'twere not for his Kluoniy eye, 
Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look, 
As bugle e'e;' in brake did sound, 
Or ever hoUoo'd to a hound. 
To chase the fiend, and win the prize, 
III that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged necromantic priest ; 
It IS an hundred years at least, 
Since 'iwixt them first the strife begun, 
And neither yet has lost nor won. 
And oft the Conjuror's words will make 
Tiie stubborn Demon groan and quake ; 
And oft the bands of iron break. 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain. 
Fast as 'tis open'd, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom, 
Unless the adept shall learn io tell 
'1 he very words that clench'd the spell. 
When Franch'niont lock'd the treasure cell. 
An hundred years are pass'd and gone. 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from Heaven,3 
Tliat warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 
Nor less the infernal summoning ;* 
May pass the Monk of Durham's tale, 
Whose demon fought in Gothic mail; 
May pardon plead for Fordun grave, 
Wiio told of Gilford's Goblm-Cave. 
But why such instances to you, 
Who, in an instant, can renew 
Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
And furnish twenty thousand more ? 
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest. 
While gripple owners still refuse 
To others what they cannot use; 
Give them the priest's whole century. 
They shall not spell you letters three ; 
Their pleasure in the books the same 
The magpie takes in piller'd gem. 
Thy volumes, open as thy heart, 
Delight, amusement, science, art, 
To every ear and eye impart; 



Yet who of all who thus employ them, 
C-an like the owner's self enjoy them J- 
But, hark ! I hear the distant drum ! 
The day of Flodden Field is come. — 
Adieu, "dear Heber! life and health, 
And store of literary wealth. 



I^nrmfon. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



THE BATTLE. 

L 

While great events were on the gale, 
And each hour brought a varying tale. 
And the demeanour, changed and cold. 
Of Douglas, fretted iMarmion bold ; 
And, like the impatient steed of war, 
He snufTd the battle from afar: 
And hopes were none, that back again 
Herald should come from Terouenne, 
Where England's King in leaguer lay. 
Before decisive battle-day; 
Whilst these things were", the mournful Clare 
Did in the Dame's devotions share : 
For the good Countess ceaseless pray'd 
'I'o Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 
And, with short interval, did pass 
Fnmi prayer to book, from book to mass, 
And all in high Bisronial pride, — 
A life both dull and dignified; — 
Yet as Lord Marmion nothing press'd 
Upon her intervals of rest. 
Dejected Clara well could bear 
The formal state, the lengthen'd prayer. 
Though dearest to her wounded heart 
The hours that she might spend apart. 

TI. 
1 said. Tantallon's dizzy steep 
Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
Many a rude tower and rampart there 
Repell'd the insult of the air, 
Winch, when the tempest vex'd the sky, 
Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 
Above the rest, a turret sguare 
Did o'er Its Gothic entrance bear, 
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 
The Bloody Heart was in the Field, 
And in the chief three mullets stcmd, 
The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
The turret held a narrow stair. 
Which, mounted, gave you access where 
A parapet's embattled row 
Did seaward round the castle go. 
Sometimes m dizzy steeps descending. 
Sometimes in narrow cncuit bending". 
Sometimes in platform broad extending, 
Its varying circle did combine 
Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, 
And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign ; 
Above the booming ocean leant 
The far-projecting element; 



f 118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



M 



The l)ill()ws burst, iti cen-ielcss flow, 

Upon I lie precipice billow. 

Where'er 'I'antallon fiiced the land. 

Gale-works, and walls, were strongly mann'd ; 

No need upon the sea-pirt side : 

The steepy rock, and frantic tide, 

Approach of huniaii siep denied ; 

And thus these lines and ramparts rude 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 
And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these baiilentents repair, 
And muse upon her sorrows there. 

And list the sea-bird's cry: 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
Alons the dark-prey biilwarKs' side, 
And ever on the henviin; tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff and swelling main, 
Recall the thoughts of Win; by "s fane,— 
A home she ne'er might see again ; 

For she had laid ailown. 
So Douglass bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, lie said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow. 
Again adorn'd her brow of snow ; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders, round, 
A deep and fretted broidery bound. 
In golden loldings sought the ground ; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remain'd a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that wiiich in her hand she bore. 
With velvet bound, and broider'd o'er— 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, 8o glim. 
At dawning pale, or twilight tlini, 

It fearful would have been 
To meet a form so richly dress'd, 
With book in liand. and cross on breast, 

And such a woeful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
To practise on the gull and crow. 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow, 

And did by Mary swear,— 
Some love-lorn Fay she might have been. 
Or, III Romance, some spell-bound Queen ; 
For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 

A form so witching fair. 

IV. 
Once walking thus, at evening tide, 
It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 
And, sighing, thought — "The Abbess, there, 
I'erchaiice, does to her home repair; 
Her peaceful rule, where Duly, free, 
Walks hand in hand with Charity; 
Wiiere oft Devotion's tranced glow 
Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 
That the enraptured sisters see 
High vision and deep mystery ; 
The very form of Hilda fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer.l 
O I wherefore, to my duller eye. 
Did still the Saint her form deny ! 
Was it, I hat. sear'd by sinful scorn, 
Mv heart could neither melt nor bum T 



N 



8e« Appfiidix, Nate 4 K. 



Or lie my warm aflections low, 
With him, that taught i hem lirst to glow T 
Yet, gentle Abbess, well 1 knew 
I'o pay thy kindness grateful due. 
And well could brook the mild command. 
That ruled thy simple maiden band. 
How different now ! condeinn'd to bide 
My doom from this dark tyrant's pride.— 
But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 
That constant mind, and hate of wrong. 
Descended to a feeble girl, 
From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl: 
Of such a stem, a safiling weak. 
He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 

V. 

" But see I— what makes this armour here ?''— 

For in her path there lay 
Targe, corslet, helm ;- she view'd them near — 
"The breast-plate pieiced !— Ay, much I fear, 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance here, 

As these dark blood gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton !— Oh ! not corslet's ward. 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard, 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On yon disastrous day !" — 
She raised her eyes in mourfiTul mood,— 
Wiltcm himself before her stood ! 
It might have seem'd his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost; 
And joy unwonted, and surjirise, 
Gave their strange wilduess to his eyes.^ 
Expect not, noble dames and lords. 
That I can tell such scene in words: 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the niinbow's varying hues. 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? 
Far less can my weak line declare 

Each changing passion's shade ; 
Brightening to rapture from despair, 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 
And joy, with her angelic air. 
And hope, thitt painis the future fair, 

Their varying hues display'd : 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate coiiQueriug, shifting, blending. 
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the held. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delay "d. 
And modest blush, and bursting sigh. 
And question kind, and fond reply : — 



VL 

DE Wilton's history. 

" Forget we that disastrous day, 
When sensele.ss in the lists 1 lay. 

Thence dragg'd,— but how i cannot know, 
For sense and recollection fled,— 

I found me on a pallet low. 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 

Austin,— remember'st thou, my Clare. 
How thou didst blush, when the old man, 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a mtitchless pair? — 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled, 
From the degrtided traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head, 



A 



y 


V 




/ \ 

MARMION. 119 > 


k 


Ami tended me for many a day. 


The heavy debt of vengeance paid.— 


\ 


\\ liiie wmitids ami fever held their sway 


My hand the thought of Austin staid ; 




lint far more needful was hia care, 


I left him there alone. — 




When sense return VI In wake despair; 


good old man ! even from the grave 




Fcir I did tear llie closintf wound. 


Thy s.nirit coufd thy master save : 




And dash ine fran'u; on the ground, 


V. 1 had slain my foeman, ne'er 




If e"er I heard the iiairie <if Clare. 


Had Whitby's Abhfss. in her fear. 




At lensrth, to calmer reason brought, 


Given to my hand this pat-ket dear 




Much by his kind attendance wrouijht, 


Of power to clear my injured fame, 




With him 1 left my native s'rand, 


And vindicate De Wilton's name.— 




And, in a palmer's weeds array 'd. 


Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 




My hated name and form to shade, 


Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 




Ijourney'd many a land; 


That broke our secret speech — 




iNo more a lord of rank and birth. 


It rose from the infernal shade. 




But mmg'ied with the dregs of earth. 


Or featly was some juggle play'd, 




Off Austin for my reason fear'd, 


A tale of peace to teach. 




VA'hen 1 would sit. and deeply brood 


Appeal to Heaven i judged was best, 




On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. 


When my name came among the rest. 




Or wild mad schemes upiear'd. 






My friend at length fell sick, and said, 


IX. 




G(h1 would remove him soon: 




And. while upon his dym? bed. 

He begg'd of me a boon— 
If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquer'd lie, 
Even then my mercv should awake. 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 


•' Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 
To Douglas late my tale I told, 
To whom my house was known of old. 
Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 
This eve ai^ew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did turn 
The tide of fight cm Otterburne. 




VII. 


And Harry Hotspur forced lo vield, 




^' Still restless as a second Cain, 


When Ihe Dead Douglas won the field. 1 




'Vy Scotland next my route was ta'cn, 


These Angus gave— his armourer's care, 




Full well the paths I knew. 


Ere morn shall every breach repair; 




Fame of my fate made various sound, 


For nought, he said, was in his halls. 




That death in pilgrimage I found. 


But ancient armour on the walls. 




That I had t)erished of my wound, — 


And aged chargers in the stalls, 




None cared which tale was true : 


And women, priests, and grey-hair'd men, 




And living eye could never gue.ss 


The rest were all in 'I'wisel glen.'^ 




T)e Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 


And now I watch my armour here. 




For now that sable slough is shed. 


By law of arms, till midnighl's near; 




And tiimm'd my shaggy beard and head, 


Then, once again a belted knight. 




1 .scarcely know me in the glass. 


Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 




A chance most wondrous did provide, 






That I should be that Baron's guide— 


X. 




1 will not name Ins name ! — 






Vengeance to God alone belongs; 


" There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 




But, when I think on all my wrongs. 


This Baron means lo guide thee there : 




My blood is liquid flame! 


Douglas reveres his King's command. 




And ne'er the tune shall 1 forget, 


Else would he take thee from his band. 




When, in a Scottish hostel set. 


And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too 




Dark looks we did exchange : 


Will give De Wilton justice due. 




What were his thoughts 1 cannot tell , 
But in mv bosom muster'd Hell 


Now nieeter far for martial broil, 




Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil. 




Its plans of dark revenge. 


Once more" '• Wilton ! niust we then 

Kisk new-found happiness again. 




VIII. 


Trust fate of arms once more T 
And is there not an humble glen, 




" A word of vulgar augury, 


Where we, content and poor. 




That broke from me, I scarce knew why, 


Might build a cottage in ihe shade, 




Brought on a village tale ; 


A shepherd thou, and I to aid 




Which wrought upon his moody sprite. 


Thy task on dale and moor? ■ 




And sent him armed forth by night. 


That reddening bn.w !— too well I know. 




1 borrow'd steel and mail. 


Not even thy Clare can peace bestow. 




And weapons, from his sleeping band : 


While falsehood .stains thy name : 




And. passing from a postern door, 


Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go I 




We met, and 'counter'd hand to hand,— 


Clare can a warrior's feelings know. 




He fell on GiflFord moor 


And weep a warrior's shame; 




For the death-stroke my brand I drew, 


Can Ked Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 




(0 then my helmed head he knew, 


Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 




The Palmei's cowl was gone,) 


And belt thee with thy brand of steel, 




Then had three inches of my blade 


And send thee forth to fame !" ^ . 




1 S.-e Ihe ballad of Olterbourne, in the Border Min- 


2 Where James encamped before lakjng posl on Flod- 


/ 


•trelay, Tol. i. p. 845. 


«Jen. 


v^ 


/ 




N 


/' 





7" 

^ 120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



M 



XI. 
That, nisht. upon the rocks and bay, 
The niidnight moon henni sluinheriMg lay, 
And poui'd i's silver lisht.. and pure. 
'l'hrouu:h loop-liole. and thntiiirh enibrazure, 

Upon 'I'antaMon tower and hall; 
But chief wliere arched windows wide 
llhinilnate the chapel's pride, 

The sober ehmces fall. 
Much was there need ; though seam'd with 

scars. 
Two veterans of the Doiitjlas' wars, 

'I'honeh two ^rey priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held hijih, 
You could not by their blaze descry 

'i'lie chapel's carving fair. 
Amid tliut dim and smoky light, 
Chequernig the silver moon-shiiie bright, 

A bishop 1)V the allar stood, i 

A noble h)r(l of Douglas blood, 
With mitie slieen, and rocqiiet white. 
Yet. show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 
But liMle ()ride of pielarv ; 
More pleased that, in a hiirbnroiis age, 
He gave rude Scolland Virgil's page, 
Than Ihat beneath Ins nile he held 
The bishopric otfair Dmikeld 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Potf'd his fnnVi gown, and saltle hood: 
O'er his huge form iind visage pale, 
He wore a ca[> and shirt of mail; 
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon ilie imge and sweeping lirand 
Which wont of yore, in battle fray, 
His foeman's limbs to shred away, 
As W(jod-knife lops the sapling spray 2 

He seem'd as. from tlie tombs around 
Kising at judgment-day. 

Some giant Douglas may be found 
In all his old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge his limb, 
So old li.s arms, iiis look so grim. 

XII. 
Then at the altar Wilton kneels. 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels; 
And think what next he must have felt, 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

And judge how Clara changed her hue. 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

lie once hud found untrue ! 
Then Doughts struck hmi with his blade : 
"Saint Miciiuel and Saint Andrew aid, 

1 dub ihee knight. 
Arise. Sir Ralph. De Wilton's heir! 
For King, for Church, for Lady fair, 

See tlwit thou tight."— 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
Said—" Wilton I grieve not lor thy woes. 

Disgrace, and trouble; 
For He, who honour best bestows, 

May give thee double." 
D»?^ilton sobb'd. for sob he must — 
"Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brother !"— 
'1 Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go, 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 



I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And. if thou meet'stthem under shield, 
U[ion them bravely— do thy worst; 
And foul fall him that blenches first !" 

XIII. 
Not far advanced was morning day. 
When Marmion did his troop array 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide : . - 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 
Wduld Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whisper'd in an under tone. 
'• Let the iiawk stoop, his prey is flown. "^- 
The train from out the castle drew,' 
But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu :— 

"Though something 1 might plain," he said 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by yonr King's behest. 

While 111 Taiitallon's towers I staid ; 
Part we in friendship froni your laud. 
And. noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :— 
"My manors, halls, and bowei"s. shall still 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my King's alone. 
From turret to foundation-stone — 
Tlie hand of Douglas is his own; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."-^ 

XIV. 
Burn'd Marmion 's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire. 

And—" This to nie !" he said. — 
" An 'twere not for thy hoary beard. 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head 1 
And, first. I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mtite : 
Anil, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

1 tell thee, thtiu'rt defied I 
And if thou said'st 1 am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied'"— 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth,—" And darest thou then 
To beard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall T 
And liopest thou hence unscathed to go ? — 
No, by Saint Bride of Bolhwell, no 1 
Up, drawbridge, grooms— what. Warder, hoi 

Let the portcullis fall."— a 
Lord Marmion turn'd.- well was his need, 
And dash'd the rowels in his steed. 
Like arrow through the archway sprung, 
The ponderous grate behind him rung : 



Dougl: 




1 The well-known Gawa 
of .Archibald Bfll-lhe-l 
of a S^■oIli^h metrical vefoi 



s, Bishop of Duiikeld, 
f Aneux. He was au- 
of the JEiie d, aud of 



nany other poetical piei 
his period attained the mitre 
S See Appendix, Note 4 L. 



of great i 



Ibid. Note 4 M. 



7 



I 

I 




:s. 



MARMION'S ESCAPE FROM THE CASTLE GATE. 

Lord Mannion turn'd,— well was his need, 

Aud dash'd the rowels iu his steed.— Pu£7e 120, Verse iiiy. 



T 



/: 



7^ 



MARMION, 



121 



To pass there was such scanty room, 
Tlie bars, descending;, razed Ins plume. 

XV. 

The steed alon? the drawhrids^e flies, 

Just as It treiiililed on the rise; 

Nor lighter does the swiillow skitii 

Alons the siiiuoth lake's level lirim : 

And when Lord Afarniion reaoh'd his hand. 

He haiLs. and turns with clearhed hand. 

And shout of loud defiance pours. 

Ami shook his sauntlet at the towers 

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and 

chase !"' 
But soon he rdn'd his fury's pace : 
." .\ royal niessen?er he came. 
ThoUijh most unworihy of the name. — 
A letter forced ! St. Jude to speed! 
Did ever knight so foul a deed ! i 
At tirst in heart, it liked me ill. 
When the kin? praised his clerkly skill. 
Thanks to Saint Bothan. son of mine, 
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line. 
So swore I, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery nuToaT' 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him where he stood. 
''I 'is pity of him too," he cried : 
" Bold can he spf^ak. and fairly ride, 
1 warrant him a warrior tried!" 
With this his mandate he recall.s, 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

XVI. 

The day in Marmion's journey wore; 

Yut, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 

They cro.ss'd the heights of Staiirig-moor 

His troop more closely there he scanu'd. 

And miss'd the palmer from the band — 

'• Palmer or not." young Blount did say, 

'• He parted at the peep of day; 

Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 

" III what array ?" said Mariiiion, quick. 

'• My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 

But all niKht long, with clink and bang. 

Close to my coucrh did hammers clang; 

At dawn the fallin;; drawbridge rang. 

And from a loophole while 1 peep. 

Old Bell-the Cai, came from the Keep, 

VVrapp'd isi a gown of sables fair, 

As fearful of the morning air; 

Beneath, when that was blown aside, 

A rusty shirt of mail I s|)ied, 

By Archibald won in bloody work, 

Airamsl the Saracen and Turk : 

Last night it hung not in the hall ; 

1 thought some marvel would befall. 

•And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 

A matchless horse, though something old. 

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 

1 heard the Sheriff Sholto say. 

The Earl did much the Masters pray. 

To use him on the battle-day ; 

But he preferr'd " V Nay. Henry, cease ! 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — 1 pray. 
What did Blount see at break of day ?''— 



XVII. 

n brief, my lord, we both descried 
(Kor then I stood by Henry's side) 
The palmer mount, and outwards ride, 

Upon the Earl's own tavourite steed : 
All sheathf^d lie was in armour bright. 
And much resembled that same knight, 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight: 

Lord Angus wish'd him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz-Eusiace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke ;— 
'• Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost;" 
He mutter'd ; " 'Twas nor fay nor ghost 
1 met upon the moonlight woid. 
But living man of earthly mould.— 

O dotiige blind and gross! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 

My path no more to cross, — 
How stand we now '—he told his tale 
To Douglass ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to enleriain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ! 

Small risk of that. 1 trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
O, what a taneled web we weave. 
When fir.st we practice to deceive ! 
A Palmer too!— no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
I might have known there was but one, • 
Who.se look could quell Lord Marmion.". 

XVIII. 
Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and leach'd, at eve, the Tweed, 
Wbere Lennel's convents closed their march; 
(There now is left but one frail arch, 

Yet mourn thou not its cells; 
Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood, 
That ere wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
And lodging for his train and Clare. 
Next morn the B.iron climb'd the tower, 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamp'd on Flodden edge : 
The white pavilions made a show. 
Like remnants of the waiter snow, 

AUim; the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion look'd— at length his eye 
Unusual movement might desc:y 

Amid theshifimg lines: 
The Scottish host drawn outuppears, 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending; 
Their flank incliniug, wheeling, bending, 
Now drawing back, and now descending. 
The skilful Marmion well could know, 
They watched the motums of s(mie foe, 
Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX. 
Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 



^: 



7 



001 



IZ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



X 



Leave Baimore-wood. tliPir evening- post, 

And lieedful watr.ird I hem as they cross'd 
The 'i'ill by Twisel Biidse i 

High si^ht it is, and haughty, while 

They dive into the deep detile ; 

Beneath tiie cavenrd cliff they fall, 

Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
By rock, hy oak, liy hawth(irn-tree. 

'rnnip after troop are disappeanngr: 

Troop alter Iroop their bainiers rearing. 
Upon the eastern b;ink yon see. 
Stdl poiirnig down ilie rocky dei), 

Where flows the sullen Till. 
And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
Standards on standards, men on men, 

In slow succession still. 
^Siid. sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 

To gain the opposing hill. 
Thut ni(»rn, to niiiny a trumpet clang, 
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo ranir; 
And many a cliief of birth and rank, 
Siimt Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
Had then from many an aie ils dfiom, 
To give the marching columns room. 

And why stands Scothuid idly now. 
Dark Flodden! on ihy airy brow, 
Sine* Ensland gains the pass the while. 
And struggles through the deep defile ? 
What checks the fiery soul of James? 
Why sits that champion of the dames 

Iriactive on his steed. 
And sees, between him and his Innd, 
Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 

His host Lord Surrey lead ? 
What 'vails the vain k'msht-errant's brand? 
— O. Douglas, for thy leadmg wund ! 

Pierce Randolph, for thy speed f 
O for one hour of V\'allace wight. 
Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight. 
And cry— "Saint Andrew and our right!" 
Another sight had seen that morn,* 
From Fate's dark booic a leaf been torn. 
And Rodden had been Bannockbonrne !— 
The precious h(»ur has pass'd in vain. 
And England's host has eain'd the plain ; 
Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
Around the base of Flodden Hill. 

XXI. 

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and hish. 
- '• Hark ! hark ! my lord, an Eiislish drum ! 
And see ascending squadrons come 
^ Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap. 
My basnet to a prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till !— 
Yet more ! yet more ! — how far arrsiy'd 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their banners bravely spread. 

And all their armour flashing high. 
Saint George might waken from the dead. 

To see fair England's standards fly.'V- 



"Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, •' tliou'dst 

best. 
And listen to our lord's behest."— 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — 
""^riiis instant be our band array'd ; 
The river must be quickly cross'd. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If light King .Limes.— as well I trust, 
That fight he will, and fight he must,— 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." \ 

XXII. 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
Far less would listen to his prayer. 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 
And mutter'd as the flood they view, 
"The pheasant in the falcons claw. 
He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe. 

So Clare shall biile with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep, 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide. 
'I'lll squire, or groom, before )iim ride; 
Heiidmost of all he stems the tide. 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's conrse. 
And, though far downward driven per force, 

The southern Ijank they gain; 
Behind them straggling, came to shore. 

As best they miu-ht, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not jii vain; 
Deep need that day that every string. 
By wet unharm'd, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion staid. 
And breathed his steed, his men array'd, 

Then forward moved his band. 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 
He halted by a Cross of Stone. 
That, on a hillock standing lone. 

Did all the field command. 

XXTII. 

Hence niieht they see the full army 
t)f either host, for dendly fray ; 2 
I'lieirmarshall'd lines stretch'd east and west, 

And fronted north and south. 
And distant salutation p:iss'd 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the trlose successive niitle. 
That breathes the voice of modern battle. 

But slow and far between.— 
The hillock gain'd. Lord Marmion staid : 
." Here by tins Cross," he gently said, 

'• You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
O! think of Marmicm in thy prayer!— 
Thou wilt not?— well, no less my care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.— 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her Kuaid, 

With ten pick'd archers of my train ; 
With England if the day eo hard. 

To Berwick speed amain.— 



7 



MARMION, 



..^., 



Bat if we conquer, cruel maid, 
My spoils shall at your feel be laid, 

When here we meet asani." 
He waited not fc»r answer there. 
And would not mark the maid's despair, 

-Nor lieed the discontented look 
From eitlier squire ; hut spurr'd amain, 
And. dashini? ihioush tlie battle plain, 

ILs way to Surrey took. 

XXIV. 
" The g-ood Lord Marmion, by my life ! 

Welcome to danger's hour !— 
Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 

Ihiis liave I ranged my power : 
Myself will rule this ceniral host, 

Stout Stanley fronts iheir right, 
Mv sons command Uie vaward post. 

"With Brian i'unstall. stain. ess knight; 1 

Lonl Dacie, with Ins hoisemeii light. 

Shall be in rear- ward of (he fi^ht. 
And siicciiur those thai need it most. 

Now, gallant Marmmn, well 1 know. 

Would gladly to the vanguard go; 
Edmund, the Admiial, Tunstull there, 
W ith thee iheir cliaige will blithely share , 
There fight thine own retainers loo. 
Beneath De Burg, thy steward lrue"«== — 
"Thanks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said, 
Nor farther greeting iliere he paid; 
Bur, parting like a thunderbolt, 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of •' .Marmion I .Marmion !' that the cry. 
Up Flodden mouniam sliriUm? high, 

Startled the Scottish foes. 

XXV. 
Blount and Fifz-Eustace rested still 
With I.ady Clare upon the lull 1 
On which! (for far the day was spent.)- 
The western sunbeams now were bent. 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew. 
Could plain "their distant comrades view 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 

■"nworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope o"f gilded spui-s to-day — 
But see! lnok up— mi Flodden bent 
The Scot'.isli fiie has tired his tent." 

And siuUien. as he spoke. 
From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
Volumed and fast, anil rolling far. 
The cloud enveliiped Scotland's war. 

As down :lie hill they broke ; 
Nor marl.al shout, nor niiiistrel tone. 
Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown. 

At times a stilled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-throne 

King James did rushing come. — 
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes. 
Until at weapon-point they close.— 
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, 
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust, 

And such a yell was there, 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And trends m upper air; 



O life and death were in the shout, 
Rec:oil and rally, clmrge and rout. 

And triumph and despair. 
Long look'd the anxious squires ; their eye 
Could m the darkness nought descry. 

XXVL 

At length the freshening western blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears; 
And in the smoke the pennons flew, 
As 111 the storm the white sea-mew 
Then niark'd they, dashing broad and far, 
The broken billows of the war. 
And plumed crests ..f chieftains brave, 
Floating like foam upon the wave;< — 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the baitle on' the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falchions flash'd amain , 

Fell fc^nglatid's arrow-tligiit like r.iiiit^^ 

Crests rose, and 8tO(pp'd, and rose againi 

Wild and disorderly 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord .Marnnoii's lalcon tly : 
And siainless Tuiisiail s banner whiiC, 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright. 
Still bear them bravely in the tight: 

Although ag .insl th.m come, 
Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
And many asiublioru Badenoch-inan,' 
And many a rugged Border clan, 

With Huiitly. and with Home. 

XXVII. 

Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke l-ennox and Arayle; 
Though there the western mountaineer 
Eush'd Willi bare bosom on the spear. 
And flung the feeble targe aside, 
And with both h.-imls the broadsword plied. 
'Twds vain :— but Fortune, on the rignt, 
With liCKle sii.ile^ciieerd Scotland s fight. 
Then fell that spotless b.iiuier while. 

The Howard's lion tell: 
Yet still Lord Marnnoii's faicon flew 
With wavering tiighi, while lieicer grew 

ArouiKi I he battie-vell 

The Border slogan rent the sky V- 

A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the ftlanging iilows; 
Advanced,— forced back,— now low, now high 

Tlie pennon sunk and rose; 
As bends the barK's mast in the gale. ~' 
Whtn ren ;ire rigging, shrouds, and sail. 

It waver'd 'mid the foes. 
No-loiiger Blount the view could bear: 
"By Heaven, and all us saints! I swear 

1 will not see it lost ' 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and palter prayer.— 

1 galloj) to the host.'' ,. 
And to the fray he rode rfmain, 
Follow»d by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — 

The resched banner rose,— 
But darkly closed the war around, 
Like pne tree, rooted from th- ground, " 

It suiiK among the foes:— 



123 \ 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



Then Eustace inonnteJ too:— yet staid 
As loath to leave the helpless maid, 

When, fast as shaft can fly. 
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread, 
The loose rein dansliiinf Iroin his head, 
Housing and saddle hloody red, 

Lord Marmioii's steed rush'd by ; 
And Eustace, maddeniti? at the sight, 

A look and sign to Clara cast 

To mark he would return in haste, 
Then plunged into the light. ^ 

XX VIII. 
Ask me not what the maiden feels, 

Left, in that dreadful hour alone : 
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels; 

Perchance a courage, not her own. 

Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
The scatter'd van of England wheels ;— 

She only said, as loud in air 

The tumult roar'd, •' Is Wilton there!"— 

Thev fly, or, madden'd by despair, 

Figlit but to die,—" Is Wilton there ?" 
With that, straight up the hill there rode 
Two horsemen dretich'il with gore. 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strain'd the broken brand ; 
His arms Were smear'd with blood and sand . 
Dragg'd from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
Can that be haughty Marmion! . . . 
Young Blount his armour did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face, 

Said-"-"' By Saint George, he's gone ! 
* That spear-wound has our master sped, 
And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion." — 
" Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 
He upes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace 1" 

XXIX. 

When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air, 
— Ai=<i^und 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
" WYiere's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace where' 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare 1 
Redeem my pennon,— charge again ! 
Cry—' Marmion to the rescue !'— Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again! — 
Yet my last thought is England's— fly. 
To Dacre bear my signet-ring : 
Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field, 
His life blood stains the spotless shield: 
Edmund is down :— my life is reft.; 
The Admiral alone is left. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire. — 
Wiih Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host. 
Or victory and England's lost.— 
Must 1 bid twice ?— hence, varlels! fly! 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
They parted, and alone he lay ; 
Clare drew her from the sight away. 
Till pain wrung forih a lowly moan. 
And half he murmur'd,— " Is there none, 

Of all my halls have nurst. 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from the spring. 
To slake my dying thirst!" 



XXX. 

0, Woman ! in our hours of ease. 

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 

And Variable as the shade 

13y the light quivering aspen made; 

When pain and anguish wring the brow, 

A ministering angel thou !— 

Scarce were the piteous accents said. 

When, with the Baron's casque, the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stoop'd her by the runnel's side, 

But in abhorrerice backward drew; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side, 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ?— behold her mark 

A little fountain cell. 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark, 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 

©rfitk. bjcar^. pflflrfm. "Drfnfe. anTJ. 

JJor. m. fefnti. soul. of. Sjjbfl. 

®2^i)o. buflt ti)fs. cross. anlJ. toelL 

She fill'd the helm, and b.ick she hied. 
And with surprise and Joy espied 

A Monk supporting Marmioii's head . 
A pious man. whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrive the dying, bless the dead 
XXXI. 
Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
And. as she stoop'd his brow to lave — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
"Or injured Constance, bathes my heaJ ?" 
. 'I'hen, as reniemtirance rose,— 
" Speak not to me of shritt or prayer ! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spare , 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !"— — 

*' Alas I" she said, '• the while, — 
0, think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She died at Holy Isle."-^ 

Lord Marmion started from the ground. 
As light as if he felt no wound ; " 
Though in the action burst the tide, 
In torrents, from his wounded side. 
"Then it was truth,"— he said— "I knew 
That the dark presage must be true — 
1 would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
The vengeance due to all her wrongs. 

Would spare me but a day ! 
For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
And priests slain on the altar stone, 

Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be !— this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 

A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 

Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk. 
Supported by the trembling Monk. 

XXXII. 
With fruitless labour, Clara bound. 
And strove to stanch the gushing wound : 



y4 



7^ 



MARMION, 



125 



The Monk, with unavailing cares, 
Exhausted ail the Church's prayers. 
Ever, he said, ihat. close and near, 
A lady's voice was in his ear, 
And that the priest he could not hear; 
\^ For that she ever suns. 

" In the lost hntlle, borne down by theflytng. 
Where miug ex w ar's rattle with gruaiis of the 
di/iny y"~~ 

So the notes run?;— 
" Avoid thee. Fiend '.—with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dyins sinner's -sand ! — 
O. look, niy son. upon yon siffu 
Of the Redeemer's irrace divine ; 

O, think on f.uth anil bliss!— 
By many a deatli-hed I have been, 
And many a sinner's parting seen. 

But never aui-'ht like this "— 
The war, that lor a space did fail. 
Now trebly thuiideiins; swelld the gale, 

And— Stanley ! was the cry ; 
A litfht on Mannion's visase spread, 

And tired Ins elazin? eye : 
With dyiiis hand, aliove his head, 
He shook the frasmenl of his blade, \ 

And shouted '" Victory ! — I 

Charge, Chester, charge ! On. Stanley, on !" ' 
Were the last words of Maniiion. 

xxxiri. 

By this, though deep the evening fell. 
Still rose the b:ittle's deadly swell, 
For still the Scots, around their King, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate this. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing. 

U'lier*^ Huntly. and where Home? — 
O, for a bla.st of that dread horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

That to King Charles did come. 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer. 

On Roiicesvalles died ! 
Such blast might warn them, not in vain, 
To quit the plunder of the .slain. 
And turn the doub'ful day agam, 

While yet on Flodden side. 
Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish— lor far away. 
While spoil and havock mark their way, 
V, Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
^"•^. Lady.'' cried the Monk, "away !"_- 

And placed her on her steed, 
And led her to the chapel fiiir. 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed 
There all the night they spent in prayer. 
And at the dawn of niornins, there 
She met her kinsman, L«)id Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 
But as they left the dark'iiing heath. 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English .shafts in volleys haii'd. 
In headlong charge their horse a.ssail'd : 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
To break the Scottish circle deep. 

That fought around their Kins. 
But yet. though thick the shafts as snow. 
Thoush charging knights like whirlwinds go. 



" Day glimmers on the dying and the dnad, 
TbecloTen tuiraos and the helmlos head, &.r. 

Byroii's Lara. 



Though bill-men ply the °haJtly blow, 

Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spear-men still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepping where his comrade stood, 

Tlie instant that he fell. 
N'o thought was there of dastard flight; 
Link'd in the serried philanx tight, 
Groom fought like iiol)le. squire like knight. 

As fearlessly and well; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded King. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shatter'd bands; 
And from the chaige they drew. 
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen know; 
Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low, 
They melted from the field iis snow. 
When streams are swoln and south winds 
blow. 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweeds echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 

While many a broken band, 
Disorderd, through her currents dash, 

'I'ogain the Scottish land; 
To town and tower, to town and dale, 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale. 
And raise the universal wail, 
'rradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an ajje that wail prolong: 
Sijll from the sire the son shall hear 
Of he stern strife, and carnage drear 

Of Flodden's latal field, , 

Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear. 

And broken was her shield ! 
XXXV. 
Day dawns upon the tnountain's side : — i 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knighrs. and nobles, many a one* 
The sad survivors all are gone — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be; 
Nor to yon Border castle liish. 
Look nor:hward with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
Tlie Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return aeain. 
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought. 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought. 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death Ins trusty brand. 
Firm clenchM within his manly hand, 

Beseem'd the monarch slain. 2 
But, O ! how chansed since yon blithe night !— 
Gladly 1 turn me from the sight, 

Unto my tale again. 

XXXVI. 
Short is my tale :— Fitz-Eustace' care 
A pierced and mangled body bare 
To moated Lichfields lofty pile ; 
And there, beneath the southern aisle, 
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 
Did Ion? Uird Marmion's imase hear. 
(Now vainly for its sight you look ; 
'I'was leveil'd when fanatic Brook 
The fair cathedral storm'd and took; 



2 See Appendix, Nole i S. 



V^ 



f 126 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



But, tlianks to Heaven ami g-ooil Saint Chad, 
A ffiierdon ninet tlie spoiler liad!)i 
'1 here erst was tiiaitial Mariiiioii found, 
His feet upon a Odurliaiit hound. 

His hantis to heaven upraised; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tahlel carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet. though all was carved so fair. 
And "priest f<irMarniion breatlied the prayer. 
The last. Lord Marniion lay not there. 
From Ettru^k woods a peasant swain 
Folldvv'd his lord to Floilden plain,— 
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In J^oollaiid mourns as '• wede away:" 
Sore wouiidi'd. Svliil's Cross he spied. 
And draiiu'd him'lo lis foot, and died. 
Clove In- the iiol.le Mari.iioirs side. 
'Ilie spoilers stn|>()"d and sa>h"d the slain. 
And thus their corpses were mista'en; 
And thus, in the pmud Baron's tomb, 
'1 he lowly woodsman took the room. 

XXX VI I. 
Less easy task it were, to .show 
Lord .Marniion's nameless grave, and low. 

They du? his srave e'en where lie lay. 
But every mark is gone ; 

Time's wasting hand has done away 

The simi.le Cross of Sybil Grey, 
And broke her font of stone : 
But yet from out the little lull 
Uozes the slender springlet still. 

Olt halls the stranger there. 
For thence may best Ins curious eye 
' 'I'lie memorable field de.scry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush. 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave. 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
When thou shiilf find the little hill, 
With thy heart comniiine, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong. 
Thou lefi'st the rislit )iaili for the wrong; 
If every devious ste|i, thus trod. 
Still led thee farther from the road : 
Dread then to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmioirs lowlv tonii) ; 
But say. "He died a gallant knight. 
With sword in hand, for England's right." 

XXXVIIL 
I do not rhyme to tlial dull elf, 
W ho cannot image to himself. 



That all through Flodden's dismal night, 

Wilton was forenmst in the fight ; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted him again; 

'Twas V\'ilton's brand that deepest hew'd. 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood: 

Unnamed by Hollmshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all : 

That, after fight, his faith made plain, 

He won his rank and lands again: 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To whom it must in terms be said. 

That King and kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, unless I relate. 

Paint to her mmd the bridal's state; 

I'hat Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 

More, Sands, and Demiy, pass'd the joke : 

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, 

And Catherine's iiand the stocking threw; 

And afterwards, for many a day, 

That it was held enough to say. 

In blessing to a wedded pair. 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare !"! 



L ' E N V O Y. 

TOTHEREADER. 

Why then a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song. 

Unless to bid the gentles speed. 

Who long have listed to my rede? 2 

To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 

To read the ^Imstrel's idle strain. 

Soiuid head, clean hand, and piercing wit, 

And patriotic heart— as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twmed by her he loves the best; 

To every lovelv ladv liright. 

What can I wish biit faithful knight! 

To every faithful lover too. 

What can I wish but lady true? 

And knowledge to the studious sage : 

And pillow to the head of age. 

To thee, dear school tioy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play. 

Light task, anil merry holiday ' 

To all. to eadi. a fair good night. 

And pleasnig dreams, and slumbers light! 



1 Sr,- Apieiidix. N< 

2 Ubttl generally To 



taU or diiCOUTtt. 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

As when the Champion of the Lake 

Enters Mor()<rna's Jnted house. 

Or m the Chapel. Pirilvtts. 

D'Sjiising spel/s and demons' force. 

Holds converse with Die unburied corse.— P. 78. 



The romance of the Morte Arthur contains 
a sort of abridgement of the most celebrated 
adventures of the Kound Table: and. being 
written in comparatively modern language, 
gives the eenel-al reader an excellent idea of 
what romances of chivalry actually were It 
has also the merit of being written in pure old 



:/ 



7 



APPENDIX TO M ARM ION, 




^ 



Enijlisli ; and many of ilio wild adventnies 
wlii(;li it contains are told with a siniplinly 
lioidenn;; upon tin; .siil)lirne Several of these 
are referred lo in Ihu texl ; and I would have 
diuslrated them hy more full extracts, but as 
this curious work is about to be republished, 
1 Confine myself to the t:ile of the Chapel t'e- 
rilous, and of the quest of Sir Launcelot after 
tlie Sansreal. 

•• Kisrht so Sir Launcelot departed, and when 
he came to the Cli:ipell Perilous, he alighted 
downe.aiid tied his horse to a little s:;ite. And 
as soon as he w;is within the church-yard, he 
saw. on the front of the chapell, many faire 
ricli shields turned upside downe ; and many 
<i| the shields Sir Launcelot had scene knights 
liiive before ; with that he saw stand by him 
I iiirtie Rfeat kniKhts, more, by a yard, than any 
man that ever lie hiid seeiie. and all those 
finnned and enashed at Sir Launcelot; and 
when ho saw their countenance, hee dread 
tlieni sore. and so (iiit hisshudd afore him. and 
tooke his sword in his hand, ready to doe bat- 
taiie; and Ihey were all armed in black har- 
iieis, ready, with their shields and swords 
ilrawn. And when Sir Launcelot would have 
pone ihrousrh them, they scalttjred on every 
side of him. und pave hini the way ; and there- 
with he waxed all bold, and entered into the 
chapell. and then hee saw no light but a dimme 
lainpe burning:, and then was he vvare of a 
corps covered with a cloath of sdke; then Sir 
Launcelot stcwped downe, and cut a piece of 
that, cloth away, and then it fared under him 
SIS the earth had quaked a little, whereof he 
was afeard. and then hee saw a fane sword 
lye liy the dead kuight, and that he gat in his 
hand, and hied hiiu out of the chappell. As 
soon as he was la the chappell-yerd, all the 
knights s|)oke to hini with a gnmly voice, and 
s;nd. • Knight, Sir Launcelot. lay that sword 
from thee, or else thou slialt die '— ' Whether 
J live or die.' said Sir Launcelot, • with no great 
words get yee it agaiiie. therefore fight for it 
and yee list ' 'I'herevvilh he passed through 
Ihein; and. beyond the chappell-yerd, there 
met him a fane damoseli.aiid said. 'Sir Launce- 
liii. leave that sword behind thee, or thou wilt 
the for it.'— 'I will not le;ive it,' said Sir 
Launcelot, ' for no threats.'— ' No?' said she: 
' and ye did leave that sword. Queen Guenever 
should ye never see.' — 'Then were I a fool 
and I Would leave this sword ' said Sir Launce- 
lot • Now, gentle knight,' said the damosell, 
' I require thee to kiss me once.'—' Nay.' said 
Sir Launcelot. • that God forbid !'— ' Well, sir,' 
said she. ' and thou haddest ki.ssed me thy life 
dayes had been done : but now, alas !' said she. 
• I iiave lost all my labour ; for 1 ordeined this 
chappell for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine: 
and once I had Sir Gawaine within it ; and at 
that time he fought with that knight which 
there lieth dead in yondiT chappell. Sir Gilbert 
the b;islard. and at tluit time hee smote off Sir 
Gilbert the bastard's left hand. And so, Sir 
L'luncelot. now I tell thee, that I have loved 
thee this seaven yeare : but there may no wo- 
man have thy love but Queene Guenever ; but 
siilien 1 may not rejoyice thee to have thy body 
alive, 1 had kept no more joy in tins world but 
to have had thy dead body ; and I would have 
balnied it and served, and so have kept it in 
my life daies. and daily I should have clipped 
tliee. and kissed thee. In the despite of Queen 



Guenever.'— 'Yee say well,' said Sir l^iunce- 
lot ; 'JesMS preserve me from your subtill 
cratt.' And therewith he look his horse, and 
departed from her. 



Note B. 

A sinful man, and unconfcss' d , 

He. took the Sfiiigreal's holy (jue.st. 

And, slumhcrmg, saw the visioii high, 

He miijhl not view with waking eye.— P. 78. 

One day. when Arthur was holding a high 
feast with his Knights of the Round Table, the 
Sangreal, or vessel out of which the last pass 
over was eaten, (a precious relic, which had 
Itnig remained concealed from human eyes, 
because of the sin< of the l.md,) suddenly ap- 
peared to hiiii and all Ins chivalry. The con- 
sequence of this vision wa-, that all the knights 
took on them a .Mjleinn vow to seek the San- 
greal. But, alas ! it could only be revealed to 
a knisrht at once accomplished in earthly chi- 
valry, and pure and guiltless of evil conversa- 
tion All Sir Launceloi's noble accomplish- 
ments were therefore rendered vain by his 
guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever. or Ga- 
nore ; and m his holy quest he encountered 
only such disgraceful disasters as that which 
follows : — 

•' But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and 
endlong in a wild forest, and held no path but 
as wild adventure led him: and at the last, he 
came unio a stone crosse, which departed two 
vvuyes. in wast land ; and, by the crosse, was 
a stone that was of marble ; but it was so 
dark, that Sir Launcelot might not well know 
what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looKeil l»y 
him, and saw an old chappell, and there he 
wend to have found people. And so .Sir Laun- 
celot tied his horse to a tree, and there he put 
off his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and 
then hee went unto the chappell doore, and 
found It wasted and broken. And within he 
found a faire altar, full richly arrayed with 
cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candle- 
stick, which beare six great candles, and the 
candlesticke was of silver. And when Sir 
Launcelot saw this light, hee had a great will 
for to enter into the chappell, but he could 
find no place where hee might enter. Then 
was he passing heavie and disniaied. Tiien 
he returned, and came againe to his horse, and 
tooke off his s;iddle and Ins bridle, and let him 
pasture, and unlaced his helnie, and nngirued 
his sword, and laid him downe to sleepe upon 
his shield, before the crosse. 

"And so hee fell on sleepe; and, halfe 
waking and halfe sleeping, he saw come by h m 
two palfreys, both faire and white, the which 
beare a litter, therein lying a sicke knight. 
And when he vvas nigh the crosse, he there 
abode still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and 
beheld, for hee slept not verily, and hee heard 
him say, "O sweete Lord, when shall this sor- 
row leave me. and when shall the holy vessell 
come by me. where through 1 shall be bles.sed, 
for I have endured thus long for little tres- 
passe !' And thus a great while comphiined 
the knight, and allwaies Sir Launcelot heard 
it. With thiit Sir Launcelot saw the candle- 
sticke, with the fire tapers, come before the 



T 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



-K 



crosse ; but he could see nobody that brouf?ht 
it. Also there came a table of silver, and the 
holy vessell of the Sanca:reall, the which Sir 
Lanncelot had seen before tlial time in King 
Petoiiours house. And therewitliall the sici<e 
knight set liim upriaht, and held up both his 
hands, and said, ' Faire sweete Lord, which is 
iiere wifhin the holy vessell, take heede to 
mee, that I may bee hole of this great malady !' 
And therewith upon his hands, and upon his 
kr.ees, he went so nis:h, that he touched the 
holy vessell, and kissed it : And anon he was 
hole, and then he said, 'Lord God, I thank 
I hoe. for I am healed of this malady.' Soo 
when the holy vessell had been there a great 
while, it went into the chappelle agaiiie, with 
I he candlesticke and the light, so that Sir Lann- 
celot wist not where it became.for he was over- 
taken with sinne. that he had no power to 
arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afier- 
ward many men said of him shame. But he 
tooke repentance afterward. Then the sicke 
knight dressed him upright, and kissed the 
crosse. Then anon his squire brought him his 
armes. and asked his lord how he did. ' Cer- 
tainly,' said hee. 'I thauke God right heartily, 
for through the holy vessell 1 am healed : But 
I have right great mervaille of this sleeping 
knight, which hath had neither grace nor 
power to awake during the time that this holy 
vessell hath beene here present.'— 'I dare it 
right well say,' said the squire, • that this same 
knight is defouled with some manner of deadly 
sinne, whereof he has never confessed.'—' By 
my faith,' said the knight, ' whatsoever he be, 
he is unhappie ; for, as 1 deenie, hee is of the 
fellowship of the Round Table, the which is 
entered into the quest of the Sancgreall.' — 
' Sir,' said the squire, ' here I have brouslit you 
all your armes. save your helme and your 
sword ; and, therefore, by mine assent, now 
may ye lake this knight's helme and his swoid;' 
and so he did. And when he was cleane 
armed, he took Sir Launcelot's horse, frir he 
was better than his owne, and so they departed 
from the crosse. 

"Then anon Sir Lanncelot awaked, and set 
himselfe upright, and he thought him what hee 
had there seene, and whether it were dreames 
or not; right so he heard a voice that said, 
'Sir Launcelot. more hardy than is the stone, 
and more bitter than is the wood, and more 
naked and bare than is theliefe of the tig-tree, 
therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw 
thee from this holy place;' and when Sir Laun- 
celot heard this, he was passing heavy, and 
wist not what to doe. And so he departed 
sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was 
home ; for then he deemed never to have had 
more worship; for the words went unto his 
heart, till that he knew wherefore that hee 
was so called." 



Note C. 

And Dryden. in immortal strain. 

Had raised the Table Round again.— P. 78. 

Dryden's melancholy account of his pro- 
jected Epic Poem, blasted by the selfish and 
sordid patrimony of his patrons, is contained 



n an " Essay on Satire," addressed to the Earl 
)f Dorset, and prefixed to the Translation ot 
Juvenal. After mentioning a plan of supply- 
ing machinery from the guardian angels of 
kingdoms, mentioned in the Book of Daniel, 
he adds, — 

"Thus, my lord. T have, as briefly as I could, 
given your lordship, and by you the world, a 
rude draught of what 1 have been long labour- 
ing in my imagination, and what I had in- 
tended to have put in practice; (though far 
unable for the attempt of such a poem ;) and 
to have left the stage, to which my genius 
never much inclined me. for a work which 
would have taken up my life in the perform- 
ance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly 
for the honour of my native country, to which 
a poet is particularly obliged. Oif two sub- 
jects, both relating to it, I was doubtful whe- 
ther I should choose that of King Arthur 
conquering the Saxons, which, being farther 
distant in time, gives the greater scope to my 
invention ; or that of Edward the Black Prince, 
in subduing Spam, and restoring it to the law- 
ful prince, through a trreat tyrant, Don Pedro 
the Cruel ; which, for the compass of time, in- 
cluding only the expedition of one year, for 
the greatness of the action, and its answer- 
able event. for the masfnanimity of i he English 
hero, opposed to the ingratitude of the person 
whom he restored, and for the many beautiful 
episodes which 1 had interwoven with the 
principal design, together with the characters 
of the chiefest English persons, (wherein, 
after Virgil and Spenser. I would have taken 
occasion to represent my living friends and 
patrons of the noble.st families, and also sha- 
dowed the events of future ages in the suc- 
cession of our imperial line.)— With these 
helps, and those of the machines which I have 
mentioned. I might perhaps have done as well 
as some of my predecessors, or at least chalked 
out a way for others to amend my errors in a 
like design; but being encourage'd only with 
fair w,)rds by Kina: Charles II., riiy little" salary 
ill paid, and no prospect of a future subsist- 
ence, I was then discouraged in the beginning 
of my attempt ; and now age has overtaken 
me. and want, a more insufferable evil, through 
the change of the times, has wholly disabled 
me." 



Note D. 

Their theme the merry minstrels made. 
Of Ascaparl, ami Bevis bold.—?. 78. 

The "History of Bevis of Hampton" is 
abridged by my friend Mr. George Ellis, with 
that liveliness which extracts amusement even 
out of the most rude and unpromising of our 
old tales of chivalry. Ascapart. a most im- 
portant personage in the romance, is thus de- 
scribed in an extract : — 



He 



ibrii 



like 



.\ foot he had bflwefii eaih 
HiA lips were great, and hui 
His eyeii were hollow, his i 
Lolhly he wa» lo look on lli 
Aud liker a devil than a ma 



J 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO M ARM ION. 



129 ^ 



Hii4 sfnfT was a young oak. 
Hard and heavy was his stroke." 

Spidmem of Metrical Romances, vol. ii. p. 138. 

I am hiippy to say. that tlie memory of Sir 
Bevis is still fragrmil in liis town of Souili- 
aiiipton: tlie sate of wliicli is sentinelled by 
llie eflfi^jies of that doughty knight-enant anil 
lii^ gigantic associate. 



Note E. 

Z>iy sd on Norhnm's castled sterp. 
Add Twieifs fair river, broad and deep, 4-C. — 
f 79 

The rninoiis castle of Noiham (anciently 
called Ulihanfoiil) is situated on the southern 
hank of the Tweed, about six miles above 
Berwick, and where that river is still the 
boundary between Kn^land and Scotland 'The 
exenl oi lis rums, as well as its historical iin- 
|)iirtance, shows it to have been a place of 
inaijniticeiice. as well as strensth. Edward I. 
resided there when he was created umpire of 
the dispute coiiceniiiisf the Scottish succession. 
It was repeatedly taken and retaken during 
the Wiirs betvveeii England and Scotland ; and, 
iiuieed, scarce any happened, in which it had 
not a principal share Norhain Castle is situ- 
ated on a steep bank, wliich overhangs the 
river The repeated sieses which the'castle 
had sustained, rendered frequent repairs ne- 
(^essary In 1164. it was almost rebuilt by 
Hugh Pudsey. Bishop of Durham, who added 
a huge keep, or donjon; notwithstanding; 
which. King Henry II.. m 1174. took the castle 
ffiim the bishop, and committed the keeping 
of It to William de .Neville After this period 
It seems to have been cliiefly garnsoiieil by the 
Kins;, and cmisidereil as a royal fortre.ss. The 
Greys of Chillmnh.im Castle were frequently 
the castellans, or ciptaiiis of the sarrison : Yet, 
Hs the castle was sHuaied in the patrimony of 
St. Cuthbert, the property was in the see of 
llurham till the Reformation. Alter that pe- 
riod, It passed through various hands. At the 
Union of the crowns, it was in the possession 
of Sir Robert Carey, (afterwards Earl of Mon- 
inoulh) for his own life, and that of two of his 
sons. Afer King James's accession. Caiev sold 
Norham Castle to George Home. Earl of'Dun- 
bar, for 6000/. See Ins curious .Memoirs, pub- 
lished by Mr. Constable of Edinburgh. 

According to .Mr. Pmkerton. there is. m the 
British .Masenin, ("al. B 6 216, a curious me- 
moir of the Dacres on the state of Norham 
Castle in l.i22, not long after the battle of Fli>d- 
deii. The inner ward, or keep, is represented 
as impresnable:— •' The provisions are three 
great vats of salt eels, forty-four kme, three 
lii>!;>lreads of salted salmon, forty quarters of 
gram, besides many cows and four hundred 
sheep, lym^ under the c;istle-wall nightly ; but 
a number of the arrows wanted feathers, and 
a sTood Fletcher [i e. maker of amws] was 
required "—///5/ory of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 201, 
note. 

The ruins of the castle are at present consi- 
derable, as well as picturesque. They consist 
(if a larse shattered tower, with many vaults, 
and fragments "f other edifices, enclosed with- 
in an oiuwaid wall of great circuit. I 



Note F. 

Tiie battled towers, the donjon keep.— P. 79.- 

(t IS perhaps unnecessary to remind my 
readers, that the donjon, in its proper significa- 
tion, means the strongest part of a feudal cas- 
tle ; a lush square tower, with walls of ire- 
niendiius thickness, situated in the centre nf 
the other buildings, from which, however, it 
Was usually detached. Here, in case of the 
outward defences being gained, the garrison 
retreated to make their last stand. The doii- 
j(m contained the great hall, and principal 
rooms of state for solemn occasions, and also 
the prison of the fortress; from winch last 
circumstance we derive the modern and re- 
stricted use i)f the word dtimjeon. Ducaiiffe 
(voce Dunjo) conjectures plausibly, that the 
name is derived from these keeps being usu- 
ally built upon a hill, which in Celtic is called 
Dun. Borlase supposes the word came from 
tiie darkness of the apartments in these tow- 
ers, which were thence tiauiatively called 
Dungeons; thus deriving the ancient word 
from the modern application of it. 



Note G. 

Well was he arra'd from head to heel. 
In mail and plate of Milan sletl.—P. 79. 

The artists of Milan were famous in the 
middle ages for their skill in armoury, as ap- 
pears from the following passage, in which 
Eroissart gives an account of the preparations 
made by Henry, Earl of Hereford, atterwards 
Henry IV , and Thomas. Duke of Ni.-rfolk. Earl 
Marischal, for their proposed combat in the 
lists at Coventry : —"'These two lords made 
ample provision of all things necessary for the 
combat ; and the Earl of Derby sent otf mes- 
sengers to Lombardy, to have armour from Sir 
Galeas, Duke of .Milan The Duke complied 
with joy, and save the knight, called Sir Eraii- 
cis, who had bnmght the message, the choice 
of all his armour lor the Earl of Derby When 
he had selected what he wished for in plaited 
and mail armour, the Lord of Milan, out of his 
abundant love for the Earl, ordered four of the 
best armourers of Milan to accompany the 
knight to England, that the Earl of Derby 
misht be more completely armed."— Jolines' 
Froissart, vol. iv. p. 597. 



Note H. 

Who checks at me, to death is dight.—'P. 79. 

The crest and motto of Marniion are bor- 
rowed from the following story :— Sir David 
De Lindsay, first Earl of Crauforil, was. amoiisj 
other gentlemen of quality, attended, during 
a visit to Londcm, in 1390. by Sir Williuni Dal- 
zell, who was, according to my authority, 
Bower, not only excelling in wisdom, but aNo 
of a lively wit. Chancnig to be at the court, 
he there saw Sir Piers Courtenay, an English 
knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for the 
beauty of Ins person, parading the palace, ar 



A 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



:K 



rayed in a new mantle, beann? for device an 
eiiiljioidered falcon, with this rhyme,— 

•• I bfar a falcon, fairest of flight, 
WhoH) pinches at her, his il. alh is dight 1 
III graith."3 

The Scottish knigrht, beiti? a was:, appeared 
next day in a dress exactly similar to that of 
Courteiiay, but bt^arinjr a magpie instead of the 
falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived to 
rlivme to the vaunting inscription of Sir 
Piers :— 

" I hear a pie pirliing at a piece, 
WhOKo picks at her, I tihall pick at his nrse," 3 



This affront could only be expiated by a just 
witli sharp lances. In tlit^ course, Dalzell left 
Ins iielmet unlaced, so that it save way at the 
lunch of his antagonist's lance, and he thus 
avoided the shock of the (•ncounier. This 
happened twice :— in the third encounter, the 
handsome Courtenay lost two of his front 
t.ecth. As the Englishman complained bitterly 
of Dalzell's fraud in not fastening his helmet, 
the Scottishman agreed to run six courses 
more, each cliamfuon staking in the hand of 
the King two huiidieii pounds, to be forfeited, 
if. on entenng the lists, any unequal aii vantage 
should l)e delecied. 'I his lieiiig agreed to, the 
wily Scot demanded that Sir Piers, in addition 
to the loss of tiis teeth, should consent to the 
extinction of one of his eyes, he himself hav- 
ing lost an eye in the right of Utteil)urn. As 
Courtenay demiiired to this equalization of 
optical powers. Dalzell demanded the forfeit; 
which, after much iiUeicalion. the King ap- 
pointed to he paid to Inm. sayina:, he surpassed 
the English hoih in wii and valour 'I'his must 
appeartoihe readerasuiKular specimen of the 
humour of that time 1 suspect the Jockey 
Club would have given a different decision 
from Henry IV. 



Note I. 

Thft) hnjVd Lord Manmon ; 
They hml'd him Lord of Foulenaye, 
Of Lutlerwnrd, and Scrivelbnye, 

Of Tamworlh tower and town. — P. 8o 

Lord Marmion.the principal character of the 
present romance, is entiielva rictitious person- 
age. In earlier times, indeed, the lamily of 
Marmioii, Lords of Foiitenay, in Normandy, 
was highly distinguished. Kobertde Marmion. 
Loixl of Fontenav. a distinguished follower of 
the Conqueror, obtained a srrant of the castl« 
and town of Tamvvorih.and also of the manor 
of Scnvelliy, in Lincolnshire. One, or both, 
of these iiiihle posse.ssions, was held by tlie 
honourable service of l)eiiig the royal cham- 
pion, as the ancestors of Marmion had for- 
merly been to the Duke of Normandy. But 
after the castle and demesne of Tamworth 
had passed throU2:h four successive barons 
from Robert, the family became exiinct in the 
person of Philip de Marmion, who died m 20th 
Edward I. without issue male. He wjis suc- 
ceeded in his castle of Tamworth, by Alexaii- 



PrepureU 



'i Armour. 



der de Freville, who married Mazera, his 
grand-daughter. Baldwin de Freville, Alex- 
ander's descendant, in the reign of Kichard L, 
by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tam- 
worth, claimed the office of royal champion, 
and to do the service appertainim;; namely, on 
the day of cfiroriaiion, to ride, completely 
armed, upon a barbed horse, into Westminster 
Hall, and there to challenge the combat against 
any who would gainsay the King's title. But 
this otRce was adjudged to Sir John Dymoke, 
to whom the manor of Scrivelby had descended 
by another of the co-heiresses of Robert lie 
Marmion : and it remains in that family, whose 
representative is Hereditary Champion of Eng- 
land at the present day. 'I'he family and i>os- 
sessions of Freville have merged into the Earls 
of Ferrars I have not. therefore, created a 
new family, but only revived the titles of an 
old one in an imaKinary personage 

It was one of the Marmion family, who. in 
the reign of Edward 11 , performed that chi- 
valrous feat before the very castle of Norham, 
which Bishop Percy has woven into Ins beau- 
tiful ballad, "The Hermit of Warkworth "— 
The story is thus told by Lelaiid :— 

" The Scottes cam yn tothe marches of Eng- 
land, and destroyed the castles of Werk and 
Herbotel, and overran much of No;thumber- 
land marches. 

" At this tyme, Thomas Gray and his friendes 
tlefended Norham from the Scottes 

" It were a wonderful processe to declare, 
what mischefes cam by hungre and asseges by 
the space of xi yeres in Norihumberland ; for 
the Scottes became so proude, after they had 
got Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the 
Englishmen. 

" About this tyme there was a greate feste 
made yn Lincolnslnr, to which came many 
gentlemen and ladies; and amonge them one 
lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, 
with a very riche creste of gold, to William 
Marmion, knight, with a letter of cominande- 
ment of her lady, that he should go into the 
daungerest place in England, and ther to let 
the heaulme be seene and known as famous. 
So he went to Norham ; whither, within 4 
days of cumming. cam Philip .Mouhray. guar- 
dian of Berwicke, having yn his bande 40 men 
of amies, the very flour of men of the Scot- 
tish marches. 

•• Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, se- 
ynge this, brought his garisoii afore the liarri- 
ers of the castel. behind whom cam Wilham, 
richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and 
wearing the heaulme, hi-; lady's present. 

" Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir 
Knight, ye be cum hither to fame your helmet : 
mount up on yowr horse, and ride ly ke a valiant 
man to yowr foes even here at hand, and 1 ti>r- 
sake God if I rescue not thy body deade or 
alyve, or 1 myself wyl dye for it.' 

"Whereupon he took his ciirsere, and rode 
among the throng of eneniyes; ti.e which 
layed sore stripes on him. and pulled him at 
the last out of Ins sadel to the grounde. 

" Then Thonids Gray, with al the hole gar- 
rison, lette prick yn among the Scoties, and so 
wonded them and their horses, that they were 
overthrown; and Marmion. sore beten. was 
horsid ag:iyn, and. with Gray, persewed the 



s No 



^ 



jL 



APPENDIX TO MAR M ION. 



Scoiies yti chase. There wi-re taken 50 liorse 
of price; and the women of Norhuin brought 
theai Co the foole fiieii to follow the chase." 



Note K. 

LniQesse, largesse.— P 82. 

This was the cry with which heralds and 
pursiiivaiiis were wont to acknowledge the 
liiiiiniy received from the knights Stewart of 
Lorn distiri^'uishes a ballad, in which he sat- 
irizes the narrowness of .lames V. and his 
courtiers, by the ironical burden — 

" L'rges, Urges, Urges. *«*, 

LTget of this nea-yeir day. 
First leree:) of the Kin:;, my chief, 
Uuhilk romc aUquiii as a thief, 

.\nit in my haiiil slid KhilliiiEis tway.l 
To |.ul his li-ojoes to the pricf,3 

Kor lerges of this uew-yt:ir day." 

The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race 
allowed to have ^reat claims upon the liberal- 
ity of the kiiishts, of whose feats they kept a 
rei-onl. and proclaimed them aloud, as ia the 
text. uiKJii suitalile occasions. 

At Berwick, Norhani. and otiier Border fort- 
resses of importance, pursuivants usually re- 
sided, whose inviolable character rendered 
I hem the only persons that could, with perfect 
assurance of safety, be sent on necessary em- 
biLssies into Scotland. This is alluded to in 
siatizu S.S.I. p. 81. 



Note L. 

Sir Hiu}^ thf Heroii bold. 
Baron of TwurU and of Ford, 

Ami Captnin of the Hold. 
Were accuracy of any consequence in a 
fictitious narrative, this castellan's name oU£;lit 
to have been William; for William Henm of 
Ford WiLs husband to the famous Lady Ford, 
whose siren charms are said to have cost our 
James 1 V\ so dear More iver, the said William 
Heron was, at tiie time supp((sed, a pri.soner m 
Scotland, hem? surrendered by Henry VIII.. 
on account of his share in the slaughter of Sir 
Robert Ker of Cessfmd His wife, represented 
in the text as residing at the Court of Scot- 
land, was. in fact, living in her own Castle at 
Ford.— See Sir Richard Heron's curious Gate- 
alogy of the Heron Ftimdy. 



Note M. 

T%e whiles a Northern h/irptr rude 
Chant' d a rhi/ine of deadly find,— 
" How llu; fierce Thirwal's, and Ridleys all,' 
<fr. — P. 80 



J Two. 2 Proof. 






3 S« Minstrdty qf the Scoltuh Border 


vol. ii, p. 


124. 


4 Pronounced Aabany. 






5 SItflp siRnifies slap, or rather is the 


fame word which 


was oriKiiially nr^Ped sehlap. 






6 Bold the. r jaw, a vulgar expression s 


ill in «.««. 




7 Got Kt lien, or, were plnndered ; a very likely i 


ermina- 


tion of ihe frav 






t Neck. 9 Punch. 10 Belly. 


11 Bellowing. 



This old Northumbrian ballad was lanen 
down from the recitation of a woman eighty 
years of age, nioiher of one of the miners of 
Alston-moor, by an agent for the lead mines 
there, who communicated it to my friend and 
correspondent, K. Surtees, Esquire, of Mains- 
forth. She had not, she said, heard it for 
many years, but, when she was a girl, it used 
to be sung at the meny-makings "till the roof 
rung again." To preserve this curious, though 
rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The ludi- 
crous turn given to the slaughter, marks 
that wild and disorderly state of society, in 
which a murder was not merely a casual cir- 
cumstance, but. in some cases, an exceedingly 
good jest. The structure of the liallad re.sem- 
bles the " Fray of Suport,"3 having the same 
irregular stanzas and wild chorus. 



Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa'. 
Ha' ye heard hnw ihe Ridleys, and ThirwalU, a 
Ha' sei ij|.nn .Albany 4 Keaihersionhaogh, 
And taken his life at the Ueadmanshaugh 7 

There was Willimoleswick, 

And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawd^n, and Will of Ihe Wa'. 

1 cauno' lell a'. I canno' tell a'. 
And mouy a raair that Ihe deil may kuaw. 

II. 

The auld man went down, hut Vicol, his son, 
Ran away afore the light was begun; 

And he run, and he run. 

And at'ore they were done. 
There was many a Fea'herslon gal sic a stun. 
As never was seen since the world begun. 

III. 
I canno* tell a', I canno' tell a* ; 
Some gal a skeip.o and some gat a claw ; 
Bui they sard Ihe Feaihersious haud their jaw,- 

Nirol. and .AlicK, and a'. 
Some gal a hurl, and some gal iiaiie; 
^Solnc had harness, and some gal sia"en.7 



Ane gal a iwi.st o' the craig ;e 
.Mie gat a hunch 9 o' Ihe wame : 10 
Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg. 
And syne ran wallowing 11 hame. 



Hoot, hoot, the old man's slain ou 

Lay him now wi' his face down :- 

Janel, thou donoi,12 

I'll lay my best bonnet. 

Thou gels a new gude-mao afore i 



131 \y 



VI. 

oo away, lads, hoo away, 
i'e's a" be hangid if we stay. 
Tak up the dead man. and lav 
erc's theBaiUy o' Hallwhisll. 

gieat bull's pizzle. 
That sup'd up the broo,'— and syni 



Wi' h 



him ahint the biggin. 
■13 

n the piggin.U 



In explanation of this ancient ditty. Mr. Sur- 
tees has furnished me with the following local 
memorandum : — Willlmoteswick, the chief 
seat of the ancient family of Kidley. is situated 
two miles above the confluence ol the Alloa 
and Tyne. It was a house of strength, as ap- 



12 SiUy slut. The border bard calls her 
was weeping for her slain husband ; a loss which he seems 
to ihink might be soon repaired. 

13 The Bailitf of HallwhisIIe seems to have arrived 
when Ih - fray was over. This supporter of social order is 
treated with characteristic irreverence by the mos* troop- 
ing poet. 



14 



pot ' 



ilh two < 



T^ 



/\^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



pears from one oblong tower, still in toleral)le 
preservation.! It has been lon-c in possession 
of llie Blacket family. Hardridiuir Dick is not 
an epitliet referring lo horsemansliip. bnt 
means Kicliard Ridley of Hardridms,^ the seat 
of another family of lliat name, which, in the 
time of Charles I . was sold on account of ex- 
penses incurred by the loyalty of the proprie- 
tor, the nnmediale ancestor of Sir Mattliew 
Ridley. Will of the Wa' seems to be William 
Ridley of Walltown, so called from its situa- 
tion on I he great Roman wall, '['hirwall Cas- 
tle, whence the clan of 'I'hirwalls derived 
their name, is situated on the small river of 
'I'lppel. near the western boundary of Nortii- 
niiiberland. It is near the wull, and takes its 
name from the rampart havin? been thirled, 
1. e. pierced, or breaclu^d. in iis vicinity. Fea- 
I hetslon Castle lies sont h of tlie Tyne, towards 
Alston-moor. Albany FeatherstonhauKh, the 
chief of that ancient family, made ii figure in 
the reign of Edward VI. A feud did certainly 
e.vist between the Ridleys and Feathersions. 
productive of such consequences as the ballad 
narrates. 2t Oct 2Mo Hf.iinn Qui. Inquisilw 
c.apl. apud Hmitwhistle, sup visum corpus A/tx- 
aiidri Fcatherston, Gen. apuil GreiisilhnuQh Jelo- 
uice intirfecli, 22 Oct. per Nic.ohium Ridley de 
Unthankc, Gen. Hutjon Ridle, Nicotaum Ridle, 
ft olios ejusdem nominis. Nor were the Fea- 
tlierstons without their revensre ; for 36to Hen- 
rici 8vi, we \v,\.\e—Ulhiyniio Nicolui Fetherslon. 
ac Thnme I<lyxson, 6fC. <SfC. pro homicidio Will. 
Ridk de Murute. 



Note N. 

James bnck'd the muse of that mock pnnce, 
Wmbeck, thai Flemish counterfeit, 
Wh/t on the oihhet paid- the cheat. 
Then did 1 march with Surrey's power, 
Wiuit lime we razed old Aylon tower. — P. 81. 

The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Ric^hard 
Duke of York, is well known. In 1496, he 
was received honourably in Scoiland: and 
James IV., after conferring upon him in mar- 
riage his own relation, the l.aily Catherine 
Gordon, made war on Eni^land in behalf of 
his (iretensions To retaliate an invasion of 
PInsfland, Surrey advanced into Berwiokshire 
Ht the head of considerable forces, but 
treated, after taking the inconsiderable fortress 
of Ayton. Ford, m his Dramatic Chronicle of 
Perkin Warbeck, makes the most of this in- 
road: 

" SURRI-IY. 

" Are all our braving enemifs shrunk back. 

Hid in ihe fogge.s of their distemper'd climate, 

Not datint! tn bfhold our colours wave 

In «pighi of this iiif.cted ayre ? Can they 

Looke on the btrength of Cundresli ne dcfac't ; 

The glorie of Heydonhall devasted : that 

Of Ediiigion cant downe ; the pile of Fulden 

Orethrowne: And this, the strongest of their forts. 

Old Aytou Caaile, yeeMed and demoliKhed, 

And yet not jieepe abroad ! The Scots are bold, 

1 Williraoteswick was, in prior editions, confounded 
With Ridley Hall, situated two miles lower, on ihe same 
lide of the Tyne, the hereditary seat of William C. Lowes, 

3 Ridley, thu bishup and martyr, was, according to t>ome 



Hardie in battayle, but it seems the cause, 
Tht-y undertake considered, appeares 
Uijjoynted in the frame oii't." 



Note 0. 



Norham canfiiul you guides enow; 

For here lie some have prick' d as far, 

On Scottish ground, as to Bunbnr ; 

Have drunk the monks of Si Bothan's ale, 

And driven llie beeves of Lauderdale ; 

Harried the wives of Greenlaw's rjoods. 

And given them light to set their hoods. — P. 81. 

The garrisons of the English castles of 
Wark, Norhani. and Berwick, were, as m.iy lie 
easilv supposed, very troublesome neighbours 
to Scotland Sir Richard Maitland of Ledinir- 
ton wrote a poem, called "Tne Blind Banni's 
Coinfoit;" when his barony of Blythe. in Lau- 
derdale, was harried, by Rowland Foster, the 
English captain of Wark. with his company, 
to the nninher of 300 men. They spoiled tlie 
poetical knight of 6(X)0 sheep. 200 nolt, 30 
horses and mares; the whole furniture of his 
house of Blythe, 100 pounds Scots. (8/. 65 8d.), 
and every thing else that was portable. " This 
spoil was committed the 16Lh day of May 1570. 
(and the said Sir Richard was three.score and 
fourteen years of age, and grown blind), in 
time of peace; when nane of that country 
lifrpened [expected] such a thing."— '■The Blind 
Baron's Comfort" consists in a string of puns 
on the word Blythe the name of the lands 
thus despoiled. Like John Little wit, he had 
"a conceit left in his misery — a miserable con- 
ceit." 

The last line of the text contains a phrase, 
by vvhic;h the Borderers jocularly intimated 
the burning a hiiiise. When the Maxwells, in 
168.=), burned the Castle of Lochwood, they 
said they did so to give the Lady Johiisione 
•• lisht to set her hood." Nor was the phrase 
inapplicable; for, in a letter, to which I have 
mislaid the reference, the Earl of Northuiii- 
berland writes to the King and Council, that 
he dressed himself at midnight, at Warkworth, 
by the blaze of the neightioiiring villages 
burned by the Scottish maiauders. 



Note P. 

The pnest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your tram—i'. 81. 

This churchman seems to have been aKin to 
Welsh, the vicar of St. Tiionias of Exeter, a 
leader among the Cornish insurset ts in l.")49. 
" This man," says HoUinshed, •' had many good 
things in him ' He was of no ^ireat staiure, 
but well set, and mighlilie compact; He was 
a very good wrestler; shot well, both in the 
long-bow and also in the cross-bow; he han- 
dled his hund-gun and peece very well; he 



iig, where a chair was pre- 
L'hair. Other.s, and particu- 
larly his biographer and namesake, Dr. (jlocesier R.dley 
assign the ho'iiour of the inartyr'u birth lo Willinicteu- 
wick. 



A 



/ 



APPENDIX TO M ARM ION. 



133 



w as a very good woodman, and a hardie. and 
audi a one as would uni. give liis liead for the 
pollnig or his beard for Uie washing He was 
a coinpunioii in any exercise of acliviie, and 
of a court' CDS and gentle behaviour. He de- 
snended of a good honest pareiuage. being 
home at Peneverin in ('oriivvall; and yet, in 
this rebellion, an arch captain and a principal 
iltier."— Vol. IV. p. 958, 4to. edition This 
ni 'del of n.eru-al talents had the misfortune 
to be hanged upon the steeple of his own 
church.* 



Note Q. 

thni Grot w'ure Olives nod, 

W'lieif, (lartiihj of each, heart uiid eye, 
F' <im all Ike uimlfi ot Sirdy, 

Stini Rusi/ie recti td to God.— P. 82. 

"Saint Rosalie was of Palermo, and born 
of a very noble family, and. wnen very young, 
abhorred so much llie vam'ies of ihis world, 
and avoi>led the converse of maniviiid, resolv- 
iMg to dedicate herself wliolly to God Al- 
mis;h'y. that she, by divine iiispi radon. forsook 
her father's house, and never was more heard 
of till her body was found in that cleft of a 
rock, oil that aliiiost inaitcessible mountain, 
where now rtierhaptd is built; and they atfirm 
she was carried up there by the hands of 
a ig-ls; lor that place w;is not formerly so ac- 
cessible (as now iL is) in the days of the Saint ; 
an I even now it is a very bad, and steepy, and 
breakneck way. In this friijhtful place, this 
h > y wo nan lived a g.eat many years, feeding 
only oil wliat she found sfrowins on that bar- 
ren mountain, and creeping into a n irrow and 
d eadful cleft in a rocn, 'which w;is always 
dropping wet, and w;is her place of retirement 
;is well as prayer ; having worn out even the 
rock wiih her knees in a certain i)lace, which 
is now open'd on purpose to show it to those 
who come here. I'his chapel is very richly 
adorn'd; and on the spot where the' Saint's 
ile:u] body was discover'd, which is just be- 
neath the hole in the rock, winch is open'd on 
purpo>e, as I said, there is a very fine statue 
of m irble. representing her in a lying posture, 
railed in all about with tine iron and brass 
work ; and the altar, on which they say mass, 
is built just over it." — Vut/wje to Sicily and 
Malta, by .Mr. John Dryden (son to the poet). 
p. lor. 



Note R. 



Hiiwtelf still sleeps before his beads 

Hive marlc'd ten aves and two creeds. — I*. 82. 

Friar John understood the soporific virtue 
of his beads and breviary, as well as Ins name- 
sal .a in Kabelais "Bui Gargaiitua could not 
siet-p by any means, on which side soever he 
turned himself Whereupon the monk said 
to him, "1 never sleep soundly but when 1 am 
at s.'iinon or prayers: Let us therefore begin, 
you and I, the .seven peni'eiiiial |)salms, to try 
whether you shall not quickly fall asleep.' 



\. 



1 The reader nerds hardly 



.emiudt^d or Ivuuhoe 



The c<iTiceit pleased Garsantua very well ; 
anu begnining the first of these psalms, as 
soon as they came to Beali quorum, they fell 
asleep, both the one and the other." 



Note S. 

The summon d Palmer came in place.— P. 82. 

A Palmer, opposed to a Ptlgnm. was one 
who maile it his sole business to visit differenr. 
holy shrines; travelling incessantly, and sub- 
sisting by charity : whereas the Pilgrim retired 
to his usual home ami occupations, when he 
had paid his devotions at the particular s[iot 
which was the object of Ins pilgritiiage. The 
Palmers seem to have been the Qu'slimioni 
of the ancient Scottish canons 1212 ami 12f>6. 
There is in the Bannatyiie MS a burlesque 
account of two such persons, entitled. " Syinmy 
and his brother." Their accouMemenis are 
thus ludicrously described, (I discard the an- 
cient spelling) — 

** Syne .^shaped Ihem up, to loup on leas. 

Two tabards of the larlau ; 
They eounlr-d nought what iheirclould were 

Whru Bew'd them on, in certain. 
Syne cl.impit up St I'eter's keys. 

Made of an old reil gartane ; 
St. James's shells, on t' other side, shows 

As pretty as a parlane 
Toe, 
On Symmye and his brocher." 



Note T. 

To fair St. Andrews hou7id. 
Within the orean-cnve to pray. 
Where good SainI Rule, his holy My, 
From midnight In the dawn of day. 

Sung to the billows' sound.— P. 83. 

St Regulus (Scoltice. St. Rule), a monk of 
Patne, m Achaia, warned by a vision, is said, 
A. D. 370, to have sailed westward, until he 
landeiJ at St. Andrews in Scotland, where he 
founded a chapel and tower. The latter is still 
standing; and, though we niav doubt the pre- 
cise date of its 6)uudation. is certainly tme of 
the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, 
nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the .Arch- 
bishops of St. Andrews, bears the name of tins 
religious person ft is difficult of access; and 
the rock m which it is hewed is washed by the 
German Ocean It is -nearly round, about ten 
feet III diameter, and the same in height. Uu 
one side is a sort of stone altar; on the other 
an aperture into an inner den. where the 
miserable ascetic, who iiih:ibired this dwell- 
ing, probably slept. At full tide, egress and 
regress are hardly practicable. As Kegulus 
first colonized the metropolitan see of Scot- 
land, and Converted the mhabiiants in the vi- 
cinity, he has some reason to complain, that 
the ancient name of Killrule {Cetla R-guli) 
should have been superseded, even in favour 
of the tutelar saint of Scotland. The reason 
of the change was, that St. Rule is said to have 
brought to Scotland the relics of St. Andrew. 



^: 



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184 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note U. 



\ 



Snint Fillan's blfsxrd well. 

Wlmr sprimi rnii Jrcnzicd dreams dispel, 
And llie crazed brain restore — P 83. 

Saint Fillan was a Srottish saint of some 
reputHtioii. Allhiiugli Po()eiy is, with us. mat- 
ter of ahoniination. yet the' ciuniiion peujile 
still retain some of the siipeistilioiis nomiected 
with it. There are in Perthshire several wells 
ami springs dedicated to St. Fillan, which are 
still places of pilffiimase and offerings, even 
aMums I ho Protestants They are held pow- 
erful m cases of madness; and, in some of 
very late occurreiicc, lunatics have lieen left 
all ni^lii bound to the lioly stone, m confidence 
that the saint would cure iiiid unloose them 
before mornins; — [See various notes to tlie 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.] 



Note V. 

The scenes fire desert now, and hare, 
Where flourished once a forest fair.— ?. 83. 

Ettrick Forest, now a raiise of mountainous 
sheep-walks, was anciently reserved for the 
pleasure of the r()yal chase. Since it was dis- 
parUed, the wood has been, by degrees, almost 
totally destroyed, alth(mg'h, wherever protect- 
ed fiom the shee)), copses soon arise without 
any plantiu":. When the king hunted there, he 
ofien summoned the array of the country to 
meet and assist his sport Thus, in 1528, James 
V. •' made proclamation to all lords, barons, 
genllemeu. land ward-men, and freeholders, 
that they should compear at Edinburgh, with 
a moiitiVs victuals, to pass with the King 
wheit; he pleased to daiiton the lliieves of Tj- 
viiiid.de. Aiinaiidale, Liddisdale, and other 
parts of that country; and also warned :ill 
gentlemen t hat had good dogs to bring them, 
that he miiflit hunt m the said country as he 
pleased : The whilk the Earl of Argv'le. the 
Earl of Huntley, the Earl of Athole. and so all 
the rest of the gentlemen of the Highland, 
did. and brought their hounds with them in 
like manner, to hunt with the King, as he 
pleased. 

" The second day of June the King past out 
of Edinburgh to the hunting, with many of the 
nobles and gentlemen of Scotland with him, 
to the number of twelve thousand men; and 
then pa.st to Meggitlaiid. and hounded and 
hawked all the country and bounds; that is to 
s.iy, Crammat, Pappert-law, St Mary-laws, 
Carlavrick. Chapel, Ewindoores, and Long- 
hope I heard say, he slew, in lhe.se bounds, 
eighteen score of harts." i 

These huntings had, of course, a military 
character, and attendance upon them was a 
part of the duty of a vassal 'The act for abo- 
lishing ward or military tenures in Scotland, 
enuiiieraies the services of huniing. hostlmg, 
wat(-hing, and warding, as those which were 
in future to be illegal. 

'Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account 
of the mode in which these huntiiiKs were 
conducted in the Highlands of Scotland, in the 

1 PlHcoIlit's History uf Scutland, folio rdilioii, p. 143. 



seventeenth century, having been present at 
Brsemar upon such an occasion :— 

"Tlieredid 1 find the truly noble and right 
honourable lords. John Erskme. Earl of Alar; 
James Stewart, Earl of Murray; George Gor- 
don, Earl of Engye, son and lieir to the mar- 
quis of Huntley; James Erskine, Earl of Bu- 
cliaii ; and John, Lord Erskine, son and heir 
to the Earl of Mar, and their Countesses, with 
my much honoured, and my last assured and 
I approved friend. Sir William Murray, knight 
I of Abercarney. and hundreds of others, kmshts., 
esquires, ami their followers; all and every 
man. in general, in one habit, as if L.ycursus 
had been there, and made laws of equality; 
j for once in the year, which is the whole month 
' of August, and someiimes part of September. 
\ many of the nobility and gentry of the king- 
dom (for their [)leasure) do come into these 
Hiirhland countries to hunt: where they do 
Conform themselves to the lialiii. of the High- 
landiiien, who. for the most part, speak nothing 
but Irish; and. in former time, were those 
people which were called the Redshanks. 
Their habit is — shoes, with but one sole 
apiece ; stockings (which they call short hose,) 
made of a warm stulf of diverse colours, 
which they call tartan ; as for breeches, many 
of them, nor their forefathers, nevei wore any. 
but a jerkin of the same stulf that I heir hose 
is of; their garters bein^ Itaiids or wreaths of 
hay or straw ; with a plaid :iboiit their shoul- 
ders; which IS a mantle of diverse colours, 
much filler and lighter si off than their hose ; 
with blue flat caps on their heads; a handker- 
chief, knit with two knots, about their necks : 
and thus are they attired. Now their weapons 
are — long bowe's and forked arrows, swords 
and targets, harquebusses, muskets, durks, and 
Lochaber axes. With these arms I found 
many of them armed for the huntimr. As for 
their attire, any man, of what degree soever, 
that comes amongst them, must not disdain to 
wear it ; for. if they do, then they will disdain 
to hunt, or willingly to brma: in their dogs; but 
if men be kind unto them, and be in their 
habit, then are they conquered with kindness, 
and the sport will be plentiful. This was the 
reason that I found so many noblemen and 
gentlemen in those shapes. But to proceed to 
the hunting: — 

'• My good Lord of Marr having put me into 
that shape, 1 rode with him from his houriC, 
where 1 saw the ruins of an old castle, called 
the Castle of Kmdroghit. It was built by King 
M.dcolm Caninore (for a hunting-house,) who 
reigned in Scotland, when Edward the Confes- 
sor", Harold, and Norman William, reigned in 
England. I speak of it. because it was the 
last house I saw in those parts; for I was the 
s[)ace of twelve days after, before I saw either 
himse. corn field, or habitation for any crea- 
ture, but deer, wild horses, wolves, and such 
like creatures,— which made me doubt that I 
should never have seen a house again. 

"'Thus, the first day, we travelled eight 
miles, where there were small cottages, built 
on purpose to lodge in, which they call Lonqu- 
hards. f thank my good Lord Erskine, he 
commanded that I should always be lodged in 
his lodging: the kitchen beingalways on the 
side of a bank : many kettles and pots boilmg, 
and many spits turning and winding, with 
great variety of cheer,- as venison baked; 



^: 



T 



z 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO MARMION 



sodden, rost. and stewed beef; mutton, goats. 
kid. hares, tVesli s.ilriidti.pisfeons, liens, capons, 
chickens, partridges, niiiir-coots, hea'licocks. 
caperkellies. ami termagants ; pood ale, sacke. 
white and claret, lent (or allejrant), with most 
potent aqii;ivitse. 

" All these, and more than these, we had 
roiiiinnally in superfluous abundance, caujsht 
by falconers, fowlei>i, fishei-s, and brought by 
my lord's tenants and purveyors to victual our 
camp, which consisteih ot fourteen or tifteen 
hundred men and horses. The manner of the 
Imiitmi is tins : Five or six hundred men do rise 
early in the morning, and they do disperse them- 
selves divei-s ways, and seven, eight, or ten 
miles compa>s. they do briiisr, or chiise in, the 
deer in many herds (two, three, or four hun- 
dred in a herd.) to such or such a place, as the 
noblemen shall appoint them; then. wheiiday 
is come, the lords and gentlemen of their 
companies do ride or go to the said places, 
sometimes wadin? up to the middles, through 
burns and rivers; and then, they beiiia come 
to the place, do lie down on the ground, till 
those foresaid scouts, which are called the 
'rmkhell, do bring down the deer: but. as the 
proverb says of the bad cook, so these tinkhell 
men do lick their own fingers; for. besides 
their bows and arrows, which they carry with 
them, we can hear, now and then, a liaique- 
buss or a musket go off. which they do seldom 
discharge in vain Then, after we had staid 
there three hours, or thereabouts, we miuht 
perceive the deer appear on the hills round 
about us (their heads making a show like a 
wood.) winch, being followed close by the 
tinkhell, are chased ilown into the valley 
where we lay: then all the valley, on each 
side, being way-laid with a hundred couple of 
strong Irish greyhounds, they are all let loose, 
as (M'.casion serves, upon the herd of deer, that 
with dogs, guns, arrows, durks. and daggers, 
in the space of two hours, fourscore fat deer 
were slain ; which after are disposed of, some 
one w;iy, and some another, tweiitv and thirty 
miles, and more than enough left for us, to 
make merry withal, at our rendezvous." 



Note W. 

By lx)ne Saint Mary's silent lake.—V Ri. 

This beautiful sheet of water forms the re 
servoir from which the Yarrow takes its 
source It is connected with a smaller lake, 
called the [,och of Lowes, and surrounded by 
mountains. In the winter, it is siiil freQuented 
by flights of wild swans ; hence my friend Mr. 
Wordsworth's lines : — 



^ 



lake 



Near the lower extremity of the lake, are 
the ruins of Dryhope tower, the birth-plare of 
Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dry- 
hope, and famous by the traditional name of 
the Flower of Yarrow. She was married to 
Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for 
his depredatiims, than his bride for her beauty. 
Her romantic appellation was, in later days, 
with equal justice, conferred on Miss M;iry 
Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the 



Harden family. The author well remembers 
the talent and spint of the latter Flower of 
Yarrow, though age had then injured the 
charms which procured her the name. The 
words usually sung to the air of " Tweedside." 
beginning, •• What beauties does Flora dis- 
close," were composed in her honour. 



Note X. 

in fntdnf strife, a fof, 

Halh Inid Our Lady's chapel low— P. 85. 

The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes {de 
lacuous) was situated on the eastern side of the 
lake, to which it gives name. It was injured 
by the clan of Scott, in a feud with the Gran- 
siouiis; but continued to be a place of wor- 
ship during the seven'eenth century The 
vestiges of the building can now .scarcely be 
traced; but the burial ground Ls still used as 
a ceme'ery. A funeral, in a spot so very retired, 
has an uncommonly striking effect. The ves- 
tiges of the chaplain's hou.^e are yet visible. 
Being in a high situation, it commanded a full 
view of the lake, with the opposite mountain ot 
Bourhope. belonging, with the lake itself, to 
U>id Napier. On the left hand is the tower 
of Dryhope, meuiioiied in a preceding note. 



Note Y. 

the Wizard's grave ; 

Ifuit Wiznrd HriesVs, whose bones are thnist 

From company of holy dust.— P. 8.5. 

At one corner of the burial ground of the 
demolished chapel, but without its precincts, 
is asniall mound. called BinrnnCs Corse, where 
traditi(m deposits the remains of a necroman- 
tic pnest, the former tenant of the chaplainry. 
His story much resembles that of Ambro.^io in 
"The Monk," and has been made the theme 
of a ballad, by my friend Mr. James Houg, 
more poetically designed the Ettnck Shepherd. 
I'd his volume! entii fed " The Mountain Bard," 
which contains tins, and many other legendary 
stories and ballads of great merit, I refer the 
curious reader. 



Note Z. 

Some ruder ami tnore savaije scene, 
Like that whichjroimis round dark Loch Skene. — 
P. 85. 

Loch-skene is a mountain lake, of consider- 
able size, at the head of the Moffat-water. 
The character of the scenery is uncommonly 
savage; and the earn, or Scottish eagle, has. for 
many ages, built its nest yearly upon an islet iii 
the lake. Loch-skene discharges itself into a 
brook, which, after a short and precipitate 
course, falls from a cataract of immense height, 
and gloomy grandeur, called, from its appear- 
ance, the "Grey .Mare's Tail." The "Giant's 
Grave," afterwards mentioned, is a sort of 
trench, which bears that name, a little way 



135 \ 



Z 



7 



136 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\f 



from the foot of the cataract It has the ap- 
pei.rance of a battery, designed to command 
tlie pass. 



Note 2 A. 

-hryh Whitby's cloister'' d pile.— ?. 85. 



The Ahbey of Whithy. in the Archdeaconry 
of Cleavehind, on the coast of Yorkshire, was 
founded A. D. 657, in consequence of a vow of 
Oswy, Kinff of Northumberland. It contained 
both monks and nunsof the Benedictine order ; 
liut, contrary to what was usual in such esiah- 
iishinents. the abbess was superior to the 
abbot. 'I'lie monastery was afterwards ruined 
liy the Panes, and rebuilt by William Percy, in 
the reie:n of the Conqueror. There were no 
niiiis there in Henry the Eishth's time, nor 
Ion- before it. The ruins of Whitby Abliey 
are very magnificent. 



Note 2 B. 

St.CnIhbert's Holy Isle— P. 85. 

Mndisfarne. an isle on the coast of North- 
tmiberlaiid, was called Holy Island, from the 
saiK'tity of its ancient monastery, and from its 
having been the episcofial seat of the see of 
Durham durin? the early ages of British C'liris- 
tiamty. A succession of holy men held that 
office ; hut their merits were swallowed up in 
the superior fame of St. Cuthberl, who was 
sixth Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed 
the name of his " patrnnony " Upon the exten- 
sive property of the see. The ruins of the 
monastery up(m Holy Island betoken great an- 
tiquity. The arches are, in gener:d, strictly 
Saxim; and the pillars which support thcni, 
short, strong, and massy. In some places, 
hovvi-ver. there are pointed windows, winch 
indicate that the bnildmg has been repaiied at 
a period long subsequent to the original foun- 
dation The exterior ornaments of the build- 
ing, being of a light sandy .stone, have been 
wasted, as de.scnbed mthe text. Lindisfarne 
is not properlv an ishitid. but rather, as the 
venerable Bede liiis termed it. a semi-isle; for, 
altlK.Uijh surrounded by the .sea at lull tide, the 
ebb leaves the sands dry between it and the 
opposite coast of Norihu'mberiand.fiom which 
It is about three miles distant. 



Note 2 C. 

Theii Whilhij's nuns exulting told 
How to thfir house three B irons hold 
Must menial service do—?. 87. 

The popular account of this curious service, 
which was probably considerably exaggerated, 
is thus given in -A True Account," printed 
and circulated at Whitby : " In the fifth year 
of the reisn of Henrv ll , after the coiKpiest 
of Enaland bv Willi;,in. Duke of .Nonnundy, 
the Lord of i;«lebarnl)v, then called Wiljiuiii 
de Bruce; the Lord of Sineaton. called Raliih 
de I'ercy; wiili a gentleman and freeholder 



called Allatson, did, on the 16th of October, 
1159, appoint to meet and hunt the wild-boar, 
in a certain wood, or desert place, belonging to 
the Abbot of Whitby ; tlie place's name was 
Eskdale-side; and the abbot's name was Sed- 
man. Then, these young gentlemen being 
met, with tlieir hounds and boar-staves, in the 
place before mentioned, and there having 
found a great wild-boar, the hounds ran liim 
well near about the chapel and hermitage of 
Eskdale-side, where was a monk of Whitby, 
who was an hermit. The boar, being very 
sorely pursued, and dead-run, took in at the 
chapel-door, there laid him down, and pre- 
sently died. The hermit shut the hounds out 
of the clia[)el, and kept himself within at his 
nieditatiims and prayers, the hounds standing 
at bay without. The gentlemen, in the thick 
of the wood, being just behind their game, fol- 
lowed the cry of their hounds, and so came 
to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who 
opened the door and came forth; and within 
they found the boar lying dead ; for which, the 
gentlemen, in a very great fury, because the 
hounds were put from their game, did most 
violently and cruelly run at the hermit vvi h 
their boar staves, wliereby he soon after died. 
Thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and 
knowing that they were in peril of death, 
took siinctuary at Scarborough : But at that 
time the abliot being in very great favour with 
the King, removed them out of the sanctuary .• 
whereby they came in danser of the law, and 
not to be privileged, but likely to have the se- 
verity of the law. which was death for death. 
But the hermit, being a holy and devout man, 
and at the point of death, sent tor the abbot, 
and desired him to send for the gentlemen who 
had wounded him. The al hot so doing, the 
gentlemen came ; and the hermit, being very 
sick and weak, said unto them, ' 1 am sure to 
die of those wounds you have given ine.' — 
The abbot answered. 'They shall as surely 
die for the same.'— But the hermit answered, 
' Not so. for I will fieely forgive them my 
death, if they will be content to be enjoineil 
the penance 1 shall lay on them for tha safe- 
guard of their souls.'" The gentlemen being 
present, bade him save their lives Then saiil 
the hermit, • You and yours shall hold your 
lands of the Abbot of Wliitby, and his suc- 
cessors, in this manner: That, up(»n A.scen- 
siou-day. you. or some of you, shall come to 
the wood of the Stray-heads, which is in Esk- 
dale-side. the same day at sun rising, and 
there shall the alibot's officer blow his horn, 
to the intent that you may know where to find 
him; and he shall deliverunio you, V\'iiliam de 
Bruce, ten stakes, eleven strout stovvers. and 
eleven yethers, to be cut by you, or .some of 
you, with a knife of one pennv price : and you, 
Ralph de Percy, shall take twenty-one of each 
sort, to be cut ni tlie same manner; and you, 
Allatson, shall take nitie of each sort, to be 
cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs 
and carried to the town of Whitby, and to be 
there before nitie of the clock the same day 
before mentioned. At the same hour of nine 
of the clock, if it be full sea, your labour and 
service shall cease; and if low water, each of 
you shall set your stakes to the brim, each 
stake one yard from the other, and soyetner 
them on each side with your yethers ; and so 
slake on each side with your sliout stowers, 



K 



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APPENDIX TO M ARM I ON. 



M 



thiit I hey may stand three tides without re- 
nM)Vins hv the force thereof. E:icli of you 
s\rM do. make. :iiid exepiite the said service, 
at that very lioiir, every year, except it he full 
.<<ea at that hour; hut whea it ssliall .so fall 
o!it, this .service shall cease. You shall faith- 
fully do this, 111 renieiiihrance that you did 
iii'ist cruelly sl.iy me; and that you riiuy the 
heiiei call to God for mercy, repent uufeisn- 
edly of your sms. and do sood word.s. The 
• •Hirer of Eskd:ile-side slialfhlow, Out on you! 
Out on i/iiit! Out on you! for tins heinous 
Clime. If you, or your successors.sliall refuse 
tins SiTvice, s^i Ions a.s it shall not he full sea 
a ihe aforesaid hour, yen or yours, shall for- 
feit your lands to the Ahbot of W'liithy. or Ins 
Micces.sor.s. This 1 entreat, and earnestly heg. 
that you may have lives and goods preserved 
lor this service: and I request, of you to pro- 
mise, liy your parts in Heaven, that it shall he 
d.iiir^ hy you and your successors, as is afore- 
said requestsd, and I will confinn it hy tlie 
faith of an honest man' — Then tlie herinit 
said, ' My soul loiigeth for the Lord : and I do 
iis freely forgive these men my death as Christ 
forgave the thieves on the croVs.' And. in the 
[ireseiice of the abliot and the rest, he said 
moreiiver these words; • Jn muniis hios. Do 
mini',commnulo sinriliim mcuni. a mncuhs tnwi 
mortis rtUftnisli m>^, Donime veritatis. Amen.' 
—So he yielded up the ghost the eishtli day 
(if Decemher, anno Uomiiii 1139, whose soul 
Uod have iiierey upon. Amen. 

•'This service." it is added, "still continues 
to be performed with the [irescrilteil ceremo- 
nies. tli()U!;li not hy ihe propriet<irs in person. 
Fart of the lands ciiarsed tlierewith are now 
held hy a genliemau of the name of Herbert." 



NoTK 2 D. 



;m Ihar C07ivrnl cell 

A Saxon primess once did dwell, 
The Lovely Edeljkd.—P. 87. 

She was the daiiirhter of Kins Oswy. who, 
ill gratiiude to Heaven for the sreat victory 
wliurh he won in 6.V). ajjaiiist Fenda.lhe Fagaii 
Kins of Mercia. dedicated Edelfleda. then hut 
it year oUl, lo the service of God, in ihe mo- 
nastery of VVIiiihy. of which St. Hilda was 
then abbess. She afterwards adorned the 
place of her education with great niagniti- 
cence. 



Note 2 E. 

of thousand snnlces. each one 

Was changed into n roil of stone, 

VVIien holy Hilda prai^'d ; 
Tliry told, how sea-fowls' pi7tions fail. 
As over Whitby's towers thei/ sail.—V 87.- 

These two miracles are much insisted upon 
hv all ancient writers who have occasion to 
inentum either Whuby or St. Hilda. The 
relics of the snakes which infested the pre- 
cincts of the convent, and were, at the abbess's 
prayer, not only beheaded, but petrified, are 

12* 



still found about the rocks, and are termed by 
Protestant fossilisls, Ammomtce. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned y 
Camden : "'It is also ascribed to the power of 
her sanctity, that these wild seese, winch, in 
the winter, tiy in great flocks to the lakes and 
rivers nnfrozeii in the southern parts, to the 
great amazement of everv one, fall down siid- 
•leiiiy upon the srouiid. when they are in their 
fliijlit over certain neiiihbourmg tields here- 
abouts: a relation 1 should not have made, if 
I had not received it fnmi several credible 
men. But those who are less inclined to heed 
superstition, attribute it to some occiih quality 
in the ifniuiid. and to somewhat of anti|>athy 
bet w. en it and the geese, sucu as they say is 
betwixt wolves and scyllaroois: For Ihat s-ch 
hiilden tendencies and aversions, as we call 
syiiiiiatliies and antipathies, are implaiHed in 
many things by provident Nature for the [)re- 
servatmii of llieni, is a thing so evident that 
every body grants it " .Mr. Charlton, in his 
History of Whitby, points out the true origin 
of Ihe fable, from the number of sea-gulls 
that, when flying from a s'orm. often alight 
near V\'|iitby ; and from the woodcocks, and 
other birds of passage, who do the same upon 
their arrival on shore, after a long flight. 



Note 2 F. 

His body's resling-placf, of old. 

How ofl their Falron cimnycd, they told.—P 87. 

St. Cuthbert was, in the clioice of his sepul- 
chre, one of the most mutable ami unreason- 
able saints ill the Calendar He died A. I) 
638. Ill a hermilage upon the Fame Islands, 
having resigned the bisho|(ric of Lmdisfanie, 
or Holy Island, about two years before.' His 
body was brought to Lindisfarne, where it re- 
mained until a descent of the Danes, about 
793. when the monastery was nearly de- 
stroyed. The monks fled to Scotland with 
what they deemed their chief treasure, the 
relics of St. Cuthhert. The Saint was, how- 
ever, a most capricious fellow-traveller : •.vhioh 
was the more intolerable, as, like Sinh.-id's 
Old -Man of the Sea. he Journeyed u[ioii Ihe 
shoulders of his companions, 'i'hey paradetl 
hiiii through Scotland for several years, and 
came as far west iis Whithern. in Galloway, 
whence they attempted to sail for Ireland, but 
were driven back by tempests He at 'eiiglli 
made a halt at Norliam ; from thence he went 
to Melrose, where he remained sialioiiary for 
a short time, and then caused luniself to be 
launched upon the Tweed m a stone coffin, 
which landed him at Tilmoulh, m Northum- 
berland. This boat is finely shaped, ten feet 
It^ng. three feet and a half in diameter, and 
only four inches thick; so iliat.wiih very little 
assistance, it might certainly have swam : it 
stili lies, •.r at least did so a few years ago. in 
two pieces, beside the ruined chapel of lil- 
mouth From Ti mouth, Cuthbert wandered 
into Yorkshire; and at length made a long 
stay at Chfisier-le-sireet, to which the bish.>ps 
see was transferred. At length, the Danes. 



1 He resumed Itie bishopric of Linilisfariie, wtmli, 
wine to ha<l h.-.Tllh. he asain ieliiiqiii>he<l wiihin le-s ihau ^ 

irec monlhs before hia dealb — Kaiue'a SI. Cvihbert. T 

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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



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roiiiiniiins: to infest the coniilry. the monks 
rciiKiVfd til Ki[)(ion for a season ; and it wiis ni 
It turn IroMi thence to Cliestur-le-street, lliat 
p.is.siiiK IhidU-h a forest called Dunhoime. the 
Sainl and his carriage tiecame iitmiovealile at 
ii place called W'ariUaw, or Wardilaw. Here 
the Saint chose his place of residence; and 
all who have seen Durham must admit, that, 
if difficult in his choice, lie evinced tasle in at 
lensth fixiiiir it. If is said tiiat the Northnm- 
hrian Catlioiics still l<eep secret the precise 
spot of the Saint's sepulture, vvliich is only en- 
trusted to tiiree persons at a time. VV'lieii one 
dies, the survivors associate to them, in his 
room, a person judged tit to be the depositary 
of so valualde a secret. 

[Tiie resting-place of the remains of this 
Saint IS not now matter of uncerlamtv Su 
recently as 17tli May 1827, 1139 years afier his 
death, their discovery and disintermeni were 
effected. Under a blue stone, in the niuldle 
of the shriue of St. Cuthbert. at the eastern 
e.viremity of the clioir of Durham Cathedral, 
there was then found a walled fjrave, coniain- 
ins the coffins of the Saint. The tiisi. or 
outer one. w;is ascertained to lie that of I.tII. 
the second of 104! ; the third, or mner one. 
answering in every particular to the descrip- 
tion of tliat of 698. was found to contain, not 
indeed, as had been averred then, and even 
until 1539, the incorruptible body, tint the en- 
tire skeleton of the Saint; the bottom of the 
grave being perfectly dry, free from offensive 
smell, and without the slightest symptom that 
a human hotly had ever undergone decompo- 
sition wiihin its walls. The skeleton was 
found swaihed in tive silk robes of eml)le- 
inatical embroidery, the ornamental [)aris laid ! 
with gold leaf, and tlie.se again covered with a] 
robe of linen Beside the skeleton were also ' 
deposited several gold and silver insignm, and 
other lehcs of the Samt. 

The Roman ("athohcs now allow that the 
coffin was that of St. Cu hbert. 

I he billies of the Saint were again restored 
til the grave in a new cotlin, amid the frag- 
ments of the former ones. Those portions of 
the inner Coffin which could be preserved, in- 
cluding one of its rinifs, with the silver altar, 
ffolilen cross, stole, comb, two niani[iles, brace- 
lets, girdle, gold wire of the skeleton, and 
i'ragments of the five silk robes, ami some of 
the rings of the outercoffin made in 1541, were 
deposited m the library of the Dean and Chap- 
ter, where they are now preserved. 

For ample details of the life of St. Cuthbert, 
—his coffin-journeys,— an account of the open- 
ing of his tomb, and a description of the silk 
robes and other relics found in it, the reader 
interested in such matters is referred to a work 
entitled "Samt Cuthbert, bv James Kaine, 
M A ," (4t(.. Durham, 1828.) where he will find 
much of antiguarian history, ceremonies, and 
superstitions, to gratify his curiosity. j— Ed. 



Note 2 G. 

Errn Scollmid's dnunlhss khui. aiid heir, <fc. 
Bcjore /us slaiiiiardjled.—i^. 88. 

Every one has heard, that when David 1., 
witli his son Henry, invaded Nortliumberland 



in 1130, the English host marched against Ihom 
miller the holy bamierofSt Cuthbert; to the 
efficacy of which was imputed the great vic- 
tory which they obtained in the bloody battle 
of NiMihallerion, or Cutoninoor. The con- 
querors were at least as much indebted to the 
jealousy and intractability of the different 
tribes who composed David's army; among 
whom, as mentioned in the text, were the 
Galwegians, the Britons of Strath-Clyde, the 
men of Teviotdale and Lothian, with many 
Norman and German warritirs, who asserted 
the cause of the Empress Maud. See Cli;il- 
mers' Cnlidoitiu, vol. i. p. 622; a most labo- 
rious, curious, and interesting publicatiim, 
from which considerable defects of style and 
maimer ought not to turn aside the Scoliish 
.•mtiijiiary. 



Note 2 H. 

' Twos hfi, to mndirnlp his rei(jn, 

Eldijtd Alfred's Siibhion on the Dane, 

And lurn the Co?i<}ueror back again.— ¥. 88. 

Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great reason 
to spare the Danes, when opportunity offiired. 
Accordingly, I find, m Simeon of Durham, that 
the Samt appe.ired in a vision to Alfc«l. when 
lurking 111 the marshes ol Glaslontniry, and 
promised him assistance and victory over his 
heathen enemies; a consolation, which, as 
was reasonable. Alfred, afier the victory of 
Asheiidown. rewarded. Iiy a royal oflerm'g at 
Uie shrine of the Saint." As tl) William the 
Conqueror, the teiror spread b,"fore his army, 
when he marrlietl to punish the revolt of tlie 
Northumbrians, m 1096. had foiced the monks 
to tly once more to Holy Island with the body 
of the Saint. It was, however, replaced before 
William left the north ; and. to lialance ac- 
counts, the Conqueror having intimated an iii- 
di.screet curiosity to view the Saint's body, he 
was, while in the act of commanding the 
shrine to be opened, seized with heat and 
sickness, accompanied with such a |iaiiic ter- 
ror, that, notwithstanding there was a sump- 
tuous dinner prep.ired lor him, he fled without 
eaiing a morsel, (which the monkish historian 
seems to have thought no small part both of 
the miracle and the penance), and never drew 
his bridle till he got to the river Tees. 



Note 2 I. 

Samt Cuthbert sits, nitd toils to frame 

Ttie sea-born beads thai bf-ar his name.—? 88. 

Although we do not learn that Cuthbert 
was, during his life, such an ;iriiticer as Duii- 
stan, his brother in sanctity, yet, since his 
death, he has acquired the reputation of forg- 
ing those Entrochi which are found among the 
rocks of Holy Island, and pass there by the 
name of St. Cuthbert's Beads. While at this 
task, he is supposed to sit during the night upon 
a certain rock, and use another as his anvil. 
This story was perhaps credited in former 
days ; at least the Saint's legend contains some 
not more probable. 



^ 



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APPENDIX TO MARMION' 



139 



\ 



NoTK 2 K. 

Obi CoUvid/.-V. 8S. 
Ceolwulf. or Colwiilf, King of Nortliutiiher 
ilie eiahMi century 



land, tliiiirislied 

was H ntiin of some learniiis: ; for the veneruhle 
Bede dedicates to hmi Ins '• Ecclesiastical His- 
tory." He abdicated the throne ahont 738, 
ar.d retired to Holy island, where he died in 
the odonr of sanctity Saint as Colwulf was, 
however, I fear the foundation of the penance 
vault does nc'. correspond with his character: 
for It is recorded anions \\\s mnnornbiiia. that, 
tindiiiif the air of the island raw and cold, he 
iiiduliced tilt; monks, whose rule had hitherto 
cunlined tlieiii to milk or water, wiili the cum- 
fiiilahle [iriviletje of using wine or ale 
ii^ul aiiligiiary "insis;s on this objection, 
welcome t<i suppose the penance-vault was 
inlended, by the founder, for the more genial 
purposes of a cellar. 

■| hese peniteiiHal vaults were the Gcissel- 
gaoolbe of German convents. In the earlier 
and more rigid times of monastic discipline, 
they were sometniies used as a cemetery for 
the lay benefaciors of the convent, whose un- 
saiictified corpses were then seldom permitted 
to pollute the choir. 'I'liey also served as 
places of meeting f<jr the chapter, when mea- 
sures of uncommon severity were to be adopt- 
ed. But their most frequent use, a.s implied 
by the name, was as places for performing 
penances, ur undergoing punishment. 



the same penalty as the Homnn vestals in a 
similar case. A small niche, snlficieiit to en- 
close their bodies, was made in the massive 
wall of the convent; a slender pittance of 
food and water was deposited in it, and the 
awful words, Vaih m face, were the signal for 
immuring the criminal. It is not likely that, 
111 latter times, this punishment was often re- 
sorted to; but, among the ruins of the Abbey 
of Ci.ldingham, were some years a:?() disco- 
vered the remains of a female skeleton, which, 
from the shajie of the niche, and position of 
the figure, seemed to be that of an immured 
nun 

iThe Edinburgh Reviewer, on st. xxxii. post, 
suifije.sts that the proper reading of the sen- 
tence IS viulc in pacnn — not jtart in peace, but 
If any y" '"'o pfocr, or into eienial rest, a pretty m- 
iie js , telligible iiutlimus to aimther world.] 



Note 2 L. 

Tj/nemoulh's haughty Prioress- 



-P. 88. 



That there was an ancient priory at Tyne- 
inouth is certain. Its rums are situated on a 



Note 2 N. 

Tli£ wll/jfje iim.—P. 93. 

The accommodations of a Scottish hostelrie. 
or inn, in the sixteenth century, may be col- 
lected from Dunbar's admirable tale of '-The 
Friars of Berwick." Simon Lawder. " the gay 
osMier," seems to have lived very comfortably ; 
and his wife decorated her person with a scar- 
let kinle. and a belt of silk and silver, and 
rings upon her fmsjers; and feasted her para- 
mour with rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bor- 
deaux wine. At least, if the Scottish inns 
were not good, it was not for want of encou- 
ragement from the lesislatuie; who, so early 
as the reign of James I , not only enacted, that 
in all boroughs and fairs tlie.e be hostellaries, 
having stables and chambers, and provision for 
man and horse, but by another statute, or- 
dained that no man. travelling on horse or foot, 

high rocky point ; and, doubtless, many a vow should presume to lodge any where exce[it in 

was made to the shrine by the distressed ma- these hostellaries; and that no person, save 

riueis who drove towards the iron-bound coast innkeepers, should receive such travellers, 

of Niuthumberlaiid in stormy weather It under the penalty of forty shillings, for exer- 

was anciently a nunnery; for Virca. abbess cismg such liospiialiiy i But, in spite of these 

of Tyiiemouth, presented St. Cuthbert (yet provident enactments, the Scottish hostels are 

alive) with a rare winding-sheet, in emulation but indirt'erent, and strangers continue to tind 

of a holy lady called 'I'uda. who had sent him reception in the houses of individuals. 

a (toffiii : But, as in the case of Whitby, and i 

of Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at 

'i'ynemouth in the reisn of Henry VIH. is an j 

anacliroiiism. The nunnery at Holv Island is i NOTE 2 0. 

aliou'elher tictitious. Indeed, St. Cuthbert was 

unlikely to permit such an establishment ; for, 

notwiihstandins: his accepting the mortuary 

gifs above-mentioned, and Ins carry in;; on a 

visiting acquaintance with the Abbess of Cold- 

iiiijliam. he certainly hated the whole female 

sex ; and, in revenge of a slippery trick played 

to him by an Irish princess, he, after death, 

mtlicle I severe penances on such as presumed 

to approach wilhm a certain distance of his 

shrine. 



Note 2 M. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 
Alice, within Ihc lomb.—P. 89. 
It is well known, that the religious, wlio 
broke their vows of chajitity, were subjecteil to 



The death of a dear friend.— ?. 94. 

Among other omens to which faithful credit 
is given among tlie Scottish peasantry, is what 
is called the "dead-hell," explained by my 
friend James Hogg, to be that tinkling in the 
ears which the country people regard as the 
secret intelligence of some friend's decrease. 
He tells a story to the pui-pose in the " .Moun- 
tain Bard," p. 26. 



"By the dead-bell is meant a tinkling in the 
eiirs, which our pea.santry in the country re- 
gard as a secret intelligence of some friends 
decease. Thus this natural occurrence sinke.s 



1 Jameii I. Parliameut I. cap. 34 ; far 



.III tap. oG. 



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140 



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many with a superstitious awe. This reminds 
me of a trifling: unecdote, which I will here 
relate as an instance :— Our two servant-^iils 
aKieed to go an errand of their own, one ni^lit 
after supper, to a considerable distance, from 
which I strove to persuade them, but could 
not prevail. c>o. after poins to the apartment 
where I slept, I took a drinking-s:lass, and, 
coining close to the back of the door, made 
two or three sweeps round the lips of the plass 
with my finger, which caused a loud shrill 
sound. I then overheard the following dia- 
logue:— 'B. Ah, mercy! the dead-liell went 
through my head just now with su('h a kiieil 
as I never heard.'—' / I heard it too.'— B. Did 
you indeed ? That is remarkable. I never 
knew of two hearing it at the same time be- 
fore.'—'/. We will not go tn Midgehope to- 
night '— 'B. I would not go f(./ all the world ! 
I shall warrant it is my poor brother Wat ; who 
knows what these wild Irishes may have done 
to liiiii ]' "-Hogg's MounLain Bard, 3d Edit. p. 
31-2.J 



Note 2 P. 

The Goblin-HaU.—?. 95. 

A vaulted hall under tlie ancient castle of 
GifTord or Yester, (for it bears either name in- 
diflerently,) the construction of which has 
from a very remote period been ascribed to 
mivgic. The statistical Account of the Parish 
of Garvald and Baro gives the following ac- 
count of the present state of this castle and 
apartment : — " Upon a peninsula, formed by 
the water of Hopes (m the east, and a large 
rivulet on the west, stands the ancient cast le 
of Yester. Sir David Dalrymple. in his Annals, 
relates, that 'H^igh Gilford de Yester died in 
1267; that in his castle there was a capacious 
cavern, formed by magical art, and railed in 
the country Bo-Hall. i. e. Hobgoblin Hall.' A 
stair of twenty-four steps led down to thi>< 
apartment, wliich is a large and spacious hall, 
with an aiclied roof; and though it hath stootl 
for so many centuries, and lieen exposed to the 
external air for a period of fifty or sixty years. 
\* is still as firm and entire as if it had only 
stood al'ew years. From the floor of this hall, 
another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to 
a [lit which hath a communication with Hopes- 
water A great part of the walls of this large 
and ancient castle are still standing. There 
is a tradition, tliat the castle of Yester was the 
last fortification, in this country, that surren- 
dered to General Griy, sent into Scotland bj' 
Pidtecior Somerset." Slabslual, Account, vol. 
xiii — I have only to add, that, iii ITIC.the Gob- 
lin Hall was tenanted by the MarQuis of Tweed- 
dale's falconer, as I learn from a" poem by 
Boyse, entitled "Retirement," written upon 
visiting Yester. Ii is now rendered inaccessi- 
ble by the fall of the stair 

Sir David Dabym|ile's authority for the an- 
ecdote is in Fordun. whose words are,— "A. 
D. MCCLXVll. Hwjo Giffardde Yester vwritrr ; 
c.ujus castrum, vH sallern caveam, tt dongionnn. 
arte damontca anliquoE relationesferunt fubrifac- 
tiis : nam ihidnn hnbelur mirdnlis sj^eais subler- 
raneus, opere imrifico constructus, nuitino terrn- 
non spatio piotetatus. qtii communiter 33o:^l5aU 
appeUalus est." Lib. X. cap. 21.— Sir David con 



jectures. that Hugh de Gilford must either 
have been a very wise man, or a great oppres- 
sor. 



Note 2 Q. 

There floated Haco^s banner trim 

Above the Norweyan warriors grim. — P. 95. 

In 1263, Haco, King of .Norway, came intn^ 
the Frith of Clyde with a powerful armament,' 
and made a descent at Largs, in Ayrshire. 
Here he was encountered and defeated, on the 
2d of Octolier. by Alexander III. Haco re- 
treated to Orkney, where he died soon after 
this disgrace to his arms. There iire still ex- 
isting, near the place of battle, many barrows, 
some of which, having been opened, were 
found, as usual, to contain bones and urns. 



Note 2 R. 

The wizard habit strange. — P. QS. 

'• Magicians, as is well known, were very 
curious in the choice and form of their vest- 
ments Their caps are oval, or like pyramids, 
with lappets on each side, and fur" within. 
Their gowns are long, and furred wiih fox- 
skins, under which they have a linen garment 
reaching to the knee. Their girdles are three 
inches broad, and htive many cal)iilistical 
names, with crosses, trines, and cin^les in- 
scribed on them. Their shoes should be of 
new russet leather, with a cross cut u|)on 
them. Their knives are dagger-fashion; and 
their swords have neither guard nor si-ab- 
bard." — See these, and many other particu- 
lars, in the Discourse concerning Devils and 
Spirits, annexed to Reginald Scott's Discovery 
of Witchcraft, edition 1665. 



Note 2 S. 

Upon his breast a pentads. — P. 95. 

" A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded 
with five corners, according to the five sen.ses, 
and suitably inscribed with characters. This 
the magician extends towards the spirits which 
he invokes, when they are stulthorn and rebel- 
lious, and refuse to be ciuifirmable unio the 
ceremonies and riles of magic." — See the Dis- 
courses, &,c. above mentioned, p. 66. 



Note 2 T. 

As bom upon that blessed, night, 
When yawiimg (jraves and dying groan 
Proclaimed Hell's empire overthrown.— P. 96. 

It is a populararlicle of faith, that thf)se who 
are horn on Christmas or Good Friday, have 
the power of seeing spirits, and even of com- 
manding them. The Siianiaids imputed the 
haggard and downcast looks of their Philip II 
to the disagreeable visions to which this privi- 
lege subjected him. 



Z 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO MARMION, 



Note 2 U. 

Yf.l alW l/iK kniuhtly sjif^nr and shield, 
Thf. Eifin warrior <lolh Wull 

Upon ikt briiwn liiU's l/ieasl.—P. 97. 

The fdllowitis ex'iiict troni tlie Essay upon 
the Fairy Siipei-stitioiis, in the " Minstrelsy of 
the Scoiiish ISonler,'" vol li , will show whence 
many of ih^ (>ariiciilai-s of the coiiibal between 
Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight are de- 
rived :— 

Gervjise of Tilbury Olia Imperial np. Script, 
rer Brunsvtr, (vol i.'p 79T) relates the follow- 
in? popular story concerniriii a fairy kiiisht : 
"Osbert. a bold and (lowerfnl baron, visited a 
noble family m the vicn ity of VS andlebuiy, in 
the bishopric of Ely. Amonsother si ones re- 
lated in tlie .sonal circle of his friends, vvho. 
according to custom, amused each other by 
repeating ancieiir tales and traditions, he was 
informed, that if any kiiisht, unattended, en- 
tered an adjacent 'pl.un by moonlight, and 
challensed an adversary to'app ar. he would 
be immediately encountered by a spirit in the 
form of a kniaht Osbert resolved to make 
the experiment, and set out, attended by a 
sniffle squire, vvliom he ordered to reniain 
without the limits ol the plain, which was sur- 
rounded by :in ancient iiitrenchnient. On re- 
peatiii!? the challenge, he was instaii! ly assailed 
by an adversary, w liom lie quickly unhorsed, 
and seized the reins of his steed. During this 
operaiion. his ghostly opponent sprung up, and 
dar iiiff his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, 
Wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned 
in triumph with the horse, winch he coiii- 
niiited to the care of his servants. The horse 
Was of a sable colour, as v\ell as his whole ac- 
coulrements, and apparently of great beauty 
and vigour. He remained with his keeper till 
cock crowing, wnen. witn eyes tlasiimg tire. 
he reared, spurned the ground, and vanished 
On disarming him-^e.f. Osbert perceived ih;it 
he was wounded, and that one of his steel 
boots was full of blood ' Gerva^e adds, that, 
"as long as he lived, the scar of his wound 
opened afresh on the aniiiversa:y of tlie eve 
on which he encountered the spirit " Less 
fo tunale was the gallant Bohemian knight, 
who, travelling by light with a single coiiipa- 
iiion, '• c.iine Ml sight of a fairy ho>t, arrayed 
Under displayed h.uiiiers Desp;s iig the re- 
iiionsir.ince-i of Ins friend, the kiig.it pricked 
forward to break a lance with a champon, 
wlio advaiiCt-d from tlie ranks apparenily in 
detiaiice. His companion beheld the Bohe- 
mian overthrown, horse and man, by his aeri.il 
adversary ; and returning lo the spot next 
morning, he found the niangled corpses of tiie 
kniirhl ;ind steed" — Hiei aixtiy of Bissul An 
ge's. p 554. 

Besides these instances of Elfin chivalry 
above quoted, many o'hers might be alleged 
in supijorl of empl.iymg fairy machinery m 
this manner. Th^; forest of Glenmoie, in the 
Noitli lliifhlands. is beiieved to be haunted by 
a spirit called Lham-dearg. in the array of aii 
aiK ieiit warrior, having a bloody hand, from 
which he take-i his name. He insists upon 
those with whom he meets doing battle with 
hiiu; and the clergyman, who makes up an 
account of the district, extant in the Macfar- 



lane MS. in the .\dvocates" Library, eravely as- 
sures us. that, in his time, Lham-diani fought 
with three brothers whom he met in his walk, 
none of whom Ions survived the ghostly con- 
flict. Barclay, jn his •• Eupli<ninion," gives a 
singular account of an officer who had ven- 
tured, with his servant, rather to intrude upon 
a haunted house in a town in Flanders, than 
to put up with worse quarters elsewhere. 
After taking the usual precautions of pro- 
vidins; fires, lights, and arms, they watched 
till midnight, when behold ! the severed arm 
of a man dropped fioiii the ceiling; this was 
followed by Hie le^s. the other arm. the trunk, 
and the head of the body, all separately. The 
meinbeis rolled together, united themselves 
III tht; presence of the astonished soldiers, and 
tormeil a gigantic warrior, who defied them 
both to combat Their blows, although they 
peiie! rated the body and amputated the limbs 
of their strange aiiia<;oiiist, had. as the reader 
may easily believe, liule effect on an enemy 
who possessed such powers of self-union ; nor 
did his efforts make more effectual impression 
upon them. How ihe combat terminated I 
do not exactly remember, and iiave not the 
book by me ; but I think the spirit made to the 
intruders on his mansion the usual proposal, 
that they should renounce their redemption ; 
which being declined, he was obliged to re- 
tract 

1 he most sinsular tale of the kind is con- 
tained in an extract communicated to me by 
my friend Mr. Surtees of Mamsforth, in the 
Bishopric, who copied it from a MS. note in a 
copy of Burthogge. "On the Nature of Spi- 
rits, 8vo, 1694." which had been the properly 
of the late Mr. Gill, attorney-general to Eger- 
ton. Bishop of Durham. "It w-.is not," says 
my oblising correspondent, "in Mr. Gill's own 
hand, but probably an hundred years older, 
and was said to be, E Itbro ConveiU. Dunelm. 
per T. C extract., whom I believe to have 
lieen Thomas Cradocke, Esq. barrister, who 
held several offic^es under the See of Durham 
a hundred years ago. Mr. Gill was possessed 
of most of his manuscripts " The extract, 
which, in fact, suggested the introduction of 
the tale into the present poem, runs thus:— 

■• Rem miram hujtismodi qiup, iiostrts Itmpo- 
ribm eienit, teste I'iro nohili ac fide, diynissimo, 
enarrnre knud pigebit. Radulphus Biilmer, cum 
K caslris. qua tunc temporis firope Norhan 
posita eratil, obleclattonis causa, exitsset, ac in 
ulleriore TundcE ripu prcedam cum raii,bus Ifpo- 
rartis insequerelur, Jane cum Scolo quodam 
nobdi, sibi antehac. ul vtdf.batur, familiariier 
cognilo. congnssus est ; ac, ut fas erat inter ini- 
miros, flijgranle bello, brevissima inlerrogatiotiis 
iiKtra inlei-posila, alter ulros, mcireni tfintalo 
cuisu inffstts animis petitre. Nuster, primo 
occur su, equo prcearrrrimo hostis impetu tubante, 
in terram evtrsus pectore et capile Iceso, sangui- 
nem, mortuo similis, evomebat Qu^m ut se mgrc 
haheniem comiler iiUocutus est alter. polJicilusquc, 
mode auxdium nan abtieyaret, niomtisque obtem- 
perans ob omni rerum sacra, um cogilalione ah- 
stiueret. 7iec Deo, DciparoE Virgini, Sanctave 
uUo, preces aut lO'a tffei-ret vet inter sese conci- 
peret, se brevi eum sanum vahdumquc restilutu- 
rum esse Free anuore oblaia conditio accepta 
est; ac veterator die nesao quid olisuBni mv.r- 
muns insusurrans, piehtnsa mnnu, dulo ciliics :n 
pedes sanum ut anitu sublevavit. Nosttr autcm, 




\ 



T 



A 



f 142 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



miiximd pra m inauditn nnvilnle fnrmidinf per- 
ailsiix, Mi Jesu! exclomat. vtl quid simile; ac 
sulnio rtspicirns lire hostem nee nl.lnm almm eon- 
spirit., equum solum (/ravissimo nuper cnsn nfflic- 
tnm, per stimmnm paeem in rivo fluvii paseentem. 
Ad enstrn itaque mirabundtis river Uns, fidci 
duhius, rem prima orrttllavit, dein, confecto 
bello, Con/essori suo totam osseruit. Delusnria 
prncnl diibio res tola, ne mala veteratoris illius 
apmtur Jrmis. qua homimm Christiaiium ad ve- 
litum lale auxilium peltireret. Nnmin uteunque 
tliius (noltilis alias ar elan) retieendum duen. eum 
hand dubium sit quin Diahnl.us. Deo pirmiUente, 
formam qunm libueril. immo anijeli lueis. sa.ero 
oeulo, Dei teste, posse assumere" The MS. 
chronicle, from which Mr. Cradocke took this 
curious extract, cannot now he found in the 
riiapter Library of Durham, or. at least, has 
hitherto escaped the researches of ni}' friendly 
correspondent. 

Lindesay is made to allude to this adventure 
of Kalph Bulnier. as a well-known story, in 
the 4th Canto, Stanza xxii. p 103. 

The northern cliampions of old were accus- I 
tomed peculiarly to search for, and delight in, 
encounters with such military spectres. See 
a whole chapter on the suhject, in Bariholi- 
nus, De Causis conlempla Mortis a Danis, 
p. 253. 



Note 2 V. 

Close to the hut. no more his owjt, 

Close to the aid he soiujht in vain. 

The morn may find the stiffni'd swam.— P. 98. 

I cannot help here mentioning:, that, on the 
nijihl in which these lines were written, sua:- 
gested, as they were, by a sudden fall of snow. 
beginninR after sunset, an unfortunate man 
perished exactly in the manner here described, 
and his body was next iMornins found clo^e to 
his own house. The accident haf)peued with- 
in five miles of the farm of Ashestiei. 



Note 2 W. 

Forbes. ~ P. 98. 

Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet ; 
unequalled, perhaps, in the decree of indi- 
vidual affection entertained for him by his 
friends, as well as in the general respect and 
esteem of Scotland at large. His "Life of 
Beattie," whom he befriended and patronised 
in life, as well as celebrated after his decea.se, 
was not long published, before the benevolent 
and affectionate biographer was called to fol- 
low the subject of his narrative. This melan- 



choly event very shortly succeeded the mar- 
riage of the friend, to whom this introduc- 
tion is addressed, with one of Sir William's 
daughters. 



1 I bfg leave to quote a single instance 
leresling passage. Sir David, recounting 
King James V. in his infancy, is made 
editor's punctuation, to say,— 

" Tlie first sillabis, that thou did 
Was pa, da, lyn, upon the lute 
Then played I twenty Bpringis 
ftuhilk was great ple«oiir ''or to 
Vol. i 


from a v 
his atien 
by the 

mute, 

perqueir, 
hear." 
p 7. 2S7 


ery in- 
ion to 
earned 



Mr. Chalmers does not inform us, by note or glossary, 
what is meant by the King " mutmg fa, rfa, lyn. upon the 
lute;" but any old woman in Srniland will bear witness 
that pa, da, lyn' are the first efforts of a child to say, 



Note 2 X. 

Friar Rush.— P. 99. 

Alias, " Will o' the Wisp." This personaee 
is a strolling demon, or esprit follet. who. once 
upon a time, got admittance into a monastery 
as a scullion, and played the monks mtiny 
pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Good- 
fellow, and Jack o' Lanthern. It is in allusion 
to Ibis mischievous demon that Milton's clown 
speaks,— 

" She was pinched, and pulled, she said, 
And he by Friar's lanihrrn led." 

" The History of Friar Rush " is of extreme 
rarity, and, for some time, even tiie existence 
of such a book was doubted, although it is ex- 
pressly alluded to by Resrinald S(tott, in his 
'• Discovery of Witchcraft." I have pern.«ed 
a copy in the valuable library of my friend Mr. 
tleber : and I observe, from Mr. Beloe's " Anec- 
dotes of Literature," that there is one in the 
excellent collection of the Marquis of Stafford. 



Note 2 Y. 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion King-at.-arms. — P. 100. 

The late elaborate edition of Sir David 
Lindesay's Works, by Mr George Chalmers, 
has probably introduced him to many of my 
readers. It is perhaps to be regretted, that the 
learned Editor had not bestowed more pains 
in elucidating his author, even although he 
should have omitted, or at least rei^erved, his 
disquisitions on the (»rigin of the language used 
by the poet:' But. with all its faults, his 
work is an acceptable present to Scottish an- 
tiquaries. SirDavid Lindesay was well known 
for his early plLorts in favour of the Reformed 
doctrines; "and, indeed, bis play, coarse as it 
now seems, must have had a powerful effect 
upon the people of his age. 1 am uncertain if 
1 abuse poetical licence, by introducing Sir 
David Lindesay in the character of Lion-Herald, 
sixteen years before lie obtained that office. 
At any rate, 1 am not the first who has been 
guiltv of the anachroiii.«m : for the author 
of "Flodden Field" despatches Dallamonnt, 
which can mean noboily but Sir David de la 
Mont, to France, on the message of defiance 
from James IV. to Henry VIII. It was olten 



" Vfhere't Vavtd Lindesay ? 
words begiu another seutenc 



2 and thai the subsequent 



Then played 1 

In another place, "Justin 
ments of tilting, is f; 
limbs." Many such min 
but these are only menlii 
minishing the real merit 



'4;c. 

lumis," i. e. looms, or imple- 
•tiously interpreied " playfal 
; errors could be pointed out ; 
'd incidentally, and not as di- 
Itie edition. 



2 II is suggested by an ingenious correspondent, that P«, 
la, .yn, ought rather to be interpreted, play, Davy Lyndaay. 



K 



y^ 



y- 



APPENDIX TO MARMION, 



nn office imposed on the Lion KiiiEr-at-anns, to 
receive foreis^n anili-.issudors ; and Liiidesay 
himself did ihis honour to Sir Ralph Sadler, 
ill 1539-40 Indeed, the oatii of the Lion, in 
iis first article, hears reference to hia frequent 
employment upon royal inessiujes and em- 
ha-^sies 

The office of heralds, in feudal times, being: 
lield of the iiiniost imporiance, Ihe inaugura- 
tion of the Kiii^s-at-arms. who presided over 
their colleges, was propor ionally solemn. In 
l.icl. It was llie mimicry of a royal coronation. 
exce|)t that the unoiioti was made wiMi wine 
instead of oil. In ScoUand.a namesake and 
kinsman of Sir David Liiulesay, inaugurated in 
1.592. "was crowned hy King James wiih the 
ancient crown of Scoihind, which was used 
iiefore the Scottish Uiti^s ;issumed a cir)se 
crown ;" ami. on occasion of the same solem- 
nity, dined at the Kmsr's table, wearins; the 
crown It is iirohahle that tlie coronation of 
liis predecessor was not less solemn. So sa- 
cred was the hendd's office, that, in 151.5, Loid 
Drummond was hy Parliament declared sfuiliy 
of tre;ison. and his lands forfeited, because he 
had struck with his fist the Lion Km?-ai-arms. 
when he reproved him for his follies ' Nor 
was he restored, but at the Lion'8 earnest so- 
licilution. 



Note 2 Z. 

Cnchloiin Castle. — P. 101. 

A larse ruinous cijstle on the banks of the 
Tyne. ;'l);>ut ten miles from Edinburgh. \& 
iiidi(;;iij:d in the text, it was built at different 
times, and with a very differing regard to splen- 
dour and accommodation. The oldest part of 
the building is a narrow keep, or tower, such 
!ts formed the mansion of a lesser Scoliisli 
baron ; but so many additions have lieen made 
lo It. that there is now a lanre court-yard, sur- 
rounded hy hujldiuijs of different ases. Tiie 
eastern li'oiit of the court is raised above a 
portico, and decorated wiih entablatures, bear- 
ins; anchors. All the stones of this front are 
cut iii'o diamond facet.s. t,he angular projec- 
tions of which have an iinfrommonly rich ap- 
jipaiaiice. The inside of this part of the 
nuildiiiff appears to have cmiiaiiied a gallery 
of '.Treat lens' h. and uiicoiiimoli elegance. Ac- 
cess was ifiven to It by a iiiasiiiticent staircase, 
now quite destroyed. The soffits are oriia- 
niented With twining cordage and rosettes; 
and the whole seems td have been far more 
sple-idid than was usual in Scottish castles 
l^lie caslle belonged orisinally to the Chancel- 
lor. Sir William Cricliton, and probably owed 
to him its first enlargement, as well as its he- 
ins taiien by the Darl of Douulas, who imputed 
to Cricliton's coiiiisels the death of his pieile- 
cessor. Earl William, beheaded in Edinliursli 
Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is said lo 
have been totally demolished on that occasion ; 
but the present state of the ruin shows the 
contrary. In 1483, it was garrisoned by Lord 
Crichton. then its propr.etor. asainst King 
James HI., whose displeasure he had incu;red 



record expres-ses, or rather is said to liave ex- admonet." See Nisbcl's HfTa.Wrj;, Part iv. chap. 
he cause of forfeiiure In he. — " Eo quod Leonrm. Leelaei Hittoria ad Ann 
Itegem pugno violaitet Jum rum de inepliit mis 



hy seducing his sis'er Marsiaret, in revenge, it 
is said, for the Monarch having dishonoured 
his bed. From the Crichton family the castle 
p.i.ssed to that of the Hepburns, Earls Both- 
well; and when the forfeitures of Stewart, 
the bust Earl Bofhwell. w^re divided, the bar..- 
ny and castle of Crichton ft-ll to the share of 
the Earl of Uuccleuch Tliev were afterwards 
the property of liie Piins-les of Chf on. and are 
now that of Sir John Callender. Baronet. It 
were to he wished the proprietor would take 
a little pains to preserve these splendid re- 
mains of antiquity, which are at pre.sent used 
as a fold for sheep, and wintering c iitle ; al- 
though, perhaps, there are very few rums in 
Scotland which display so wellilie style and 
t»eauty of ancient castle-architecture. The 
castle of Crichton has a dungeon vault, called 
the Massy Mure. The epithet, which is not 
uncommonly applied to the prisons of other 
old (tasiles in Scoiland, is of S.iracenic origin. 
It occurs twice in the " Episinlce llimrancE'' of 
Tollius. '• Cnrrer stiMfrraiinia. sivn. ut Maun 
appellant. Mazniorra." p. 147; and again, - Co- 
ijuHlur rnnnes Caplivi suh itarltm in tnjnsfula 
stiblerranra, (fitce 'I'lirrce AUjizerniii vnraiit 
Mazinorras." p 213. The same word applies 
to the dungeons of the .uicient Moorish castles 
in Spain, and serves to show fioiii what nation 
the Gothic style of castle-building was origi- 
nally derived. 



Note 3 A. 

Earl Adam Hepburn. — P 101. 

He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and 
fell in the field of Flodden, where, according 
to an ancient English poet, he distinguisheil 
himself by a furious attempt to retrieve the 
day : — 

Then on Ihe Scottish part, right proud. 
The Earl of Boihwell then out hra»t, 

And sieppiug forlh. with s;omaih Ennd, 
Iiiio the enemies' Ihroiig he ihrnst ; 

Anil Bothwell '. Bothwell ! cried hnl>l. 



143 \ 



To. 



juldi. 



But there he caushl a wellcoine •old. 

The Knahshmen strai-ihl down him threw. 
Thus Haliurn through his hardy heart 
Hie fatal line in cnnHiii found," &i-. 

Flodden FieUi, a Poem ; eilited by 
H. Weber. ¥A\n. .fcOS. 

.Adam was grandfather to .lame?. Earl of 
BoMnvell. too well known in the history of 
Queen .Mary. 



Note 3 B. 

For that a. nifssfntjer from heavm. 
In vain lo Jnnvs hnd counsel tjivi n. 
Against the Ewjlish war. — P. 101. 

This story is told by Piscoltie with charac- 
teristic simplicity: — "The King, seeing that 
France could get no support of him for that 
time, made a proclamation, full hastily, through 
all the realm of Scotland, both east and west, 
south and north, as well in the isles as in the 



V 



/ 



f 144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



lie had Cdiisliucted for himself, with 
twelve st;ills for the Knights Coinjmnioiis of 
i.liH Older of the 'I'his'le. is still shown as the 
place where the appiai ilioii was seen I kiu»W 
not by what means St Aniliew ifot the credit 
of hiivin^ been the celebrated monitor of 
.lames IV.; for the expressKPii in Lindesay's 
narrative, " My mother has sent me," could 
only be used by St John, the adopted son of 
the Virgin Mary. The whole story is so well 
atiesled.that wehave only the choice between 
a miracle or an imposture Mr. Pinkertoii 
plausibly aii^ues, from the caution against in- 
confitience, thai the Queen was privy to the 
scheme ot those who had recourse to this ex- 
pedient to deier King James from his impolitic 
war. 



Note 3 C. 

The wild-buck bells.— p. 



102. 



$^ 



fi-m land to all manner of men between sixtv I rumoribiis fabulum, omissurtis eram."—\Ah. xiii. 
niid sixi e'en years, that they should be ready, Ihe King's throne, in St Catherine's aisle, 
within twenty days, to pass with him, with whic 

forty days victual, and to meet at the Burn.w- * '• 

miiir of 'Edinburgh, and there to pass forward 
where he pleased. His proclamations were 
hastily obeved. contrary the Council ot Scot- 
land's will; but every man loved his prince so 
well that they would on no ways disobey him ; 
buteverv man caused make his pn.claniation 
so hastily, conform to the charge of the King's 
proclamation. 

"t'lie Kim; came to Lithsow. where he hap- 
pened to be for the time at the Council, very 
sad and doh)roUs, inakimi his devotion to God. 
to send him sooil chance and fortune in his 
Voyage. In this meantime there came a man, 
clad in a blue sown, m at the kirk door, and 
belted about him in a roll of linen cloth; a 
pair of brotikin','s ' cm his feet, to the great of 
his less: with all other hose and clothes con- 
form thereto; hut he had nothing on his head, 
butsyde^ red yellow hair behind, and on his 
haffets.3 which" wan down to his shoulders; 
hut his forehead was bald and bare. He 
seemed to be a man of two and-fifty years, 
with a srreat pike-staff in his hand, and came 
first forward among the lords, crying and 
sneiring"* for the Km?, saying, he desired to 
speak with him. While, at the last, he came 
where Ihe Km;; was sittiti:? In the desk at his 
prayers ; but when he saw the Kins, he made 
him little reverence or salutation, but leaned 
down groffling on the desk before him, and 

said to him in this manner, as after foHows: 

'Sir Kins, my mother hath sent me to you, 

desiritiK you not to pass, at this time, where 

thou art purposed; for if thou does, thou wilt 

not fare well in thy joiiruey, nor none that 

passeih with thee. Further, she bade thee 

niell^ with no woman, nor use their counsel 

nor let them touch thy body, nor Ihou theirs 

for if lliiiU do it, tlioU wilt be confounded and 

brought to shame.' 
By this man had spoken tliir words unto the 

King's grace, the eveiiins-sons: was near done. 

and the Kinj;: paused on thir words, studying 

to give him tm answer; but, in the meantime, 

before the King's eyes, and in the presence of 

all the lords that were about him for the time, 

this man vanished away, and could no ways 

be seen or comprehended, but vanished away 

as he h.id been a blink of the sun, or a whip 

of the whirlwind, and could no more be seen. 

1 heard say. Sir Uavid Lmdestiy Lyon-heiauld. 

and John Inglis the marshal, who were, at 

that time, yoUng men, and special servants to 

the King's grace, were standing presently be- 
side the King, who thought to have laid hands 

on this man. that tliev nnglit have speired fur- 
ther tidings at him ; But all for nought; they 

could not touch hiiii : for he vanished away 

betwixt them, and was no more seen." 

Buchanan, in more elegant, though not more 

impressive langutige, tells the same story, and 

quotes the personal information of our Sir Da- 

viil Lindesay : " In hs, (i. e. qui propins aslile- 

rant) Juil David Lindemus, Muntanus, homo 

specials Jiilei it prohilatis. nfc a liltrarum stu- 

diis alinius. tl cnjus tolius vilae tenor lo7i(jissimc 

a mcnlitnilo nhe.rral ; a (/uo 7nst fyo hcEC uli tra 

didi, pro cfrlis arrepisseni, tU iml<j(i/iim vanis 



1 am glad of an opportunity to describe the 
cry of the deer by another word than hrnymi/, 
although the latter has been sanctified by the 
Use of the Scottish metrical iranshition of the 
Psalms. Bell seems to be an abbreviation of 
bellow. I'his sylvan sound conveyed great 
delight to our ancestors, chiefly. 1 suppose, 
from association. A gentle knight in the reign 
of Henry VIII , Sir Thomas Wortley. built. 
Wantley Lodge, in Wancliffe Forest, for the 
pleasure (as an ancient insciipliou testifies) of 
" listening to the hart's bell." 



Note 3 D. 

June saw his father's overthrow. — P. 102. 

The rebellion against James III. was sig- 
nalized by the criiel circumstance of his son's 
presence in the hostile army. When the King 
saw his own banner displayed against him, 
and his son in the faction of his enemies, he 
lost the little courage he had ever possessed, 
fled out of the field, fell from his horse as it 
started at a woman and water-pitcher, and 
was slain, it is not well Understood by whom. 
James IV , after the battle, passed to Stirling, 
and hearing the monks of the chapel-royal de- 
ploring the death of his father, their founder, 
lie was seized with deep remorse, which 
manifested itself in severe penances. See a 
following Note on stanza ix. of canto v. The 
battle of Sauchie-burn, in which James III. 
fell, w;ts fought 18th June, 1488. 



Note 3 E. 

The Borough-moor. — P. 104. 

The Borough, or Common Moor of Edin- 
burgh, was of very gretit extent, reaching 
from the .southern walls of the city to the bot- 
tom of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest; 
and, in that state, was so great a nuisance 



Auk lug. 



6 Meddle. 



y^ 



7^ 



APPP]NDIX TO MARMION. 



145 > 



tlijit the iiilial)itaii;s of Edmhiirsh luul permis- 
sion S'Hiiied to tlieiri of lniililni;; wooilea iinl- 
lenes. projerling: over the street, in order to 
eiiooura;:e thetii to consume the tiniher, which 
they seem to have done very effectually. 
When James IV mustered the array ol llie 
kinsjoiii triere. in lr>l3. the Borough -moor 
was. aocordms: to Hawihornden, " a field spa- 
cious, and dehirhtfiil hy the shade of many 
sately and ased oaks." Upon thai, and simi- 
lar occasions, tlie royal standard is tradition- 
ally said to have heeii displayed fiom the 
H:i're-Slaiie, a hisli stone, now built into the 
wall, on the left hand of the liish-way ieadin? 
towards Braid, not far from tiie head of Buriits- 
ficld Links. The Hare-Slane prohahly denvrs 
its name from the British word Har, signifying; 
an army. 



Note 3 F. 

Pavilions — P. 10 1 

I do not exactly know the Scottish mode of 
encampment in 15i:j. hut Patten gives a cu- 
rious descnptum of that which he saw after 
the bai le of Pinkey, in Lit? :— •• Here now, to 
say somewhat of the manner of their camp. 
As they had no pavilions, or round houses, of 
any commendable compass, so wear there lew 
or her tentes with pos's, as the used manner 
of m ikina: is; and of these few also, none of 
ahi)ve twenty foot length, but most far under; 
tor the most part all very sumptuously beset, 
(afier their fashion,) for tlie love of France, 
with fleur-de-lys, some of blue buckerain, 
some of black, and some of some other co- 
lours. These white ridses. as I call them, 
that, as we stood on Fauxsyde Bray, did make 
so ijreat muster toward us. which I did take 
tliHii to be a number of tentes. when we came 
we found it a linen drapery, of the coarser 
(•ambry k in dede, for it was all of canvas 
sheets, and wear the tenticles. or rather ca- 
bins and couches of their soldiers; the which 
(much after the common buildmsf of their 
Country beside) had they framed of four sticks, 
about an ell lorn? a piece, whearof two fastened 
toseiher at one end alof:, and the two elides 
beneath stuck in the ground, an ell asunder, 
suindmg in f;i.shion like the bowes of a sowes 
voke; over two such bowes (one, as it were, 
at their head, the other at their feet.) they 
stretched a sheet down on both sides, whereby 
their cabin became roofed like a rid^e, but 
.'■kant shut at both ends, and not very close 
beneath on the sides, unless iheir sticks were 
the shorter, or their wives the more liberal to 
lend them larijer napery : howbeit, when they 
had lined them, and stuifd them so thick with 
straw, with the weather as it was not very 
cold, wlien they wear ones couched, they 
were as warm as they had been wrapt in 
li>rses dung." — Patten's Account of Somerset's 
Expedition. 



Note 3 G. 

in prowl Srollnnd's roi/at shield. 

The ruddy lion ramp'd in yo'd — P. lOi. 

The well-known arms of Scotland If you 
will believe Boetluus and Buchanan, the dou- 



ble tressure round the shield, mentionci!. 
counter Jleur-de-lysed or Imuued and armed 
azure, was first assumed by Echaius, King of 
Scotland, contem[iorary of Charlemagne, and 
founder of the celebrated League with Fiance; 
but later antiquaries make poor Eochy, or 
Achy, little better than a sort of King of Brent- 
ford, whom old Grig (who has also swelled 
into Gregorius Magnus) associated with him- 
self in the important duty of governing some 
part of the uorlh-easiern coast of Scotland. 



Note 3 H. 

Caledonia's Queen is changed. 



P. ICI. 



The Old Town of Edinbureh was secured 
on the north side by a lake, now drained, and 
in the south by a wall, which there was some 
attenijit to make defensible even so late as 
1745. The gates, and the greater part of the 
wall, have been pulled down, in the course of 
late extensive and beautiful enlargement 
of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, 
Mr. Thomas Campliell. proposed to celebrate 
Edinburgh under the epitiiet here borrowed. 
But the "Queen of the North" has not been 
so fortunate as to receive from so eminent a 
pen the proposed distinction. 



Note 3 I. 

Since first, when conquering York arose. 
To Henry meek she gave repose. — P. 106. 

Henry VI.. with his Queen, his heir, and the 
chiefs (if his family, fled to Scotland after the 
fatal battle of Tovvion. In this note a doubt 
was formerly expressed, whether Henry VI. 
came to Edinburgh, though his Queen cer- 
tainly did; Mr. Pinkerton inclining to believe 
that he remained at Kirkcudbright. But my 
noble friend. Lord Napier, has pointed out to 
me a grant by Henry, of an annuity of forty 
marks to his Lordship's ancestor. John .Ma|)ier, 
subscribed bv the King himself, at Edinburgh, 
the 28th day of August, in the thirty-ninth 
year of his reign, wluch corresponds to the 
year of G<id. 1461. This grant, Douglas, with 
his usual neglect of accuracy, dates in 1368. 
But this error being corrected from the copy 
in Macfarlane's MSS., p. 1)9, 20, removes all 
scepticism on the subject of Henry VI. being 
really at Edinburgh. John Napier was son 
and heir of Sir Alexander Napier, and about 
this time was Provost of Edinburgh. The 
hospitable reception of the distressed monarch 
and his family, called forth on Scotland the 
encomium of Molinet, a contemporary poet. 
The English people, he says,— 

" TJng noaccio roy cre'rent. 

Par despileux vottloir, 

Le viel en lUbuutererU, 

El son tefitimf hoir. 

Qui .Hyluf alia prcndr'^ 

D'B^cosse le garani, 

Ve tows si'cles le niendre. 

El teplus toUfTint." 

Recollection des ATantnie*. 



"V 



7 



:^ 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Note 3 K. 

ihf romantic strain. 

Whose Anylo- Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Hiury's ear. — P. 106. 

Mr. Ellis, ill his v;ilual)le liiModnction to 
the "Specimens of Koniiiice,'' has pinved. hy 
the concurring: testimony of La KavaiUere, 
Tiessan, hui. especially the Abbe tie la Kue, 
that the courts of our Anglo Norman Kings, 
lather than those of the French monarch, pro- 
duced the birth of Romance literature. Ma- 
ne, soon af'er mentioned, cctmpiled from Ar- 
niorican originals, and translated into Nornian- 
Frenoli, or romance language, the twelve 
curious Lays, of which Mr. Ellis has given us 
a precis in the Appendix to his Introducti(»n. 
The story of Blondel, the famous and faithful 
minstrel of Richard L, needs no commentary. 



Note 3 L. 

The clotfi-ynrd arrows. — P. 107. 

This is no poetical exaggeration. In some 
of the counties of England, distinguished for 
archery, shafts of this extraordinary length 
were actually used. Thus, at the battle of 
Blackheath. between the troops of Henry Vll., 
and the Cornish insurgents, in 1496, the bridge 
of Dartford was defended by a picked band of 
archers from the rebel army. " whose arrows," 
says Hollinshed. " were in length a full cloth 
yard " The Scottish, according to Ascham, 
had a proverb, that every English archer car- 
ried under his belt twenty-four Scots, in allu- 
sion to his bundle of unerring shafts. 



Note 3M. 

TV) jinss, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
And hujh rurvett, Ihnt not ui vam 
The sword stvay miijht descend amain 
Onfoeman's casque below. — P. 107. 

"The most useful air, as the Frenchmen 
term it, is tcrrUerr ; the courhettes, cabnoles, or 
unpas el un sault, being fitter for horses of pa- 
rade and triumph than for soldiers : yet I can- 
not deny but a demrvo/.te with courhettes, so 
that they he not too hig'.i, may be useful in a 
fight or mps/ee ; for, as Labroue hath it, in his 
Book of Horsemanship, Monsieur de Montmo- 
rency having a horse that was excellent in 
performing the demivolte, did. with his sword, 
strike down two adversaries from their horses 
in a tourney, where divers of the prime gal- 
lants of France did meet ; for, taking his time, 
when the horse was in the height oi courbetle, 
and discharging a blow then, his sword fell 
with such weight and force upon the two ca- 
valiers, one after another, that he struck them 
from their hor>es to the ground." — iorJ Her- 
bert of Cherbury's Life, p. 48. 



Note 3 N. 

He saw the hnrdy burghers there 

March arni'd on foot with faces bare.—V. 107. 



The Scottish burgesses were, like yeomen, 
appointed to be armed with bows and sheaves, 
sword, liuckler, knife, spear, or a good axe in- 
stead of a bow, if worth 10(U. : their armour 
to be of white or bright harness. They wore 
while hats, i. e. bright steel ca))s. without crnst 
or visor. By an act of James i V. their wewjmn- 
schawings are appointed to be held foiT times 
a-year, under the aldermen or bailiffs. 



Note 3 0. 

On foot the yeoman too 

Each at his hack (a slender store) 
His fmly days' prolusion bore. 
His arms were halbert, axe, or spear. — P. 107, 

Bows and quivers were in vain reroiii- 
mended to the peasantry of Scotland, by re- 
peated statutes : spears iind axes seem uni- 
versally to have been used ii>slead of theni. 
Their defensive armour was the plate-jack. 
)kauherk,or brigantine; and their missile wea- 
p<ins crossbows and culveiins. All wore 
.swords of excellent temper, according to Pat- 
ten ; and a voluminous handkerchief round 
their neck, "not for cold, but for cutting." 
The mace also was much used in the Scottish 
army : The old poem on the battle of Fioddeii 
mentions a band — 



When the feudal array of the kingdom was 
called forth, each man was obliged to appear 
with forty days' provision. V\ hen this was 
expended, which took place before the battle 
of Flodden, the army melted away of course. 
.Almost all the Scottish forces, except a few 
knights, men-at-arms, and the Border- prickers, 
who formed excellent light-cavalry, acted 
upon foot. 



Note 3 P. 

A banquet rich, and costly wines.. — P. 109. 

In all transactions of great or petty import- 
ance, and among whomsoever taking place, rt 
would seem that a present of wine was a uni- 
form and indispensable preliminary. It was 
not to Sir John Falstaff alone that such an 
introductory preface was necessary, however 
well judged and acceptable on the p;;rl of Mr. 
Brook ; for Sir Ralph Sadler, while on a?i em- 
bassy to Scotland in J539-40, Tiientions. with 
complacency, "the same night came Rothesay 
(the herald so called) to me again, and brought 
me wine from the King, both white and red." 
— Clifford's Edition, p. 39. 



Note 3 Q. 

his iron-belt, 



Thai bouTid his breast in penance pain. 
In memory of his father slain. — P. 109. 

Few readers need to be reminde'l of this 
belt, to the weight of which James added cer- 
tain ounces every year that he lived. Pits- 



rA 



\ CO 

' si: 



APPENDIX TO MARMION 



cottie founds his belief, that James was not 
slam in the battle of F'loddeii. because the 
Eiisrlish never had this token of the iron-belt 
to sliovv to any Scottishman. The person and 
rhafBOter of James are delnieated accordms to 
our best historians His romantic disposition, 
which led him highly to relish gaiety, ap- 
proaching to license, was, at the same time, 
tinned wi' h enthusiastic devotion. These pro- 
jiensities sometimes formed a strange contrast. 
He was wont, durins his fits of devotion, to 
iissiiine the dress, and conform to the rules, of 
llie order of Franciscans ; and when he had 
thus done |)enance for some time in Stirlin;?, 
to phniije Htraiii into the tide of pleasure. 
Probably, too. with no unusual inconsisieticy. 
lie sometimes laughed at tlie superstitious ob- 
servances to wlii'.h he at other times sub- 
jected himself There is a very sinsrular poem 
by Dunbar, seeminsly addressed to James IV , 
on one of these occasions of monasric seclu- 
sion. It IS a most daring and profane piirody 
on the services of the Ciiurch of Rome, enti- 
tled,— 

"ZJunAar'i Dlrlte to the King, 
By'ling over tang in !ttriVUing." 
We that are l)ere, in heaven's glory, 
"To you that are in Purgatory, 
Commend u« on our heariy wise I 
1 mean we folks in I'arailise, 
In E(lint>ur^h. AViih all merrinesn, 
'I'o you in Silrliiii;. with distrew, 
Where neither pleisurr nor delight is, 
For pity this epistle wriii.i," tec. 

See the whole in Sibbald's Collection, vol. i. 
p. 23A. 



Note 3 R. 

Sir Hugh the Heron's wife.- 



-P. 109. 



147 



love, showing him that she suffered much re- 
buke 111 France for the defendiiii; of Ins houour. 
She believed fully that he would iecnmpen»e 
her again, wi.ti some of Ins kinglv support in 
her necessity ; tliat is to say, that he would 
raise her an army, and come three foot of 
ground on English ground, for her sake To 
that effect siie sent him a ring oflf her finger, 
with fourteen thousand French crowns to pay 
his expenses." PUscoUie, p 1)0. — A turquoia 
ring; probably this fatal gift is, with James's 
Bword and dagger, preserved in the College of 
Heraldu. London. 



\ 



Note 3 T. 

Archibald BeU-the-Cat. 



P. 110. 



It iia, been already noticed, [see note to K^^^'^r.^^Z^'^U^'nT^'Zeea 
tanza xhi. of canto i J that King James's ac- oro'^ietv of his measu;e f '.rdG r^v 
luamtaiK^e with l.ady Heron of Ford did not Pl^i*.. t '^ ^ .„ •!..^^.'^^"'^.'^; u„ x.„ '.'^..^ 



8taiiz;i 

quaintaiKie with l.ady liert»n 
commence until he marched into England. 
Our historians iiiitiute to the King's infatuated 
passion the delays which led to the fatal defeat 
ofFloddeii. Tlu- author <if -The Genealogy 
of tiie Heron Family" endeavours, with laud- 
able anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford from this 
scandal : that she came and went, however, 
between the armies of James and Surrey, is 
certain See Pinkerton's History, and the au- 
thorities he refers to. vol ii p 99 Heron of 



Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man 
remarkable for strength of body and mind, 
acquired the popular name oi' BeU-the-Cat, 
upon the following remarkable occasion: — 
James the Tliird. of whom Fitscot tie complains, 
that he delighted more in music, and " policies 
of building," than in hunting, hawking, and 
other noble exerciBes. Was 90 ill advised, as to 
make favourites of his architects and musi- 
cians, whom the same historian irreverently 
terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, who 
did not sympathize in the King's respect for 
the fine arts, were extremely incensed at the 
honours conferred on those persons, particu- 
larly on Cochrane, a mason, who had been 
created Earl of Mar; and. seizing the oppor- 
tunity, when, in 1482. the King had convoked 
the whole array of the country to march 
against the English, they held a midnight coun- 
cil in the church of Lauder, for the purpose of 
111 the 
)n the 
. Id the 
assembly the apologue of the Mice, who had 
formed a resolution, that it would lie highly 
advantageous to tlieir community to tie a bell 
round the cat's neck, that they mighi he.ir her 
approach at a distance; but which public 
measure unfortunately miscarried, from no 
mouse being willing to undertake the task of 
fastening the bell. "I undersland the moral," 
said Angus, '-and, that what we propose may 
not lack execution, 1 will bf.ll-lhe-ral." The 
rest of the strange scene is thus told by Pits- 



F'ord had been, in 1511, in some sort accessory j j.y|_tjg ■ 

to the slaughter of Sjf Kol'e't Kerr of Cess- .. ^3 ' ^^^^ ^^^ 3dv\^ei\ and spoken by thir 
ford. VVarden of the Middle .Marches It was I i„rds fore.said. Cochran, the Earl of Mar, came 
coinmitted tiy his brother the bastard Lilburn fr„„, ,|,e King to the council, (which council 
aiid btarked, three Borderers. I.ilburn and ^^ [^„,j^„ j^ i,,^ j^j^k of Lauder f.,r the tune.) 
Her.mofl-ord were delivered up hv Henry to ^vho was well accompanied with a band of 
James, and were imprisoned in t^he fortress of | ^len of war, to the number of three hundred 



Fastcastle, where the former died. Part of 
the pretence of Lady Ford's negotiations with 
James was the liberty of her husband. 



Note 3 S. 

The fnir Queen of France • 
Sent hvn n turquois ring and gJove, 
And charged hi>n. as her kntghl and love, 
For her to break a lance. — P. 1(»9. 
*• .'Vlso the Queen of France wrote a love- 
letter to the King of Scotland, calling hini her 



light axes, all clad in wlnte livery, and black 
bends thereon, that they misht be known for 
Cochran the Earl of Mar's men. Hiiiisell was 
clad in a riding- pie of black velvet, with a 
great chain of gold about his neck, to the 
value of five hundred crowns, and four blow- 
ing-horns, with both ends of gold and silk, set 
with a precious stone, called a berryl, hanging 
in the midst. This Cochran had his heuiiiun'r, 
borne betbre him overgilt with gold, and .so 
were all the rest of his horns, and all his pal- 
lions were of fine canvas of silk, am 
cords thereof fine twined silk, and the chains 



^ 



kills ^ 

■A- 



f 148 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



upon his pallious were double overgilt vvitli 
gold. 

" This Cochran was so proud in his conceit, 
that he counted no lords to be marrows lo 
him. llierefoie he rushed rudely ut the kirk- 
liuor. 'I he couiici! inquired who it was that 
perturbed them at that time. Sir Kobert 
Douslas. Laird of Lochleven, was keeper of 
tlie kirk-door at that time, who inquired who 
that was that knocked so rudely ? and Cochran 
answered, " Tins is I, the Earl of Mar.' Tiie 
which news pleased well the lords, because 
Ihey were ready boun to cause take him, as is 
before rehearsed. Then the Earl of Angus 
passed hastily to the d<ior, and with him Sir 
Robert Douglas, of Lochleven, there to receive 
in tlie Karl of Mar, and so many of his com- 
plices who were there, as they thought good. 
And the Earl of Angus met with the Earl of 
Mar, Qs he came in at the door, and pulled the 
golden cliain from his craur, and said to him, 
a tow 1 would set him better. Sir Robert 
Douglas .syne pulled the blowing horn from 
him in like manner, and said, ' He had been 
the hunter of mischief over long.' This Coch- 
ran asked, ' My lords, is it niows,^ or earn- 
est ?' They answered, and said. 'It is good 
earnest, and so thou shalt find ; for thou and 
thy Complices have abused our prince this hmg 
time; of whom thou shalt have no more cre- 
dence, but shalt have thy reward according to 
thy good service, as thou hast deserved in 
limes bypast; right so the rest of thy follow- 
ers.' 

'• Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet 
till they caused certain armed men to pass into 
the Kiiig's (lallion, and two or three wise men 
to pass with them, and give the King fair 
pleasant words, till they laid hands on all the 
King's servauls, and took them and hansed 
tliein before his eyes over the hridse of Law- 
der. Incontinent they brought forth Cochran, 
and his hands hound witli a tow, who desired 
them to take one of his own pallion tows and 
hind his hands, for he thought shame to have 
his hands bound with such tow of hemp, like 
a lliicf The lords answered, he was a traitor, 
he tieserved no better; and, for despight, they 
took a hair-tether.3 and hanged him over the 
bridge of Lawder. above tlie rest of his coxw- 
phcus." — J 'Uscollie, p. 78, folio edit. 



name of Douglas. The aged Earl, broken- 
learted at the calamities of his hoiise and hn 
fiountry, retired into a religious house, where 
he died about a year after the field of Fh)ddeu 



Note 3 V. 

Tantallonhold, — ?. 110. 

The rums of Tantallon Csis'le occupy a high 
rock projecting into the German Ocean, about 
two miles east of North Berwick. The build- 
ing IS not seen till a close approach. £is there 
is rising ground betwixt it and the land. The 
circuit is of large extent, fenced upon three 
sides by the precipice which overhangs the sea, 
and on the fourth bv a double ditch and very 
strong outworks, 'rantatton was a principal 
castle of the Douglas family, and when the 
Earl of Angus was banished, in 1527. it conti- 
nued to hold out against James V, The King 
went in person against, it, and for its reduction, 
borrowed from the Castle of Dunbar, then 
belonging to the Duke of Albany, two great 
nous, whose names, as Pitscottie mforms 
us with laudable minuteness, were " Thrawn- 
ulh'd iMes and her Marrow;" also, "two 
great botcartls, and two nioyan, two double 
falcons, and four quarter falcons;" for the 
safe guiding and re-dehvery of which, three 
lords were laid in pawn at Dunbar. Yet, not- 
withstanding all this apparatus, James was 
forced to raise the siege, and only afierwards 
ol)tained possession of Tantallon by treaty 
with the governor, Simon Panango. When 
the Earl of Ansus returned from banishment, 
upon the death of James, he asain obtained 
possession of Tantallon. and it actually afford- 
ed refuge to an English ambassador, under 
circumstances similar lo those de.-icrib.-d m the 
text. This was no other than the celebrated 
Sir Ralph Sadler, who resided there for some 
time under Angus's protection, afler the failure 
of his negotiation for matching the infant 
Mary with Edward VI. He says, that though 
this place was poorly furnished, it was of such 
strength as might warrant him against the 
malice of his enemies, and that he now 
thought himself out of danger.* 

There is a military tradition, that the old 
Scottish March was meant to express the 
words, 



Note 3 U. 

Againsl. the war had Anijics stood. 
And ckajed Ids royal iord.—f. 110. 

Angus was an old man wheu the war against 
England was resolved uiion. He earnestly 
spoke against that measure from its commence- 
ment; and, on the eve of the battle of Plod- 
den, remonstrated so freely upon the impolic> 
of tighimg, that the King said to him, wiii 
scorn and indignation, "if he was ;ifraid lu 
might go home." The Earl burst into tears 
at I ins iiisup()ort,ible insuli.and retired accord 
ingly, leaving Ins sons George. Master of Angus 
and Sir William of Glenbervie. to command 
his followers. They were botli slain m tl 
battle, with two hundred gentlemen of II 



4 The very curious 



Tantallon was at length "dung down" and 
ruined by the Covenanters; its lord, the Mar- 
quis of Douglas, being a favourer of the royal 
cause. The castle and l)arony were sold in 
the beginning of the eighteenth century to 
President Dalrymple of North Berwick, by the 
then Marquis of Douglas. 



Note 3 W. 

Thar %otto on his blade. — P. 110. 

A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord 
Douglas, bears, among a great deal of flour- 



;4 



r 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 




ishin?, two hands pointing: to a heart, which is 
placeil betwixt them, and the date 1329, bein^ 
the year iu whicli Briire charjred ttie Good 
Lord Douglas to narry tiis heart, to the Holy 
Land. The t'oUoWiuu' hfies (the first couplet 
of which IS quoted liy God.scrofl as a popular 
say II)!; in his lime) are inscribed around the 
emblem : 



I will ye chart;!', after yat I tlepart, 
To holy grawe, ana ihair bury my hart; 
Lei It reniaiie ever io/Ac lymt and howr, 
To yc last day I sie 



This curious and valuable relic was nearly 
lost durinsT Ihe civil-war of 174.T-6, l)eing car- 
ried away frmii Dniifflas-Castle by some of 
those iu arms for Prince Ciiailes. But great 
interest haviiii? been made by the Duke of 
Dousflas amonsr the chief partisans of the Stu- 
art. It was at length restored. It resembles a 
Hiirlihiiid claymore, of the u.sual size, is of an 
excellent temper, and admirably poised. 



Note 3 X. 

Marlin Swart. — P. 112. 

A German Keneral, who commanded the 
auxiliaries sent l)y the Duchess of Biirsuiidy 
wiih Lambert Simiiel. He was defeated and 
killed at Stoketield. The name of this German 
general is preserved by that of the field i/f l)at- 
tie. which is calletl, afier him. Swart-nionr. — 
There were sonu:s about Imn Ions (Mirrent in 
England— See Dissertation prefixed to Hit- 
sou's Ancitnl Songs, 1792, p Ixi. 



Note 3 Y. 

Perchance some form was unnhserveil ; 
I'erchancf. in prayer, or faith, he swerved. — P. 
112. 

It was early necessary for those who felt 
tliemselves obliged to believe in the divine 
judgment being enunciated in the trial by duel, 
to find salvos for the .strange and obviously 
precarious chances of the combat. Various 
curious evasive shifts, used by those who took 
up an unriu:hteous quarrel, were sU(iposed suf- 
ficient to convert it into a just one. Thus, m 
the romance of- Amys and Amelion." the one 
brother-in-arms, fighting for the other, dis- 
guised in his armour, swears that he did not 
commit the crime of which the Steward, his 
antagonist, truly, though maliciously, afcnsed 
him whom he represeiiied Bruntome tells a 
story of an Italian, who entered the lists upon 
an unjust quarrel, but, to make his cause good, 
fled from his enemy at the first onset. '* Turn, 
coward!" exclaimed his antagonist. "Thou 
liest." said the Italian, "coward am I none; 
and in this quarrel will I light to the death, 
but my first c.iuse of combat was unjust, and 
I abandon it." " Je voux hiisse ii p/7istr," adds 
Braniouie, " s'il n'l/ a pas de L' abus la." Else- 
wiiere he says, very sensibly, upon the confi- 



dence which those who had a righteous cause 
enlcrtained of victory: " Un autre abus yavott- 
il, que cevx qui nvoient un juste sulrjel de guerelle, 
et qu'on les fiisoit jurer avanl entrer att camp, 
pensoiml estre uussilost vauiqueur.i, voire sVn 
assuroient t-ils du tout, mcstties que leurs confes- 
seurs pnrratns et conjidonlsj^rs en respotidoienl 
loul-a-fnit, comme si Dicu tear en eust donne 
une palvnle ; et ne reqardanl point a d'aulres 
fautcs passees, et que Dicu en gardf. la punilion 
a ce coup la pour plus yrande, despiteuse, el ex- 
empluire." Discours sur les Duels. 



Note 3 Z. 

The Cross.—?. 112. 

The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and 
curious structure. The lower part was an 
octagonal tower, sixteen feet in diameter, and 
aboiit fifteen feet high. At each angle there 
was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the 
Grecian shape. Above these was a projecting 
battlement, with a turret at each corner, and 
medallions, of rude but curious workmanship, 
between them. Above this rose the proper 
Cross, a column of one stone, upwards of 
twenty feet high, surmounted with a unicorn. 
This pillar is preserved in the grounds of the 
property of Drum, near Edinburgh. The Ma- 
iristraies of Edinburgh, in 17.56. with consent 
of the Lord.s of Session, (proh pudor !) destroyed 
this curii>us monument, under a Wiiiiton pre- 
text that it encumbered the street ; while, on 
the one hand, they left an ugly mass called the 
Liickenbooths, and. on the other, an awkward, 
long, and low guard-house, which were fifiy 
times more encumbrance than the venerable 
and innoiFensive Cross. 

From the tower of the Cro.ss. so long as it 
remained, the heralds pultlished the a(;t.s of 
Parliament; and its site, marked by radii, di- 
verging from a stone centre, m the High Street, 
IS still the place wliere proclamations are 
made. 



Note 4 A. 

This awful summons came. — P. 113. 

This supernatural citation is mentioned by 
all our Scottish historians. It was, probably. 
like the appariiion at Linlithgow, an attempt, 
by I hose averse to the war, to impose upon the 
superstitious temper of James IV The follow- 
ing accouiH from Pitscotiie is characteristicaliy 
minuie, and furnishes, besides, .some curious 
liarticulars of the equipment of the army c)f 
James IV I need only add to it, that Plot- 
cock, or Plutock. is no other than Pluto. The 
Christians of the middle ages by no means 
misbelieved in the existence of the neatheii 
deities ; they only considered them as devils ; i 
and Plotcock. so far from implying any thing 
fabulous, WU.S a syinmyme of the granil enemy 
of mankind. "Yet all thir warmiiifS, and un- 



1 See, on this curious subject, the Ussay ou Fairies, in 
the " Bonier Minstrelsy." vol ii. under the fourth head; 
also Jach.-on on Unbelief. (.. 175 Chaucer calls Fluio the 
■• King of F:ierie ;" and Dunbar names him, •• ri 
elrich incubus." If he was not actually the d 



k 



13^ 



7 



150 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



of V 

^ knigl 



couth ti(lin2;s, nor no ^ood oounsel. misht stop 
UieKine.ai tins present, from his vain purpose, 
and wicked enteipiize, l)Ut hasted him fast to 
p;(hnhinirh, and there to make his provision and 
rnniishins. in havin? Hirih his armyaKaiust the 
(lav aiipointed, tli:it I hey should meet in the Bur- 
row-ninir of Edmburgh : That is to say, seven 
cannons tliat he had forth of the Castle of 
Edintiiirijii, wliich were called the Seven Sis- 
ters, (•ast(ni liy Kiihert Bortliwick, the master- 
ennner. Willi other small artillery, hnllet, pow- 
der, and all manner of order, as the master- 
ffiiimer could devise. 

'• In this meantime, when they were taking: 
firth their artillery, and the King being in the 
Ahliev tiir the time, there was a cry heard at 
the Market-cross of Edinlnirgh, at the hour of 
nndniijlit, proclaimina: as it had heen a sum- 
mons, which was named and called by the 
proclaimer thereof. The Summons of Plot- 
ccpck ; which desired all men to compear, both 
Earl, and Lord, and Baron, and all honest gen- 
tlemen wiriiiii the town, (every man specified 
by Ins own name.) to compear, within tlie 
space of forty days, before his nuister. where 
it should happen him to appoint, and be for 
the time, under the pain of disobedience. But 
whether this summons was proclaimed by vain 
persons, night-walkers, or drunken men, for 
their pastime, or if it was a spirit, I cannot tell 
truly; but it was shewn to me, that an in- 
dweller of the town, Mr. Richard Lawson, 
being evil-disposed, ganging: in his gallery-stair 
foreaneiit the Cross, hearhig this voice pro- 
claiming this summons, thought marvel what 
i' should be, cried on his servant to bring him 
his purse; and when he had brought him it, 
he took out a crowti, and cast over the stair, 
saying, 'I appeal from that summons, judg- 
ment, and sentence thereof, and takes me all 
whole in the mercy of God, and Christ Jesus 
his son.' Verily, the author of this, that 
caused me write the manner of this summons, 
was a landed gentleman, who was at that 
time twenty years of age, and was in the town 
the time of the said summons; and thereafter, 
when the field was stricken, he swore to ine, 
there wiiij no man escaped that was called in 
this siiiiimoiis. but that one man alone which 
made Ins protes;ation, and appealed from the 
said smninoii.s; but all the lave were perished 
m the field with the king." 



Note 4 B. 

0;ic of his own anctslry, 

Drove tlie Monks for Ik of Coventry. — P. 114. 

This relates to the catastntphe of a real 
Robert de Marmion. in the reign of King Ste- 
phen, whom William Newbury describes with 
some attributes of my fictitious hero: •' Homo 
htllwosus, Jerocia, et listucia, ftrit nuUo suo tem- 
pore mipar." This Baron, having expelled the 
Monks from the church of Coventry, was not 
long of experiencing the divine judgment, as 



iiiie of the power of the air." 
! of these Kurviving cla.sslcal 
t of the Germans, concernii<g the Hill 
•h she attempts to entire all gallant 
them there in a iiort of Fool's ?ara- 



of Venus, into wl 
ights, anJ detail 



the same Monks, no doubt, termed his disas- 
ter. Having waged a feudal war with the 
Earl of Chester, Marmion's horse fell, as he 
charged in the van of his troop, against a body 
of the Earl's followers: the rider's tliigh being 
broken by the fall, his head was cut off by a 
common foot-soldier, ere he could receive any 
succour. The whole story is told by William 
of Newbury. 



Note 4 C. 

the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain. — P. 115. 

The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still 
applied to Christinas in Scotland) was solem- 
nized with great festivity. The humour of the 
Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each 
other with bones; and Torfaeus tells a long 
and curious story, in the History of Horolfe 
Kraka, of one Hdttus, an inmate of the Court 
of Denmark, who was so generally a.ssailed 
with these missiles, that he constructed, out 
of the bones with which he was overwhelmed, 
a very respectable intrenchment. against those 
who continued the raillery. The dances of the 
northern warriors round the great fires of 
pine-trees, are commemorated by Oians Mag- 
nus, who says, they danced with such fury 
holding each other by the hands, that, if the 
grasp of any failed, he was pitched intfi the 
fire with the velocity of a sling. The sufferer, 
on such occasions, was instantly plucked out, 
and obliged to quaff a certain aieasiire of ale, 
as a penalty for "spjil.ag chs king's fire." 



Note 4 D. 

On Christmas eve. — P. 1 15. 

In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never 
said at night, except on (Christmas eve. Each 
of the frolics with which that holiday u.sed to 
be celebrated, might admit of a long and curi- 
ous note ; but 1 shall content myself with the 
following description of Christmas, and his at- 
tributes, as personified in one of Ben Jonson's 
Masques for the Court 

''Enter Christmas, with two or three of the 
Guard. He IS attired in round hose, long 
stockings, a close doublet, a higli-crowned hat, 
with a brooch, a long thin beard, a truncheon, 
little ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters 
tied cross, and his drum beaten before him. — 
The names of his children, with their attires : 
Miss-Rule, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a short 
cloak, great yellow ruff, like a reveller: his 
torch-bearer bearing a rope, a cheese, and a 
basket; — CaroU, a long lawny coat, with a 
: red cap, and a flute at his girdle ; his torch- 
j bearer carrying a song-book open ; — Minc'd- 
) pie, like a fine cook's wife, drest neat, her man 
carrying a pie, dish, and spoons ; — Garni oil, 
i like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells; his 
I torch-bearer arm'd with cole-staff, and blind- 
ing ch)th ; — Post and Pair, with a pair-royal 
of aces in liis hat, his garment all clone over 
with pairs and purs ; his squire carrying a box, 
cards, and counters; — New-year's-Gitt, in a 
I blue cuat, serving-nian like, with an orange, 



^ 



z 



7 



Z. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION 



and a sprier "f roseniarv gilt on his head, his 
hat full of broor.lies, with a collar of einsrer- 
hread ; liis torch-bearer carrying a marcfi-pain, 
wiih a bottle of wnie on either arm ; — Mum- 
miiui, in a niasgiiin? pieil sun. with a visor; 
his toich-l)eaier carryiiia; the hox. and rinsiiiir 
it; — Wassal. like a neat seiiipsler and song- 
ster: her page beariiia: a brown bowl, drest 
with ribbands, and rosemary, hefi>re her; — 
Offtriny. in a short gown, with a porter's staff 
ni his hand: a wylh biirne before him. and a 
biisiiii, by his t(jrch-hearer; — Balii/Cocke. tiresl 
like a hoy, in a tine l(nig coat, bigsiii. bib, 
tiiiickender, and a little dagger; his usher 
bearing a great cuke, with a bean and a pease." 



Note 4 E. 

Who lists may in their mumminij see 
Traces of ancient mystery. — P.I 16. 
ft seems rertaiti. that the Mnmmers of Eng- 
land, who (in Norlhuinberlarid at least) used 
to aro about in disguise to the neighbouring 
houses, bearing the then useless ploughshare; 
and the Guis'irds of Scotland, not yet in total 
disuse, present, in some indistinct degree, a 
shallow of the old mysteries, which were the 
ciriain of the English drama. In Scotland, (we 
ipso tfStf.,) we were wont, during my boyhood, 
to lake the characters of the apostles, at least 
<»f I'eter. Paul, and Judas fscariot; the first 
iiad the keys, the second carried a sword, and 
the last the bag. in which the dole of our 
neisrhhours* pluml>-cake was deposited. One 
plaved a champiim, and recited some tradi- 
tional rhymes; another was 

. ..." Alexanilf r. Kin^ af Maredon. 
Who (-onquerM all Ihf world "jUt Scotluiid aloni": 
Wtif n h^ c .mt- Ifi Scotlaml his couriL'e gri'w cold. 
To «e a tinlc nation courageou.s and bold." 

These, and many such verses, were repeated, 
hut by rote, and unconnectedly. There was 
:ilso, occasionally. I believe, a Saint George. 
In all. there was a confused resemblance of 
the anneiit mysteries, in which the characters 
«f Scripture, the Nine VVorthies, and other 
popular personages, were usually exhibited. 
It were much to be wished that the Chester 
Mysteries were pul'lisheii from the .MS in the 
Museum, with the aimotati(uis which a diligent 
investigator of popular antiquities misjht still 
su[)i)ly^ The late acute and valuable anti- 
quary. Mr. Ritson, showed nie several memo- 
randa towards such a task, which are proha- 
blv now dispersed or lost See. however, his 
Rmiarks on Shakspmre. 1783. p. 38. 

Since the first edition of .Vlarmion appeared, 
this subject has received much elucidation 
from the learned and extensive labours of Mr. 
Douce; and the Chester .Mysteries [edited by 
J. H Markland. E.»<i 1 have been printed in a 
style of ?reat elegance and accuracy (in 1818,) 
bv Beiisley and Sons, Loudon, for the Rox- 
b'urghe Club. 1830. 



Note 4 F. 

Whnre my great-qrandsire came of old, 
Wilk amber beard and fiaxen hair. — P. 116. 
Mr. Scott of Harden,' my kind and aflfec- 
lionate friend, and distant" relation, has the 



original of a poetical invitation, addressed 
from his grandfather to my relative, from 
which a few lines in the text are imitaied 
They are dated, as the epistle in the text, fnuii 
Merioun-hou.se, the seat of the Harden family. 

" Wiih amber beard, and Qixen bair, 




Free of : 
Come hi 



xiety and care. 
er, Chrisnnas-day. and dine; 
sotiriely with wine. 
Liriti with thouf^hts divine. 



We'll 1 
And easy i 
We Christiana think it holiday, 
On it no sin to fea.st or play ; 
Others, in Bpite. may fast and pray. 
No superstiiion in the uae 
Onr ancestors made of a goose ; 
Why may not we, as well as they, 
Be innocently blithe and gay. 
On goose or pie, or wine or ale. 
And Bcorn enthusiastic zeal 7 — 
Pray tome, and welcome, or plague rott 
Your friend and landlord. Waller Scott, 
"ifr Waller Scotl, Lesiudea." 

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the 
lines are addressed, was the younger brother 
of William Scott of Kaeburn Being the cadet 
of a cadet of the Harden family, he had very 
little to lose^ yet he contrived to lose the 
small properly he had, by engaging in the civil 
wars and intrinues of the hou.se of Stuart. 
His veneration for the exiled family was so 
great, that he swore he would not shave his 
beard till they were restored : a mark of at- 
tachment, which. 1 suppose, had been common 
during Cromwell's usurp:iti(m: for, in Cowley's 
•* Cutter of Coleman Street." one drunken 
cavalier upbraids another, that, when he was 
not able to afford to pay a barber, he aftected 
to "wear a beard for the K1112:." I sincerely 
hope tliis was not absolutely the original rea- 
son of my ancestor's beard ; which, as appears 
from a portrait in the possession of Sir Henry 
Hay iMacdougal, Bart., and another painl«d for 
the famous Dr. Pitcairn,^ was a beard of a 
most dignified and venerable appearance. 



Note 4 G. 

The Spirit's Blasted Tree. 



P. 116. 



1 am permitted to illustrate this passage, by 
inserting '■ Ceut)ren yr Ellyll. or the Spirit's 
Blasted Tree." a legendary tale, by the Reve- 
rend George Warringt.on : — 

"The event, on which this tale is founded, 
is preserved by tradition in the family of the 
Vaughans of Henffwyrt ; nor is it entirely lost, 
even among the common people, who still 
point out this oak to the passenger. The en- 
mity between the two Welsh chieftains. Howel 
Sele, and Owen Glendwr. was extreme, ami 
marked by vile treachery in the one. and fero- 
cious cruelty in the others The story is 
somewhat changed and softened, as more fa- 
vourable to the character of the two chiefs, 
and as better answering the purpose of poetry, 
by admitting the passion of pity, and a greater 
degree of sentiment in the description. Some 



1 Now tx)rd Polwarth. 

2 The old gentleman was an intimate of this celebrate.1 
genius. By the favour of the late Karl of Kellie. descended 
on the maternal side from Dr. Vitcairn, my father became 
posB'*s.sed of the portrait in question, 

3 The history of their feud may be found in Pennanfi 
Tour iu Wales. 



\ 



X 



152 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



1\ 



trace of Howel Sele's mansion was to be seen 
a few years a^o. and may perhaps lie slill 
visible. "in the park of Naiuian, now belongins 
to Sir Robert Vany:han. Baronet, in the wild 
and romantic tracks of JJerionettishire. The 
abbey mentioned passes under two names, 
Vener and Cymmer. Tlie former is retained, 
as more generally used. 

THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE. 
Ceubreti yr EUyll. 
"Through Nannau'd Chase, as Howel pass'd, 

A chief est>-eni'd holh brave and kiiid. 
Far dielaut borne, the stag-hounds' cry 
Came murmuring on the holluw wind. 

" Starting, he bent an eager ear, — 
How should the sounds return again 1 

His hounds lay wearied from the cbase. 
And all at home his hunter train. 



" Then sudden anger flash'd his eye. 
And deep revenge he vow'd to take. 

On that bold in;in who dared to force 
His red-deer from the forest brake. 

"Unhappy Chief! wouH nought avail, 
No signs impress thy heart with fe^jr. 

Thy lady's dark mysterious dream. 
Thy warning from the hoary seer 7 

" Three ravens gave the note of death. 
As Ihrousjh mid air Ihey wiiig'd their way; 

Then o'er his head, in rapid flight. 
They croak, — they scent their destined prey 

• Ill-omen'd bird ! as legends say, 

Who hast the wondrous power to know. 

While health fills high the throbbing veins. 
The fated hour when b)ood must flow. 

"Blinded by rage, alone he pass'd. 
Nor sought his ready vassals' aid : 

But what his fate lay long unknown. 
For many an anxious year delay'd. 

"A peasant mark'd his angry eye, 

He saw him reach the lalie's dark bourne. 

He saw him near a Blasted Oak, 
But never from that hour return. 

" Three days pass'd o'er, no tidings came ; — 
Where should the Chief his steps delay J 

With wild alarm the servants ran. 

Yet knew not wheie to point their way. 

" His vassals ranged the mountain's height. 
The covert close, the wide-spread plain; 

But all in vain their eager search. 
They ue'er must see their lord again. 

"Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes. 

Bore to his home the Chief once more. 

Some saw him on high Moal's top. 
Some saw him on the winding shore. 

" With wonder fraught the tale went round. 
Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue: 

Each peasant felt his own sad loss. 
Yet fondly o'er the story hung. 

" Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light. 

His aged nurse and steward grey 
Would lean to catch the storied sounds, 

Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 

** Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen. 
And midnight voices heard to moan; 

•Twaa even said the Blasted Oak, 
Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan : 

" And to this day the peasant still. 

With cautious fear, avoids the ground : 

In each wild branch a spectre sees. 
And trembles at each rising sound. 

"Ten annual suna had held their course. 
In summer's smile, or winter storm ; 

The lady shed the widow'd tear. 
As ofl she traced his manly form. 



" Yet still to hope her heart would cling. 
As o'er the mind illusions play, — 

Of travel fonti, perhaps her lord 
To distant lands had sieer'd his way. 

" 'Twas now November's cheerless hour. 

Which drenching rain and clouds deface. 
Dreary bleak Robell's tract appear'd. 

And dull and dank each valley's space. 
" Loud o'er the weir the hoarse flood f*-n. 

And dash'd the foaming spray on high ; 
The west wind bent the forest tops. 

And angry frown'd the evening sky. 

" A stranger pass'd Llanelltid's bourne. 
His dark-grey steed with sweat besprent. 

Which, wearied with the leiiglhen'd way. 
Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 

" The portal reach'd, — the iron hell 
Loud sounded round the outward wall ; 

Quick sprang the warder to the gate. 
To know what meant the clam'rous call. 

" ' O ! lead me to your lady soon ; 

Say, — it is my sad lot to tell. 
To clear the fate of that brave knight. 

She long has proved she loved so well.' 

" Then, as he cross'd the spacious hall, 
The menials look surprise an I fear; 

Still o'er his harp old iVloilred hung. 

And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ear, 

" The lady sat amidst her train; 

A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look : 
Then, asking what his mission meant. 

The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke : — 

" O could I spread one ray of hope. 
One moment raise thy soul from woe. 

Gladly my tongue would tell its tale, 
My words at ease unfetter'd flow ! 

" ' Now, lady, give attention due. 
The story claims thy full belief: 

E'en in the worst events of life. 
Suspense removed is some relief. 

" ' Though worn by care, see Madoc here. 
Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foe; 

Ah, let his name no anger raise. 

For now that mighty Chief lies low. 

" ' E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate, 
Bv wizard's dream, or potent spe)l. 

Lingering from sad Salopia's field. 
'Reft of Aij aid the Percy fell; — 

" ' E'en from that dav misfortune still. 

As if for violated faith. 
Pursued him with unwearied step; 

Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 

" * Vanquish'd at length, the Glyndwr fled. 

Where winds the Wye her devious flood; 
To find a casual shelter there, 

In some lone cot, or desert wood. 

" ' Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, 
He gain'd by toil his scanty bread ; 

He who had Cambria's sceptre borne. 
And her brave sons to glory led ! 



" 'To penury i 

The Chieftain fell a lingering prey; 
I heard his last few faltering words, 

Such as with pain I now convey. 

" 'To Sde's sad widow bear the tale. 
Nor let our horrid secret rest : 

Give but his corse to sacred earth, 
Ttien may ray parting soul be blest.' — 

" ' Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone. 
And faint the tongue that proudly spoke. 

And weak that arm, still raised to me. 
Which oft had dealt the mortal stroke. 

" ' How could I then his mandate bear ? 

Or how his last behest obey ? 
A rebel deem'd, with him I fled ; 

Wiih him I shunn'd the light of day. 



7" 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 




" ■ VrnscriTicd hy Henry'8 hostile rage, 
My couniry lo«i, deapoilM my land, 

Desperate, I fled my native soil, 
And fought on Syria's distant strand. 

" "Oh, had thy long-lamented lord 
The holy croNs ami banner view'd, 

Died in the aacred cause! who fell 
Sad victim of a private feud ! 

" ' Led by the ardour of the chase, 
Far difltaiit from his own domain. 

From where Oarthmaelan spreails her shades. 
The Ulyiidwr sought the opening plain. 

" ' Wiih head aloft and antlers wide, 
A red h^ick roused then cros-s'd in view. 

Slini!; wi'h ihe sight, and wild with rage, 
Swifi from the wood fierce Howel flew. 

•' ' With hitler taunt and keen reproach, 
He, all impetuous, ponr'd his rage; 

Reviled the Chief, as weak in arms, 
And liade him loud the battle wage. 

•• • Glyndwr for once restrain'd his sword, 
Ami, still averse, the fight delays; 

But sofien'd word«, like oil to fire, 
.Made anger more intensely bl.aze. 

•' ' They fought : and doubtful long the fray ; 

The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound I 
Still monriiful must my tale proceed, 

And iis last act all dreadful sound. 

" How could we hope for wish'd retreat. 

His eager vas-sals ranging wide. 
His hloodtiounds* keen sagacious scent. 

O'er many a trackless mountain tried. 

'• ' I mark'd a hroad and Blasted Oak, 
Scorch'd by the lightning's livid glare; 

Hollow it« stem from bramh to root, 
And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. 

" ' Be this, I cried, his proper grave ! — 
(The thought in me wis deadiv sin,) 
Aloft we raised the hapless Chief, 
And dropp'd his bleeding corpse within ' 

" .K shriek from all the damsels burst. 
That pierced the vaulted roofs below ; 

While horror struck the Lady stood, 
A living form of sculptured woe. 



•'With stupid stare and vacant 
Full on his face her eVes wer 

Absorb'd : — she l..st her presen 
And faintly thought of things 


gaze, 

grief, 
long past. 


" Like wild-lire o'e 
The rumour thro 

The peasants crowd 
To hear the tale - 


a mossy heath, 

at morning d.iwn, 
-behold the man. 



" He led them near the B'asted Oak, 

Then, conscinuE from the scene withdrew. 

The peasants work with trembling haste, 
.4nd lay the whiteu'd bones to view : — 

" Back they reco I'd I — the right hand still, 
(Jontracied. grasp'd a rusty sword ; 

Which erst in many a battle gleam'd. 

And prou Hy deck'd their slaughter'd lord. 



••They bore the corse to Ven 
Wiih holy rites and praye 

Nine white-robed monks he 
And gave the augry spirit rest." 



ihrine, 
Iress'd ; 
dirge sang. 



Note 4 H. 

TfiP Hi(jhl/i7idfr 

WiU. OH n Frir/au morn, look pnle, 
Ifiisk'd to lell a. fairy to(e." — P 117. 



Notwithstanding their name, they are. if not 
jihsoltitely ni;tle»()leiit, at least peevish, tlis- 
ciiiHeiitetl. anil apt to do mischief on slight 
provocation. The belief of their existence w 
tleeply imtnessed on tlie Hi^'hlaiideis, who 
think they :iie particularly oti'ended at mortals 
who lalk of them, who wear their favourite 
colour srreen, or in any respect interfere wiili 
their aflairs. This is es(ieci:illy to lie avoidetl 
on Friday, when, wheMier a.s dedicated ro Ve- 
niis, with whom, in Germany, this suljterni- 
neous people are held nearly connected, or for 
a more solemn reason, they tire more active, 
and possessed of Rieaier power. Some curion.s 
particulars concerning the i)opular supersti- 
tions of the Hii^hlanders may be found in Dr. 
Graham's Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire. 



Note 4 I. 

The towers of Franchtinont. — P. 1 17. 

The journal of the friend to whom the 
Fourth Canto of the Poem is insmhinl, fur- 
nished me with the follosvin^ account of a 
striking superstition. 

" Passed the pretty little villasre of Franche- 
mont, (near Spaw), with the romantic ruins 
of the old ctistle of the roiints of that name. 
The road leads through many delishtful vales 
on a risins; ?rotind ; at the'extretnity of one 
of them s'ands the ancient castle, now the 
subject of many superstitious lesends. It is 
firmly believed hy the neighbourinsr peasiintrv, 
that the hist Baron of Franchemont deposited, 
in one of the vaults of the castle, a ponderou.'^ 
chest, concainin? an immense treasure in gold 
iitid silver, which, by some magic spell, was 
intrusted to the care of the Devil, who is con- 
stiinily toiiiid sitiins on the chest in the slntpe 
of a hiiiiisinan. Anyone adventurous enough 
to touch ihe chest is iiisiaiitly seized with the 
palsy. Upon one occasion, a priest of noted 
piety was brought to the vault: he used all 
the arts of exorcism to persuade his infernal 
majesty to vacate Ins seat, but in vtiin ; Ihe 
huntsman remained immovable. At I:^st, 
moved by the earnestness of the priest, he 
told him that he would tigree to resign the 
chest, if the exorciser would sign his name 
with blood. But the priest understood his 
meaning, and refused, as by tlnit act he would 
have delivered over his soul to the Devil. 
Yet if ;iny body can discover the mystic words 
u.sed by the person who depositeil the trea- 
sure, and proncniiice them, the fiend must in- 
sianfly decamp I had many stories of a 
similar nature from a peas.int.'who had him- 
self seen the Devil in the shape of a great 
Cat.'' 



Note 4 K. 



-P. 118. 



n 

Scot 



The very form of Hiht/i fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer 

" 1 shall only produce one instance more 
the gretit veneration paid to Lady Hilda, win 
e D^nine shi\ or ivlen of Pence, of the still prevails even in these our days; and tl 
lisl. Highlanders, rather resemble the is, the constant opinion that she reiider(;il, and 
d.navianZ)(((/V«r than the English Fairies, still renders, hersell visible, on some occu' 



^ 



/. 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



X 



sions. in the Ahhey of Streanshalh or Whitby, 
where she so loiia: resided At a particular 
time of Ihe year (viz in tlie siiTiimer m(>uth>). 
at ten or eleven in the forenoon, the snnheanis 
fall in the inside of the northern part of tl;e 
choir; and 'lis then that the spectators, who 
stand oil the west side of Whitby citurchyard. 
so as just to see the most northerly part of the 
uhbey pass Ihe north end of Whithy church. 
im;iRine they perceive, in one of the highest 
windows there, the resemblance of a woman 
arrayed in a shroud. 'rh(Mig:h we are certain 
this IS only a reliection caused by Ihe splen- 
dour of the sunbeams, yet fame reports it, and 
it IS constantly believed amona the vulvar, to 
be an appearance of Lady Hilda iri liersliroud. 
«))• rather in a glorified state ; before which, I 
make no doubt, the Pafiists, even in these our 
days, otter up their [irayers with as much zeal 
mid devotion as before aiiv other image of 
their most glontied saint."— Cliarlton's History 
0/ Wkilby, p. 33. 



Note 4 L. 

the hwje and swrrpnip brand 

Which wont ofynre, tn br,tll.<\irny, 
His foeman's limhs to shisd awny, 
As wood-knije lops Ihe sapling spray.— P. 120. 

The Earl of AnSfUS had strength and per- 
sonal activity corresponding to his courage. 
Spans of Kilspindle, a favourite of James IV., 
having spoken of Inm lightly, the Earl met 
him while hawking, and, compelling him to 
single combat, at one blow cut asunder his 
thighbone, and killed him on the spot. But 
ere he could obtain James's pardon for this 
slaughter. Angus was obliged to yield his 
castle of Hermitage, in exchange for that of 
Bothvvell, which was some diminution to the 
family greatness. The sword with which he 
struck so remarkalile a blow, was presented 
by his descendant James, Earl of Aforton, af- 
terwards Regent of Scotland, to Lcn-d Lindesay 
of the Byres, when he defied Bothwell to 
single combat on Carherry Hill. See Intro- 
duction to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 



Note 4 M. 

And hnprsi thou hence unscathed to go T — 
No! I'y St. Bride of Bolhwell, no! 
Up drnwt^ridiie. grooms ! — What, Warder, ho ! 
Let tfie portcullis fall. — P. 120. 

This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl 
of Angus IS not without its e.vaiiiple in the real 
history of the house of Douglas, whose cliief- 
tains possessed the ferocity, with the heroic 
virl lies of a savage state The most curious 
instance occurred in the case of Maclellan, 
Tutor of Bombay, who, having refused to 
acknowledge the pre eminence claimed by 
luiuglas over Ihe genilemen and Barons of 
Galloway, was seized and imprisoned by the 
Earl. Ill his castle of the Thrieve. on the hor- 
ilers of Kirkcuiibrlglitshire. Sir Patrick Gray, 
commander of King James the Second's guaril, 



was uncle to the Tutor of Bombay, and ob- 
tained from the King a "sweet letter of siip- 
I)licati()n," praying the Earl to deliver his 
prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick 
arrived at the castle, he was received with all 
the honour due to a favourite servant of the 
King's household ; but while he was at din- 
ner, the Earl, who suspected his errand, 
caused his prisoner to be led forth and be- 
headed. After dinner. Sir Patrick presented 
the King's letter to the Earl, who received it 
with great aflfectation of reverence: " und 
took him by the hand, and led him forth to 
tlie green, where the gentleman was lying 
dead, and showed him the manner, and said, 
•Sir Patrick, you are come a little too late; 
yonder is your sister's son Ivitig. but he wants 
the head • take his body, and do with it wbiit 
you will.'— Sir Patrick answered again, with 
asore heart, and said, ' My lord, if ye have taken 
from him his head, dispone upon the body ;is 
ye please ;' and with that called for his horse, 
and. leaped thereon; and when he was on 
horseback, he said to the Earl on this manner, 
■ My lord, if I live you shall be rewarded for 
your labours that you have used at this lime, 
according to your ilemerits.' 

"At tills saying the Earl was highly of- 
fended, and cried for horse. Sir Patrick, see- 
ing the Earl's^ fury, spurred his horse, but he 
was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him : 
and had it not been his led horse was so tried 
and good, he had been taken." — Piscciltie's 
History, p. 39. 



Note 4 N. . 

A letter forged ! — Saint Jxide to speed ! 
Did ever knight so foul a deed ! — P. 121 

Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's 
astonishment, and consider the crime as in- 
consistent with the manners of the fieriod, I 
have to remind him of the numerous fingeries 
(partly executed by a female assistant; devised 
by Robert of Artois, to forward his suit against 
the Countess Matilda; which, being detected, 
occasioned his flight into England, and proved 
the remote cause of Edward the Third's me- 
morable wars in France. J^n Harding, also, 
was expressly hired by Edvvard VI. to forge 
such documents as might appear to establish 
the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by 
the English niunarchs. 



Note 4 0. 

LenneVs convent. — P. 121. 

This was a Cistertian house of religion, now 
almost fntirely demolished. Leiinel House 
is now the residence of my vene.able friend, 
Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well known m 
the literary world • It is situated near fold- 
stream, almost opposite to Cornhiil. and con- 
sequently very near to Flodden Field. 



Brydone has beo 



A 



7" 



^ 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



155 



^ 



Note 4 P. 

Twifd bndije. — P. 122. 

Ou thp evenina: previous to the niemorahle 
battle iif Fldddeii, Surrey's heaj quarters were 
at BaniKKir Wood, and Kiiia; James held an 
luaceessihle position on the rldgje of Floddeii- 
liill, one of tlie l;ist and hiwest eminences de- 
tached from the rid?e of Cheviot The Till, 
a deep and sl<(w river, winded between the 
Hnnies. On the moniina: of the 9th September 
l.il.J. Surrey marched in a uorih-westeriy 
diri^Miou. and crossed the Till, with his van 
and artillery, at Twi-iel bridge, nigh where 
thai liver joins the Tweed, his rear-gruard 
c .Iniiin pa.ssmi; about a mile hisfher, by a ford. 
Tins movement had the donble effect of 
[ilaciii^ his army between Kiii-j James and his 
sii))|.lies from Scotland, and of striking the 
f>ci)!iish monarch with surf)r!se. as he seems 
to have relied on the depth of the river in his 
front But as the pa.ssaare, both over the 
bridsie and throush the ford, was difficult and 
slow. It -seems possible that the Eii<?lish mi^iit 
have been attacked to great advantase while 
s ru^r-'liii? with these natural obstacles. 1 
kno.v not if we are to impute James's for- 
bt-arance to want of militarv skill, or to the 
romautic declaration which Pitscollie puts in 
his mouth, "that he was determined to have 
Ins enemies before hira on a plain field," and 
tnrreiore would sutfer no mteiruption to be 
Kven. even by artillery, to their passing the 
nver 

I'he ancient bridge of 'i'wisel. by which the 
Eiigli«sh crossed the 'I'lU. is still standing be 
iieath Twisel Castle, a splendid pile of Gothic 
arcliueciure, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis 
HIake. Bart., wliose extensive plantations have 
.v.i inucli improved the country around. The 
glen is romantic and delightful, with steep 
bulks on each side, covered with copse, par- 
ticularly with hawthorn Beneath a tall rock, 
near the bridsie. is a plentiful fountain, called 
St. Helen's Well. 



Note 4 Q. 

Hence might Ihpi/ see the full, array. 

Of eithfr host, for deadli) fray. — P. 122. 

The reader cannot here expect a full account 
of the batile of Flodden ; but, so far as is 
iiece.s-sary to uaderstand the romance. 1 beg to 
remind liim, tha:. when the Eiiijlisli armv, by 
their sl<ilfiU couniermarch. were fairly placed 
between King James and his own country, the 
Scottish monarch resolved to liifht. ; and, set- 
tling tire to Ins tents, descended from the ridge 
<>t Flodden to secure the neigh bourin;?^ emi- 
nence o) Biank.stone, on which that village is 
built. Thiis the two armies met. almost witli- 
oui seeing each other, when, according to the 
old poem of " Flodden Field," 

•• The English line streich'd east and west, 
.\iid soulhward were iheir faces st-i ; 

The Kicottish unrlhward proudly pre.st. 
And manfully Iheir foes Ihey mel." 



The English armv advanced in four divi.sioiis 
On the right, which first engaged, were the 
sons of Earl Surrey, namely. Thomas Howard, 
the .Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, the 
Knight .Marshal of the armv. Their divi.sions 
were separated from each other; but. at the 
request of Sir Edmund, Ins brother's battalum 
was drawn very near to his own The centre 
was commanded by Surrev m person ; the left 
wing by Sir Edward Stanlev. with the men of 
Lanciishire, and of the palatinate of Chester. 
Lord Dacres. with a large bodv of horse, 
formed a reserve. When the snioke, whi(;li 
the wind had driven between the armies, was 
somewhat dispersed, they perceived the Scots, 
who had moved down the hill in a similar or- 
der of battle, and in deep silence.' The Earls 
of Huntley and of Home commanded their 
left win?, and charged Sir Edmund Howard 
with such success as entirely to defeat his part 
of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's ban- 
ner was beaten down, aiid he himself escaped 
with difficulty to his brother's division 'Ihe 
Admiral, however, stood Hrm : and Dacre ad- 
vancing to his support with the reserve of 
cavalry, probably between the interval of the 
divisions commanded by the brothers Howard, 
appears to have kept ttie victors in etfectual 
check. Home's rnen, clnetiv Borderers, be- 
gan to pillage the basgage of both armies ; 
and their leader is branded by the Scottish 
historians with neijligence or treachery. On 
the other haii.l. Iluntiey. on whom they be- 
slow many encomiums, is said bv the Em;- 
lisli historians to have left the 'tield after 
the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, 
whose flank these chiefs ought to have at- 
tacked, availed himself of their inactivity, 
and pushed forward against another large (b- 
visioii of the Scottish armv in his front, headed 
by the Kails of Crawford and .Montrose, Ixitli 
ot whoMi were slam, and their forces routed. 
On the left, the succe.ss of the English was yet 
more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, 
consisting of undisciplined Highlanders, ami- 
manded by Lennox and Argyle, was unable to 
sustain the charge of Sir Edward Stanley, and 
especially the severe execution of the Lanca- 
shire archers. The King and Surrey, who 
commanded the respective centres of their 
armies, were meanwhile engaged in close and 
dubious conflict. James, surrounded by the 
flower of his kinsdoni. and impatient of tlie 
galling discharjre of arrows, supported also by 
his reserve under Botliwell. charged with such 
fury, that the standard of Surrey w;is in dan- 
ger. At that critical moment. Stanley, who 
had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pur- 
sued his career of victory, and arrived on the 
right flank, and in the rear of James's division, 
which, throwing itself into a circle, disputed 
the battle till night came cm. Surrey then 
drew back his forces; for the Scotiish centre 
not having been broken, and their left wii|g 
being Victorious, he yet doubted the event of 
the field. The Scottish army, however, felt 
their loss, and abandoned the field of battle in 
disorder, before dawn. Thev lost, perliap.s, 
eight or ten thousand men; but that included 
the very prime of their nobility, gentry, and 
even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but 



'sipt'li Escostiris descendirent la montaigne en honnn ne fane aucun bruit " — Gazel -e of Ihe balile, Pinkerton'i 
I U mam. re (jue marclteitl les .iUunans sans purler, History, Ajipciulix. vol. 



V 



/' 



156 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



has nil ancestor killed at, FlodJen; and there 
IS no proviace in Scotland, even at this day, 
where the battle is nieiiiioiied withciut a sen- 
sation of terror and sorrow. The Kn^lish lost 
also a frreat nuniher of men. perhaps within 
one-third of the vanquished, hut tlrey were of 
inferior note. —See the only distinct detail of 
the Field of Flodderi in Finkertoii's Hislorv, 
Book xi. ; all former accoants being full of 
hljnders and inconsistency. 

'I'he spot from which Clara views the battle 
must be supposed to have been on a hillock 
commandins: a view of the English right wing, 
which was defeated, and m which conrtict 
Marmion is supposed to have fallen.' 



Note 4 R. 

Brian Timstall, sliinless knight. — P. 123. 

Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic 
language of the time. Tmistall the Undefiled. 
was one of the few Englishmen of rank slam 
at Flodden. He figur,"s in the ancient English 
poem, lo which I mav safelv refer my readers ; 
as an edilion, vvilh full and explanalory note.s, 
has been pnl.lislifd bv my friend. Mr. Ilfory 
Weber. Tunstall, perhaps, derived his epithet 
oiundfjihd IVoni his while armour and banner, 
the latter hearing a white c.ick.aboui locrow. 
as well as from his unstained loyalty and 
knigluly faith. His place of residence was 
Thurlaad Castle. 



Note 4 S. 



him. And this tale was revived in my remem- 
brance, by an unautheiiticated story of a skel- 
eton, wrapped in a bull's hide, and surrouniled 
with an iron chain, said to have been found in 
the well of Home Castle ; for which, on in- 
quiry, I could never find, any better authority 
than the sexton of the parish having said, that, 
if the well were cleaned out, he iconld not he sur- 
prised at such a discovery. Home was the 
chamlierlainof theKing,:ind his (irime favour- 
ite ; he had much to lose (m fact did lose all) 
in consequence of James's death, and nothing 
earthly to gain by that event : but the retreat, 
or inactivity of the left wing which he com- 
manded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, 
and even the circumstance of his relnrnmg 
unhurt, and loaded with spoil, from so fatal a 
conflict, rendered the propagation ot any 
calumny against him easy and acceptable. 
Other reports gave a still more romantic I urn 
to the Kmer's fate, and averred that James, 
weary of greatness after the carnage among 
his nobles, had gone cm a pilgrimage, to merit 
absolution for the death of his father, and the 
breach of his oath of amity to Henry. In par- 
ticular, it was objected to the Em^lisli, tlial 
they could never show the token of the iron 
belt; which, however, he was likely enough 
to have laid aside on the day of battle, as en- 
cumbering his personal exertions. I'hey pro- 
duce a better evidence, the monarch's sword 
and dagger, which are still pn\served in tin; 
Herald's College in London. Stowe has re- 
corded a degrading story of the disgrace with 
which the remains of the unfonnntite monarch 
were treated in his time. An unhewn column 
marks the spot where James fell, still called 
the King's Stone. 



1 



Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his tnislt/ brand. 
Finn chnch'd within his manly hand, 

Beseem'd the monarch slain. — F 125. 

There can be no doubt that King James fell 
in the battle of Flodden. He was killed, says 
the curious French Gazette, within a lance's 
length of the Farl of Surrey ; and the same 
account adds, that none of his divisi(m were 
made prisoners, though many were killed ; a 
circumstance that testifies the desperation of 
their resistance. The Scottish hi.slorians re- 
cord many of the idle reports wh ch passed 
among the vulgar of their day. Home was 
acxiused, by the popular voice, not only of fail- 
ing to support the King, but even of having 
carried him out of the field, and murdered 

1 "In 1810, as Sir Carnaby Haggerslone'a workmen 
weri- digging in Flodil'-n Field, Itiey came to a pit filled with 
human bniie«, and which secmeil of great extent; but, 
alarmed at the siijhi, they immediately lilled up Ihu exca- 
vuiion, and proceeded no farther. 

"In 1S17. IVIr. Gray of MiUfteld Hill found,- near the 
traces of an ancient encampment, a short distance from 
Flodden Hill, a tumulus, which, on removing, exhihileil a 
very singular sepulchre. lu the centre, a large urn was 



Note 4 T. 

The fair cathedral storni'd and took. — P. 126. 
This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had 
been garrisoned on the part of the Kmg, took 
place in the Great Civil War. Lord Brook, 
wiio. with Sir John Gill, commanded the as- 
sailants, was shot with a musUet-ball Ihron^li 
the vizor of his helmet. I'he royalists re- 
marked, that he was killed bv a shot fired from 
St. Chad's cathedral, and upon St. Chad's Day, 
and receivetl his death-wound in the very eye 
with which, he had said, be ho|ied to see the 
ruin of all the cathedrals m England. The 
magnificent church in question suli'ered cru- 
elly upon this, and other occasions; the prin- 
cipal spire being ruined by the fire ot the 
besiegers. 



found, but in a tl 
10 pieces by the s 
gone to pieces oi 
ded hy : 



land pieces. Il had either been b 
;8 falling upon it when dieging. c 
•admission of the air. This nr 
aber of cells formed of flat sini 



the shape of graves, but loo small lo hold thi 
natural state. These sepulchral recessi a cnntai 
except ashes, or dust of the same kind as that i 
— Sylsr-s' Local Record; (U vols, bvo, Mi'i,) V( 



K 



1 



7^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



157 > 



The Lady of the Lake, 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



INTRODUCTION lO EDI' 



AiTKR the surress of " Mn 
( iiif^d to exclaim witli Ul\> 



ION 1830 
.!)." 1 felt 



•Odvs- 



OuTOi ficv hr] ai&\oi ii daarog {KT£.Ti\caTai. 
^vv iivrs oKu-ov aXXov Qiiys. ;j^. 1. 5. 
'• One venturous game my hand lias won to- 
dav — 
Another, gallants, yet remains to play." 

The ancient manners, the habi's and cus- 
toms of the ahonsinal race by whom llii* Hitfii- 
latids of Scoiluiid were inhaabited. had always 
api>eared to nie peculiarly adapted to poetry. 
'I'lie change in I heir manners, too. had taken 
place almost witlim my own rime, or at least 
1 bad learned many paiticidars concernins: the 
ancient state of the Hii^lilands from the old 
men of itie last seneraiion. I had always 
thought the old Scottish Gael hie:hiy adapted 
for [)oefical composition. The fends, and poli- 
tical dissensions, which, half a century earlier, 
would have rendered the richer and wealthier 
part of the kins;dom indisposed to countenance 
a poem, the scene of which was laid in the 
IliShlands, were now smik in the generous 
coinpas.sion which the Km^lish. more than any 
other nation, feel for the misfortunes of an 
honoiiral)le foe The Poems of Ossian had. 
bv Ilieir popularity, sufficiently shown, th:U if 
wriiimjs on Hi'.'hiand subjects were qualified 
to interest the reader, mere national [iieju- 
dices were, in the present day, very unlikely to 
interfere with their success. 

I hail also read a great deal, seen much, and 
heard more, of that romantic country, where 
I w;ls in the lialiit of spendmsj .some Uine every 
autumn ; and the scenery of Loch Katrine was 
connected with tlie recollection of many a 
dear friend and merry expedition of former 
days. Ihis poem, the action of which lay 
ainon;; scenes so beautiful, and so deeply im- 

firinled on my recollection, was a labour of 
ove; and it was no less so to recall the man- 
ners and incidents introduced. The fregueiit 
cuslom of James IV .and particularly of James 
v.. to walk through their kingdom lii disguise, 
atforded nie the hint of an incident, which 
never fails to be interesUnsj, if managed witli 
tlie sliijhtest address or de.vterity. 

I may now co.ifess, however, that the em- 
plovment, though attended with sreat plea- 
sure, was not without its doubts and anxieties 
A lady, to whom I was nearly related, and 
with whom I lived, during her whole life, on 
the most brotherly terms of affection, was re- 
siding with me at the time when tlie work was 
iu progress, and used to usk me, what I could 



possibly do to rise so early In the morning (that 
happening to he the most convenient time t(» 
me for composition.) At las! I told her the 
subject of my meditations; and 1 can never 
forget the anxiety and affection expressed in 
her reply. " Do not be so rash." she said, 
•• my dearest cousin. Vou are already popular 
— more so. perhaps, than you youi-self will 
believe, or than even I, or other partial friends, 
can fairly allow to your merit. You stand 
lush — do not rashly aiteiiipt to climb higher, 
and incur the risk of a fall ; for. depend u[)on 
It, a favourite will not be permitteii even to 
stumble with impunity " 1 replied lo this 
aff'eclionule expostulation in the words of 
Montrose — 

fn'e too miuh. 



e either fears hi; 
Or hisd«eris are sn.il 
t'ho dares uol put it to I 
To gain or lose it all." 



! touch 



If 



fail," 1 said, for the dialogue is strong 
in my recollection, "it is a sign that I ought 
never to have succeeded, and I will write 
prose for life : you shall see no change in my 
temper, nor will 1 eat a single meal the worse. 
But if i succeed, 

' Up with the boiinie blue bonnet. 
The dirk, anil the feaiher, and a* '.'" 

Afterwards. I showed my affectionate and 
anxious critic the first canto of the poein, 
which reconciled her to my imprudence. Ne- 
vertheless, although I answered thus confi- 
dently, with the obstinacy often siid to he 
pro()er to those who bear my surname. I ac- 
knowledge that my ctmri<lence was considera- 
bly shaken by the warning of her excellent 
taste and mibias.sed friendship. Nor was I 
much comforted liy her retractation of the 
unfavourable jud^'ment. when 1 recollected 
how likely a natural partiality was to effect 
that change of opinion In such cases, affec- 
tion rises like a liirht on the canvass, improves 
any favouraitle tints which it formerly exhi- 
bited, and throws its defects into the shade. 

I remember that about the same time a 
friend startled in to " he(^ze up my hope." like 
the -sportsman with his cutty gun.'' in the old 
song. He was bred a farmer, but a man of 
powerful understanding, natural good taste, 
and warm poetical feeling, perfeci ly cotnpeteiit 
to supply the wants of an imperfect or irregu- 
lar education. He vvas a passionate admirer 
of field-sports, which we often pursued toge- 
ther. 

As this friend happened to dine with me at 
Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of 



WisharCs Me 



Muntrute, p. 497. 



N14 
- 



A 



^ 158 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



rfadin? to liim the first canto of " The Lady , have made a halt, and discontinued efturts by 
t)f tlie Lake." in order to ascertain the effect j wliich I was far more likely to diminish my 
tlie poem was likely to produce upon a person fame than to increase it. But, as the cele- 
wiio was but too favourable a representative [ hrated John Wilkes is said to liave exiilained 
of readers at laiffe It is, of course, to be sup- to his late Majesty, that he himself, amid his 
posed that 1 determined rather to guide my i full tide of popularity, was never a Wilkite, 
oi)inioii by what my friend misht appear to ' so 1 can, with honest truth, exculpate myself 
' from having been at any time a partisan of my 



feel, than by what he miyht think fit to say 
llis reception of my recitation, or prelection, 
was rather singular. He placed his hand 
across his brow, and listened with great atien- 



own poetry, even when it was m the iughest 
fashion with the million Tt must not be sup- 
posed, that I was either so ungrateful, or so 



tion 10 the whole account of the stag-hunt, till | superabundantly candid, as to despise (n- scorn 
the dogs threw themselves into ilie lake to | the value of those whose voice had elevalt 



follow their master, who embarks with Kllen 
Douglas. He then started up with a sudden 
exclamation, struck his hand on the lalile. and 
declared 

the occasion, that the dogs must have been 
totally ruined by being permitted to lake the 
water after sucli a severe chase. 1 own I was 
much encouraged by the species of reverie 
which had possessed so zealous a follower of 
the sports of the ancient Niinnul, who had 
been completely surprised out of all doulils of 
the reality of tlie tale Another of his remarks 
gave me less pleasure. He detected the iden- 
tity of the King with the wandering knight, 
Fitz-James, when he winds his bugle to sum- 
mon his attendants He was probably tiiink- 
mg of the lively, but somewhat licentious, old 
ballad, in which the denouement of a royal 
iii;rigue takes place as follows : 

" He look a bviele frae his sule, 

He blt-w hoth loud ami shrill, 
And four-aiiil-lweiiiy bi-liid knighu 
■ • Came skipping owir |iie hill ; 

Then he took out a litile knife. 

Let a' hi!" dudJie.s fa', 
And he was Ihe brawe.sl gentleman 

And we 'II go no more a roving," itc.l 

This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent 
ill Ills camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it 
troubled me; and 1 was at a good deal of 
paiiis to efface any marks by which I thought 
my -secret could be traced before the conclu- 
sion, when I relied on it with the .same hope 
of producing effect, with which Lhe Irish post- 
boy IS said to reserve a " trot for the avenue." 

I took uncommon pains to verify the accu- 
racy of the local circumstances of this story. 
1 recollect, in particular, that to tiscertain 
whether 1 was telling a probable tale, I went 
into Perthshire, to see whether King James 
could actually have ridden fioiii the banks of 
l.och Vennac'har to Stirling Castle wi'hin the 
time supposed in the Poem, and had the plea- 
sure to satisfy myself that it was quite practi- 
cable. 

Alter a considerable delay, "The Lady of 
the Lake" appeared in May 1810; and ns suc- 
cess was I'.ertainly so extiaordinaiy as to in- 
duce me for the moment to cuncUule that 1 
had at last fixed a nail in the iiroverbially in- 
constant wheel of Fortune, whose stability in 
behalf of an individual who hid so boldly 
courted lier favours for three successive times, 
liad not as yet been shaken. I had attained, 
perhaps, that degree of public repuiation at 
wliich prudence, or certainly timidity, would 



lie so much higher than my own opinion told 
me 1 deserved. I felt, on tin; contrary, the 
more grateful to the public, as receiving that 
voice of censure, calculated for j frmii partiality to me. wliich 1 could not have 
claimed from merit; iind I endeavoured to 
deserve the partiality, by coniinuing such ex- 
ertions as I was capable of for their amu.se- 
meiit. 

It may be that I did not, in this coutinued 
course of scribbling, consult either the inte- 
rest of the public or my own But the former 
had effectual means of defending themselves, 
and could, by their coldne.ss, sufficiently cbeck 
any approach to intrusimi ; and lor myself. 1 
had now for several years dedicated my hours 
so much to liter.iry latiour, that I should have 
felt difficulty in employing myself otherwise ; 
and so, like Dogberry,! generously bestowed 
all my tediousne.ss on the public, comforting 
myself with tiie refleciion, that if posteriiy 
should think me undeserving of the favour 
with which I was regarded by my contemiHi- 
niries, "they could not but say I had the 
crown," and had enjoyed for the time that 
popularity which is so much coveted. 

1 conceived, however, that I held the distin- 
guished situation I had obttiined, htjwever 
unworthily, rather like the champion of pugi- 
lism, 2 on the cotiduion of being always ready 
to show proofs of my skill, than in the manner 
of the champion of chivalry, who performs Ins 
duties only on rare and soleiim occasions. I 
was in any Ciise ccniscioiis that I could not long 
hold a situation which the caprice, rather 
tliauthejudgmeut.or the public, had bestowed 
upon me, and pieteried being dejirived of my 
precedence by some more worthy rival, to 
sinking into contempt ft»r my iiulolence, and 
losing my reputation by what Scottish lawyers 
call the mgalwe proscription. Accordingiy, 
those who choose to look at the Infroduciioii 
to Kokeby. in the present ediiion, will be aljle 
to trace the steps by which I declined as a 
poet to figure as a novelisi ; as the ballad 
.says. Queen Eleanor sunk at Chariag-Cross to 
rise again at Queeiihitlie. 

It only reiiKuns for me to sav, that, during 
my short pre-eminence of popularity, I faith- 
fully tbserved the rules of moderation which 
I had resolved to follow before I began my 
course as a m.in of lelteis. If a man is deter- 
mined to make a noise in the world, he is as 
sure to encounter abuse and ridicule, as he 
who gallops furiously througli a village, must 
reckon on being followed by the curs in full 
cry. Experienced persons know, that in 



7 



^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



stretching to flo? the latter, the rider is very 
(ipl to caioh a bad fall; nor is an attempt to 
chastise a nialijrnant critic atteniled with less 
diiiiser to the autlior On this principle. I let 
parody, burlesque, and squibs, Hnd their own 
level : and while the lalter hissed most fierce- 
ly. I was cauiious never to catch them up, as 
M^hool-boys do, to throw them back against 
the nau^'hty boy who fired them otf. wisely 
lenieiiiberinir that they are. in such cases, apt 
lo explode in the handling. Let ine add. that 



my reiffn i (since Byron has so called it) was 
marked by some instances of cood-iiature as 
well as patience. I never refused a literary 
|)erson of merit such services in smoothing 
his way to the public as were in mv power : 
I and 1 had the advantage, rather an uncommon 
one with our irritable race, to enjoy general 
favour, without incurrinsr permanen'i ill-will, 
so far as is known to me, among any of my 
contemporaries. VV S 

Alibotsford, April 1830. 




The Lady of the Lake, 



TO THE 

MOST NOBLE JOHN JAMES MARQUIS OF ABERCORN, 
<^-c. ^c. ^c. 

THIS poem"'' is inscribed BY 
THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 
The Scene of the follomnq Poem is Mil chiefly in the Vinnily of Loch- Katrine, in the Weslprr 



Highlands of Perthshire, 
ocaipy a Canto. 



The lime of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of foc/i A/», 



2rf)c 2La^» of tl)c ILafee. 



CANTO FIRST. 



THE CHASE. 

Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast 
hung 
On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's 
spring. 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 

'Till envious ivy did around thee cling. 
Muffling with verdant rimjlet every slrins.— 
O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents 
sleep ? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. 
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence 
keep. 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to 

weep! 
Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon. 

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. 
When lav of hopeless love, or elory won. 

Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause, was heard aloud 

Thine ardent, symphony sublime and high ! 
Fair dames and ci-e.sted chiefs attention bow'd , 

For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was KnighthofKl's dauntless deed, and Beau- 
ty's matchless eye. 



() vvake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy niivgic maze to strav ; 

O wake once more! though scarce my skill 

command 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 

Thousrii harsh anil faint, and soon to die awav, 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 
Yet if one heart throb higher at it.s sway. 
The wizard note has not been toiich'd in 
vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake 
again! 



I. 

The stag at eve had drunk his fill. 

Where danced the moon on Moiian's rill, 

And deep his midnisht lair had made 

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 

But. when the sun his beacon red 

H;id kindled on Benvoirlich's head. 

The deep-moutlrd bloodhound's heavy bay 

Resounded up the rocky way. 

And faint, from fart her "distance hf)riie. 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

II. 
As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
'• To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," 
The antler'd monarch of the waste 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 

ut. ere his fleet career he took. 

he dew-drops from his flanks he shook; 



:v 



ICO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



Like cresieil leader proud and liigli, 
Toss'd Ins lieaiii'd fn)ritlcl. lu Uie sky ; 
A inoiiieiit fjazed adowu the dale, 

A inetit srinird Ihe tainted giile, 

A iimnunU, li.sleii'd to the cry, 
'lliat lluckeii'd as tlic ciiase drew nisjh ; 
Tlii^n, as the headmost foes appear'd, 
Willi one hrave bound tile copse lie eiear'd, 
liiiiT forward free and far, 
wild lieaths of Uam-Var. 



And.stiei 
Souirlit til 



III. 



Yell'd on the view the opening pack ; 
Kock. tflen, and cavern, paid them hack; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
'The awiikeiTd mountain gave response. 
A liuiidred doi^s hay'd deep and strong;, 
Cliiler'il a hundred steeds aloiisr, 
'I'heir peal tiie merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices jom'd the shout; 
With h-ijk, and wiioop, and wild halloo, 
Wo rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. I 
Far from the tumult fled tlie roe. 
Close in her covert cower'd the doe, 
"^I'he lalcoii, from her caini on high, 
C;ist, on tlu; rout a vvondenny; eye, 
Till I'ar beyond her piercinu: ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint and more faint, its failing dm 
Return'd from c:ivern, clitf. and litm, 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone wood and mighty liill. 

IV. 
Less loud the sounds of silvan war 
Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where 'tis told, 
A giant made his den of old ; 2 



For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway huns the sun, 
And manv a gallant, siay'd perforce, 
Was fain to breathe his faltenng horse, 
And of the trackers of the deer, 
.^^carce half the lessening pack was near; 
So shrewdlv on the mountain side 
Had the bold burst their inetlle tried. 

V. 
The noble stag was pausing now, 
U[>on the mountain's southern brow, 
Where broad extended, far beneath. 
The varied realms of fa.ir MenteiUi. 
With anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
Mountam and meadow, moss and moor. 
And poiider'd refui;e fro;n Ins toil, 
By far Lochard 3 or Aberfoyle. 
i5iU. nearer wiis the copsewood grey. 
That waved and wept on Locli-Achray, 
And mingled wilh the pine-trees blue 
(111 the bitld clitfs of Benvenne. 
Fresh vigour wilh the hope return'd, 
With flying foot the healh he spurn 'd. 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

VI. 
'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
As swept the hunt throush Cambus more : * 
What reins were tighten'd in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridse in air ; & 
Who flasg'd upon Bochaslle's heath. 
Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith,— * 
For twice that day. from shored to shore, 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er 
Few were the stragglers, following far. 
That reach'd ihe lake of Vennachar ; ^ 
And when the Brigir of Turk was won,8 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 



1 Briivoirlich, a mountain comprehended in the clustei 
of Ihe Grampians, at Ihe head of the valley of Ihe Garry 
a river which springs from its base. It rises to an elevalioii 
of :«30 feet above Ihe level of the sea. 

2 See Appendix, Note A.. 

3 "About a mile to the westward of the inn of Aber 
foyle, Lochard opens to Ihe view. A few hundred yard.< 
in the east of it, the Avendow, which had just issued froir 
the lake, tumbles its waters over a rugged precipice o 
more than thirty feet in height, forming, in the rainy sea- 
son, several very magniticent cataructs. 

"The first opening of Ihe lower lake, from the east, is 
uncommuuly picturesque. Directing the eye nearly west 
ward, Benlomond raises its pyramidal mass in the back 
ground. In nearer prospect, you have gentle eminences 
covered with oak :ind birch to ihe very summit; the bare 
rock sometime.., peeping through amongst Ihe clumps. Im- 
mediately under the eye, the lower lake, strelchiug oul 



fron 



woods which ( 






more 



than half 
for about i 



up. 



westward, the view of the lake is 
upper lake, which is by fur the most 
extensive, is .separated from the lower hy a stream of about 
200 yards in length. The most adviintngeous view of the 
upper lake presents itself from a risiim ground near its 
lower extremity, where a fooipath stiikes olT to the south, 
into Ihe wood that overhangs this connecting stream. 
Looking westward, Benlomond is seen in the background, 
rising, at the distance of six miles, in the form of a regu- 
lar cone, its sides presenting a gentle slope to the N. W. 
and S.K- On the riaht is the lofiy mountain of Bennghrie, 
running west towards the deep vaU- in which l.ochcon lies 
concealed from the eye In the foregrnund, Lochard 
stretches out to the west in the fairest prospect ; its length 
three miles, and its bre.idih a mile and a half. On the 
right, it is skirled with woods; Ihe northern and western 
extremity of itie lake is diversified wi'h meadows, and 
cnrn-lields, and farm houses. On the left, few marks of 
cullivafon an- to b.- seen. 

■ Further ou, the traveller passes along Ihe verge of the 



lake under a ledge of rock, from thirty to fifty feet high; 
and, standing immedi.^te*y under this rock, towards its 
western extremity, iK* has a double echo, of uncommon 
distinctness. Upon pronouncing, with a firm voice, a line 
of ten syllables, it is returned, first from 'he opposite side 
of the like : and when-thai is finished, it is r.-peated wiih 
equal distinctness from the wood on Ihe east The day most 
he perfecllv calm, a»id Ihe lake as smooth as glass, for 
oiherwise no human voice can be returned from a distance 
of at least a tjuarler of a mile." — Graham's Sketches qf 
Perthshire. 2d edit. p. 1K2, etc. 

1 Camlius mure, within about two miles of Callender, on 
the wooded banks of the Keliie. a tributary of the Teiih, 
is the seat of a family of the name of Buchanan, whom, 
the Poet frequently visited in his younger days. 

5 Benledi is a magnificent mountain, S009 feel in height, 
which bounds the horizon on the north-west from Callen- 
der. The name, according to the Celtic etymologists, sig- 
nifies the Mountain of God. 

6 Two mountain streams — the one flowing from La;h 
Voil, by the pass of Leny; the other from Lo^h Kalrinr, 
bv Loch Achray and Loeh Veniiachar. unite at Calleii.ler ( 
aiid the river thus formed thenceforlh lakes the name r. J 
TeKA. Hence the designation of ti.e territory of Menieith. 

7 "Loch Veniiachar, a bcauiifnl expanse of water, nf 
about five miles in length, by a mile and a half in breadth." 

— Graham. 

8 "About a mile above Loch Veimachar, the approach 
(from the east) to the Brigg, or Bridge of Turk (the .sc.-iie 
of the death of a wild-boar famous in Cellic Ircidition), 
leads to Ihe summit of an eminence, where there hursts 
upon Ihe traveller's eye a sudden and wide prospect of ihe 
windings of the river that issues from l.ocli Achrav. wilh 
that sweet lake itself in front ; the gently rolling river 
pursues its serpentine course through an ex'en-ive mea- 
dow ; at the west end of the lake, on the s^le of Ah,-rfoyle, 
is situated the delightful farm of Achrny, Ihi- level firld, a 
denomination justly due to it, when considered in cmilrast 
with Ihe rugged rocks and mountains which sui round it. 
From this eminence nre lo be .seen al.so, on Ihe righl hand, 
Ihe eiiirance to Glenftnla.s, and in the distance Bcnvenue." 

— Graham. 



A 



7^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



VII. 
Alone, but with iiiibuted zeal. 
Tliat li(irse:Tiuii nliKd the sooiirse and steel : 
For j;iilt^(l now. ;inii spf^ir willi toil, 
KmlH.s.sM witli foam, anil dark \vi;li soil, 
While every g:asp with .sohs he drt'w. 
The lalioiirinV s'as s'lain'd lull in view. 
•Two .lo-s of hlanK Saini HiiI.eit'.s liieed. 
Unoiatch'd f >r couratje. breath, and speed,* 
Fast on his flvins? traces name 
And ill Imt won that ilesptrate sfanie . 
For, sc'ar(;e a spear's leiiu:th from his haunch, 
V'lndu-tive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch; 
!Sor nearer niisfht the do:js attain. 
Nor farHier nii?ht the quarry strain. 
Thus up the inar:,'in of the lake, 
B(;tween the pre(;iiiice and brake. 
O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

VIII. 
The Tinnier mark'd that mountain hi?h, 
The lone lakt^'s western boundary. 
And deein'd the sta^ iniKst turn to bay. 
Where that huse rampart barr'd the way; 
Already !i:loryiii'.r in the prize. 
Measured his antlers with his eyes: 
For the death-wound and death-halloo, 
Musler'd his breath, his winyarddrew; — 2 
Hut ■liunderin^^ as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared. 
The wily qu.u-ry shunn'd the shock. 
And turn'd him from the opposimj rock; 
Then, dashina: down a darksome Klen, 
Soon lust to hound and hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosich's3 wildest nook 
His solitary refiisre 'ook. 

There, while close couch'd. the thicket sheu 
Cold dews and vvld-flowers on his head, 
He heird iheb.iffled doars in vain 
Rave through the hollow p;iss amain, 
Cludini; the rocks tliat yell'd again. 

IX. 

Close on the hound'; the hunter came, 
To cheer ihem on the vanish'd 2aine ; 
But, stiimhlius III the ruirgtd dell. 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
'Fhe iin()alieni rider strove in vain 
To rouse him wi h the spur and rein. 
For the i;iiod steed, his lalxiurs o'er, 
Sireich'd his stilT limbs, to rise no more; 
Tlien. touch'd with pity and remorse, 
He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse. 
" I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slack'd iipoi the hanks of Seme, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, 
'I'hat cosLs liiy life, uiy gallant grey !" 

X. 

Then through the dell his horn resounds, 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
Back limp'd, witji slow and crippled pace, 
'I iie sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Chise to their master's side thev press'd, 
U'lth drooping tail and humbled crest; 
I5ui still the dingle's hollow throat 
Proloiig"d the swellin;;: bugle-note. 



1'he owlets started friim their dream. 
riie eagles answer'd with their scream. 
Hound and around the sounds were cast. 
Fill echo seeni'd an answering blast ; 
And oil the hunter hied his way, 
Fojoin some <-omr;ides of the day: 
Yet often paused, so strange the road. 
So wondrous were tiie scenes it show'd. 

XI. 
The western waves of ebbing day 
KolI'd o'er llie slen their level way; 
PJach purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below. 
Where twined the path in shadow hid. 
Round many a rocky pyramid. 
Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thiiiider-splinter'd pinnacle; 
Round many an insulated iii;u^s. 
The native bulwarks of the pass. 
Huge as the tower ■* which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shiiiar's plain.* 
'Fhe rocky sunuiiits. split and rent, 
F(jrm'd turret, dome, or l)atllemeiit. 
Or seem'd fantastically set 
Willi cupola or mmaret. 
Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd. 
Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
\or were these earth-born castles bare. 
Nor lack'd they many a banner fair; 
For, from their shiver'd brows display'd. 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade. 
All twinkling with the dewdrops slieen, 
Fhe briar-ro.se fell in streamers green. 
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. 

XII. 
Boon nature scatfer'd. free and wild, 
Kach plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
Here eglantine embalm"d the air. 

Hawthorn and hazel igled there; 

'Fhe primrose pale and violet flower. 
Found in each cl.tt" a narrow bower; 
Fox-glove and nightshade, side by side. 
Emblems of punishment and pride, 
Group'd their dark hues with every slain 
'I'lie weather-beaten cr-.igs retain 
With houghs that quaked at every breath. 
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath; 
.A.loft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shatier'd trunk, and frequent flung. 
Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high. 
His bf)Uglis athwart the narrow'd sky. 
Highest of all, wnere white peaks glanced. 
Where glist'iiing streamers waved and danced, 
'Fhe wanderer's eye could b.irely view 
'Fhe summer heaven's delicious blue : 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
'Fhe scenery of a fairy dream. 

XITI 
Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep. 
Affording scarce such breadth of brim. 
As served the wild duck's brood to swim. 

3 " The lerm Trusacht signifies Ihe rough or bristled i 
rilorv "— Or iham 

4 the Tower of Babel.— Genesis, xi. 19. 




T 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



Lost for a space, tliroush thickets veering, 
But broader when ajrain anpeantig. 
'I'all rocks and tufted knolls their lace 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
And farther as the hunter stray'd. 
Stdl broader sw<;ep its channels made. 
The shas-ry mounds no louiier stood, 
Kinersini!; from entamili'd vvoiid. 
Hut, vvave-encircled, seem'd lo float. 
Like castle si'dled with its mo;it ; 
Yet broader floods extending' still 
Divide them from their parent lull, 
Till each, retirinif. claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 
XIV. 
And now. to issue from the fflen. 
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 
U'lless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice ' 
The broom's toush roots his ladder made, 
The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 
And thus an airy point he won, 
Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 
One biirnish'd sheet of living gold.^ 
Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd.^ 
In all iier length far windins lay, 
With promontory, creek, and bay. 
And islands that, empurpled bright. 
Floated amid the livelier liffht. 
And mountains, that like giants stand. 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, huge Benvenue 3 
Down on the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls and mounds, confusedly hurl'd. 
The fragments of an earlier world 
A wildering forest feather'd o'er 
His ruin'd sides and summit hoar. 
While on the north, through middle nir, 
Beii-an'* heuveu high his forehead bare. 

XV. 
From the steep promontory gazed 
The stranser, raptured and aimized. 
And, '• What a scene were here," he cried. 
" For princely pomp, or churchman's pride! 
On this bold brow, a lordly tower; 
In that soft vale, a lady's bower; 
On yonder meadow, far away. 
"^I'he turrets of a cloister grey ; 
How blithely might the busie-horn 
Chide, (til the lake, the lingering morn ' 
How sweet, at eve. the lover's lute 
Chime, when the groves were still and mute ! 
And. when the midnight moon should lave 
Her forehead in the silver w:ive. 
How solemn on the ear would come 
The holy matins' distant hum. 
V\ hile the deep peal's commanding tone 
Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 
A sainted hermit from his cell, 
To drop a bead with every knell — 
And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 
Should each bewilder'd stranger call 
To friendly feast, and lighted hall. 

XVT. 
"31itlie were it then to wander here ! 
But now.— beshrew yon niml)le deer,— 



1 See . 



ii: 



ppeiidix, Nole D. 

Kplturhi is -hK CHtic proiiuiiriation. In his 
Ihe Kail- Maid of Terih, tln^ anihor hnx signified 
ih.ll the l.ikr was naineil after Ihe Catterins, or 



Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 
The copse must give my evening fare; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy 
Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 
Give little choice of restins-place : — 
A summer night, in greenwood spent. 
Were but tomorrow's merriment : 
But hosts may in these wilds abound. 
Such as are better miss'd Ihan found ; 
To meet with Highland plunderers here. 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer.—* 
I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 
Mav call some stragaler of the train ; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide. 
Ere now this falchion has been tried." 

XVIl. 
But scarce aa:ain his horn he wound. 
When lol forth starting at the sound, 
From underneath an aged oak. 
That slanted from the islet ruck, 
A damsel liuider of its wav. 
A little skilf shot to Ihe bay, 
Thtit round the promoiitrny steep 
l.etl Its deep line in graceful sweep, 
Kddym^. in almost viewless wave. 
The weeping willow-twig to 'awe, 
And ki.^s. with whispering sound and slow, 
The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 
The boat had touch'd this silver strand. 
Just as the Hunter left his stand. 
And stood conceal'd amid the brake. 
To view this Lady of the Lake. 
The maiden paused, as if a^ain 
She thought to catch the distant strain. 
V.'iih head up- raised, and look intent. 
And eye and ear attentive bunt. 
And hicks flung back, and lips apart. 
Like monument of Uiecian art. 
In listening mood, she seem'd to stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

xvin. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel chase 

A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face! 

What though the sun, with ardent frown. 

Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — 

The sportive toil, which, short and light, 

Had dyed her glowing hue so briijlit, 

Served too in hastier swell to show 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 

What though no rule of courtly grace 

To measured mood had train'd her pace. — 

A foot more light, a step more true. 

Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew; 

E'en the slight harebell raised its head, 

Elastic from her airy tread : 

What though upon her speech there liung 

The accents of the mountain tongue,— 

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear. 

The listener held his breath to hear I 

XIX, 
A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
Her satin snood.e her silken plaid. 
Her golden brooch, such birth betray 'd. 



3 BeiiBfni/« — i" literally the lit 
ontrai-teil wilh Bt-nlfdi ami Bcnioinond. 

4 AcrordiiiK lo Graham, Beii-aii, or Beijiiaii 
iniinutive of Pen — IVIouiUaiu. 



7 



z 



/. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



And Sfcliiom was a snood amid 
Siicli wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
Wliose fflossy black to shame mii^ht bring 
The pi milage of the raven's wiiig; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 
Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch the f >lds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy. 
You need but sjaze on Pollen's eye; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 
Gives back the sliaysry banks more true, 
'i'han every free-b(»rn glance coutess'd 
The guileless movements of her breast; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claim'd a sijrh, 
Or filial love was arlowing there, 
Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer. 
Or tale of injury calCd forth 
The indisnaiit spirU of the North. 
One only p;ission uiireveal'd. 
With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
O need I tell that passion's name ! 

XX. 
Impatient of the silent horn. 
Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 
••Father!" sheened; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
A while siie paused, no answer came,— 
"Malcolm, was thine the blast!" the name 
Less resolutely utter'd fell. 
The echoes could not catch the swell. 
" A stranger 1 1" tiie Huntsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarm'd, with h;isty oar. 
Push'd her lislit shallop from the shore, 
And when a spac^ was giim'd between, 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing. 
So turn to prune his ruffled win? ) 
'I hen safe, t.iough flutter'd and amazed, 
She paused, and ou the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
'I'hut youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXL 

On his bold visage middle aee 

Had slightly press'd its signet sage. 

Yet had not quench'd the open truth 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do. the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould. 

For hardy sports or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb array *d. 

And weaponless, except his blade. 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a Baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armour trode the shore 

Slighting the petty need he show'd, 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flow'd fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland. 

Less used to sue than to command. 

XXII. 
A while the maid the stranger eyed, 
And, reassured, at length replied, 



That Highland halls were open siill 
To wilder'd wanderers of the lull. 
'• .Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, (tur desert home; 
Before the heath had lost the dew. 
This morn, a couch was pull'd for you ; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere. 
To furnish forth your evening cheer."— 
'• Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. 
Your courtesy has err'd," he said ; 
•' No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ever drawn your mountain air. 
Till on this lake's'romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy land !" — 

xxin. 

"I well believe," the maid replied. 

As her ligiit skiff approach'd the side,— 

" I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore ; 

But yet, as far as yesternight, 

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 

A grey-hair'd sire, whose eye intent 

Was on the vision'd future bent. 

He saw your steed, a dappled grey. 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 

Painted exact your form and mien. 

Your hunting suit of Lincoln green. 

That tassell'd horn so gaily gilt. 

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, 

That cap with heron plumage trim. 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 

He bade that all should ready be. 

To grace a guest of fair degree ; 

But light I held his prophecy. 

And deem'd it was my father's horn. 

Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne." 

XXIV. 
The stranger smiled : — " Since to your home 
A destined errant-knight I come. 
Announced by prophet sooth and old, 
Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold, 
I'll lightly front each high emprise. 
For one kind glance of those tiright eyes. 
Permit me, first, the task to guide 
Your fairy frigate o"er the tide " 
The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 
i'iie toil unwonted saw him try; 
For seldom sure, if e'er before. 
His noble hand had grasp'd an oar: 
Yet with main strength his strokes he drew, 
And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 
With heads erect, and whimpering cry. 
The hounds liehind their [lassage ply. 
Nor freijuent does the bright oar break 
The dark'ning mirror of the lake. 
Until the rocky isle they reach. 
And moor their shallop on the beacn. 

XXV. 

'F'he stranger view'd the shore around ; 
'Twas all so close with copsewood bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented ihere. 
Until the mountain maiden show'd 
A clambering unsuspected road. 




"T 



A 



/ / 



/ 



7 



11)4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



That winded IhroiiRh the tangled screen, 
And opeii'd on a narrow Rieen, 
Where weepinti; birch and wili(»\v round 
With their Viw^, fibres swept the ground. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous iiour, 
Some cliief had framed a rustic bower.i 

XXVT. 
It was a lodf^e of ample size. 
But slran^e of structure and device ; 
Of such materials, as around 
'I'he workman's hand had readiest found. 
Lopp'd off their bouglis, their hoar trunlis 

bared. 
And by the hatchet rudely squnred. 
'I'o give the walls their destmed height, 
'I'lie sturdy oak and ash unite; 
While moss and clny and leaves combined 
To fence each crevice from tlie wind. 
T he lighter pine-trees, over-head. 
Their slender length for rafters spread, 
And wither'd heath and rushes dry 
Supplied a russet canopy. 
Due westward, fronting: to the green, 
A rural portico was seen, 
A left on native pillars borne, 
Of niounrain lir, with bark unshorn. 
Where Ellen's hand bad taught to twine 
The ivy and Idajan vine. 
The clematis, the favoured flower 
Which boasts the name of virerin bower, 
And every hardy plant could bear 
Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. 
An instant in this porch she stay'd, 
And ffaily to the stranger said. 
" On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall !" 

XXVII. 
" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 
My gentle euide. in foUovvimj Ihee." 
He cross d the threshold —and a clang 
Of angry steel that instant ran?. 
To his bold brow his siiint rush'd. 
But soon for vain alarm he blush'd, 
M^hen on the floor he saw display'd, 
Cause of the din, a naked blade 
Dropp'd from the sheath, that careless flung 
Upon a stag's huge anilers swung; 
For all around, the walls to grace. 
Hung trophies of the fight or chase . 
A target there, a bugle here, 
A battle-axe, a huntins-spear. 
And broadswords, bows, and arrows store. 
With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns, 
Or mantles o'er the liison's horns; 
Peiin ins and flag.s def.ced and stain'd. 
That lihickeiiin- streaks of blood retain'd, 
And deer-skins. dap|iled. dun, and vvhite, 
With otter's fur and seiil's unite. 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 
To garni'<h forth the silvan liall. 

XXVIII. 
The wonderins" stranser round him gazed. 
And next the fullen weapon raised ; — 
Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 
Siilficed to stretch it Ibri h at length, 



K 



1 See .ippciidix. Nole G. 



2 Ibid, Nole U. 



And as the brand he poised atid sway'd, 

" I never knew but one," he said 

" W'hose 'stalwart arm might brook to wield 

A blade like this in battle-field." 

She sish'd, then smiled and took the word . 

" You see the guardian champion's sword : 

As light It trembles in his hand. 

As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 

Mv sire's tall form mislit grace the part 

uf Ferragus or Ascabart ; 2 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 
The mistress of the mansion came, 
Mature of age. !i graceful dame; 
Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court. 
To whom, thoush more than kindred knew, 
Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 
Meet welcome to her gnest .she made. 
And every courteous rife was paid. 
That hospitality could claim. 
Though all uuask'd his birth and ntime ' 
Such then the reverence to a guest. 
That fellest foe iinglif join the feast. 
And from his deadliest fncmnn's door 
UiKjuestion'd turn, the banquet o'er. 
At length his rank the stranger names, 
"Tile KnightofSiiowdouii, James Filz-James; 
Lord of>a barren heritage. 
Which his brave sires, from age to age. 
Bv their good swords had held wiUi toil , 
His sire had fallen in such turmoil, 
And he. God wot. was forced to si and 
Oft for his right wiih blade in li:iiid. 
This morning, with Lord .Moray's tram. 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
Oiitstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer. 
Lost his good steed, and wander'd here." 

XXX. 
Fain wo\ild the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire. 
Well show'd the elder lady's mien. 
That courts and cities she had seen ; 
Ellen, though more her looks display'd 
The simple grace of silvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face 
.Show'd she w;is corne of gentle race. 
' Twere si range, in ruder rank to find. 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave , 
Or Ellen, innocently gay. 
Turn'd all inquiry light away : — 
'• Weird women we ! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast. 
On wandering knights our spells we cast ; 
While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and still a harp unseen 
Fill'd up the symphony between.* 

XX XL 

SONG. 

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er. 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 

Dream of battled fields no nnue. 
Days of danger, nights of waking. 



4 Ibid, Nc 



y 



r 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



e^ 



In our isle's ennhaiited hull. 

Hands unseen thy Coiii-h are strewing, 
Fairy stranis of niii>;ic fall. 

Every sense in sliimher dewing. 
Soldier, rust ! tliy warfare oer. 
Dream of fishiinV fields no more : 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Morn of toil, nor night of wakniit. 

"No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 

Armour's clana:, or war-steed champing. 
Trump nor pihroc'i snnunon here 

Musterinsr clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the day-break from the fallow. 
And the bittern sound his drum, 

Uoomins from the sedsy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Gnanls nor warders challense here. 
Here's no war-steed's neish and champing, 
Shouting clans, or sq-iadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 

She paused— tlien, hlushins:, led the lay 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
l[he cadence of the flowing son?, 
Till to her lips in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

SONO CONTINUED. 

"Huntsman, rest! thy chaise is done, 

While our slumbrous spells assail ye. 
Dream not. with the rising sun, 

liusles here shall sound reveille. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, 

How thy gallant sleed lay dymtr. 
Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is "done, 
Tliink not of the rislns sun. 
For at dawninff to assail ye. 
Here no bugles sound reveille." 

XXXIII. 
The hall was clear'd— the stranger's bed 
Was there of mountain heather spread, 
Where oft a hundred guests hat! lam, 
And dream'd their forest snorts a?ain. 
But vainly did the heath-flower shed 
Its moorland fragrance round his head , 
Not Ellen's .spell had lull'd to rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
In broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 
His Sleed now flounders in the brake. 
Mow sinks his barge upon the lake ; 
Now leiider of a broken host, 
His standard falls, his honour's lost. 
'I'hen, — from my couch may heavenly might 
Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 
.\s;ain return'd the scenes of youth. 
Of confident undoubting truth; 
Asrain his soul he mterchansed 
With friends whose heats were long estranged. 

1" Ye gnariliai. spiril.«, to wh Im man is dear. 

From ihc^e foul iiemoDS shield ihc miduight gloom : 
Aug, Is of fancy and of love, be near, 

KuA. o'er the biauK of >Iee|) d ffuse a bloom : 
Evoke the sacred shades of Ureete and Rome, 

.\nd let them virtue wilh a look imp.irt ; 
But ■ hief, awhile, O \ lend us from Ihe tomb 

Those loiig lost friei.ds for whom in love we smart, 
And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt woe the hearU 



as gay. 



Tiipy come, in dim procession led. 
The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 
As warm eacii hand, each brow 
As if they parted yesterday. 
And doubt distracts him at the view, 

were his senses false or true ! 
Dream'd he of death, or brok<in vow, 
Or IS it all a vision now ! i 

XXXIV. 

At length, with Ellen in a erove 

He seem'd to walk, and speak of love , 

She hsieii'd with a blush and sigh. 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded hand to clasp, 

.And a cold gauntlet met his srasp; 

Tlie phantom's sex was changed and gone. 

Upon Its head a helmet shone; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size. 

With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes, 

The grisly visage, stem and hoar. 

To b^llen still a likeness bore — 

He woke, and. panting with affright, 

Kecall'd the vision of the night. " 

1 he liearih's decaying brands were red. 
And deep and dusky lustre shed. 

Half showing, half concealing, all 
The uncouth trophies of the hall. 
Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye. 
Where that huge fah^hion hung on high, 
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, 
Hush'd. chasing countless thoughts along, 
Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 
lie rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 

XXXV. 

The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom. 

Wasted around their rich perfume : 

The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm. 

The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 

The silver light, with quivering glance, 

Play'd on the water's still expanse. — 

Wild were the heart whose passions' sway 

Could rage beneath the sober ray I 

He felt its calm, that warrior guest, 

V\ hile thus he communed with his breast : — 

■' Wiiy is It. at eacii turn I trace 

Some niemoiy of that exiled race ? 

Can I not mountain maiden spy. 

But she must hear the Douglas eye? 

Can I not view a Higliland brand. 

But It must match the Douglas haiidT 

Can I not frame a fever'd dream. 

But still the Douglas is the theme ? 

I'll dream no more — by manly iiiind 

JS'ot even in sleep is will resigu'd. 

My midnight ohsons said o'er, 

I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 

His midnight orisons he told, 

A prayer with every bead of gold. 

Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes. 

And sunk m undisturb'd repose : 

Until the heath-cock shiilly crew. 

And morning dawn'd on Benvenue. 



■ bid the morn of youth 
d beam afresh the days 



' Or are you sportive ? - 

Rise to new I eht, ai 
Of innocence, simplicity, and truth; 

To cares estranged, and manhood's thorny way 
What truiisport, to retrace our boyish plays, 

Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supplied ; 
The woods, the mountains, and the warbliu!; m iz 

Of the wild brooks : " — CaslU of Indulencc, Cn 



•V 



I. 

z 



. f 166 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



2r!)e ILatia) of tl)e 3Lafec. 



CANTO SECOND. 



THE ISLAND. 



At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wmsj. 
'Tis niorning prompts the linnet's blitliest 
liiy, 
All Nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life revivine, with reviving day; 
And while yon liltle hiirk glides down the bay, 

Waflins the stranger on his way again. 
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel grey. 
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy 
strain, 
Mix'd with the sounding harp, white-hair'd 
Allan-Bane ! i 

11. 

SO N Q. 

" Not faster yonder rowers' might 

Flings from their oars the spray, 
N(»t faster yonder ripiiling bright, 
That tracks the shallop's course in light. 

Melts in the lake away. 
'I han men from nieniory erase 
The benefits of former days ; 
Then, stranger, go! good speed the while, 
Nor tinnk again of the lonely isle. 

" High place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battle line. 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
VVhere beauty sees tiie brave resort, 

The honour'd meed be thine ! 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear. 
And lost in love and friendship's smile 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 



III. 



SO NO CONTINUED. 

"But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam. 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 
And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 

l^me for his Highland home; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe, 
Kememlier then thy hap ere while, 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

*• Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed. 
On thankless courts, or friends estranged, 
But come where kindred worth shall sinile, 
To greet thee in the lonely isle." 



:K 



1 See Appendix, Note L. 



IV. 

As died the sounds upon the tide, 
Tlie shallop reach'd the mainland side, 
And ere his onward way he look. 
The stranger cast a lingering look. 
Where easily his eye might reach 
The Harper'on the islet beach. 
Reclined against a blighted tree. 
As wasted, grey, and worn as he. 
To minsirer meditation given. 
His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 
As from the rising sun to claim 
A s|iarkle of inspiring flame. 
His hand, rei^liiied upon the wire, 
Seein'd waiching the avvukeniiig fire; 
So still he sate, as those who wait 
'I'iU judgment speak the doom of fate; 
So still, as if no breeze might dare 
To lift one lock of hoary hair; 
So si ill, us life it.xelf were fled. 
In the last sound his harp had sped. 

VI. 

Upon a rock with lichens wild. 
Beside him Kllen sate and smiled — 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon llie lake, 
W hlle her vex'd spaniel, from tiie beach, 
Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach ? 
Vet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 
Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose ? — 
Korijive. forgive, Fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
Yon parting linserer wave adieu. 
And stt)p and turn to wave anew , 
And. loVely ladies, eie your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre. 
Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 
And prize such conquest of her eye ! 



VI. 



Wliile yet he loiter'd on the spot. 
It seein"d as Ellen mark'd him not; 
But when he turn'd him to the slade, 
One courteous parting sign she niaile ; 
And after, oft the knight would say. 
That not when prize of festal diiy 
W'as dealt him by the brightest fair. 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell, 
As at that simple mute farnwell. 
Now with a trusiy monniain guide. 
And his dark stag-lioiimls by lii.s sale. 
He parts — the maid, unconscious still. 
Watch'd him wind slowly round the hill ; 
But when his stately form was liid, 
The guardian in her bosom clod — 
"Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid !" 
'Twas thus upbraiding coiiscieure said,— 
"Not so had Malcolm idly hung 
On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; 
Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye. 
Another step than thine to spy. 
Wake, Allan-Bane," aloud she cried, 
To the old Minstrel by her side. — 
''Arouse thee from thy moody dream I 
I'll give thy harp heroic theme 
And warm thee wii h a noble name : 
Pour forth the glory of the Grajme ! " ' 



2 Sec Appendix, Note M. 



^ 

^ 



y- 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



?=cii(:e troin htr lip the woril had rnsh'd, 
When deep I lie ('(hisckhis maiden bliisii'd ; 
Kor of his rlDii. in hall and bower. 
Young Malcolm Graenie was held the flower. 

VII. 
The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 
Arose the well-kn'iwn mar lal rhimes, 
And thrice their hiah heroic pride 
111 melancholy iiiiiriniirs died. 
"Vainly tliou bld"st, O noble maid," 
Claspiiisr his witlierd hands, he said, 
'• Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 
Thoiis?li all unwont lo bid in vain. 
Alas! than mine a nii^lilier iiaiid 
Has limed my harp, my strings has spann'd ! 
I touch the chords of joy, but low 
And mouiiiful answer notes of woe; 
And thu proud march which victors tread, 
."-inks Ml the wailing for the dead. 
O well for me. if mine alone 
That dirge's deep proplietic tone ! 
If. as my tuneful fathers said. 
This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd.i 
< an thus its master's faie foretell, 
Tlien welcome be Ihe minstrel's kuell! 

VIII. 
" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sish'd 
Tlie eve thy sainted mollier died ; 
And such the sounds which, while 1 strove 
To wake a lay of wur or love. 
Came marring all the festal mirth, 
Appalling me who gave them birth, 
And, disobedient to my call. 
Uail'd loudly through Bothwell's baniier'd 

hall. 
Ere Douglasses, to ruin driren,^ 
Were exiled from their native heaven. — 
Oh! if yet worse niisliap and woe, 
My master's house must uiiderso, 
Or aushl but weal to Ellen fur, 
Broi'd in these accents of despair, 
Ko future bard, sad Harp! shall flin;? 
Triumph or rapture from thy string; 
One short, one tinal strain shall flow, 
Fraught with unutterable woe, 
Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie, 
'1 hy mas er cast him down and die ! " 

IX. 
Soothing she answer'd liim. "Assuage, 
Mine lioiiour'd friend, the fears of age. 
All melodies to thee are known. 
Thai harp has runsj. or pipe has blown. 
In Lowland vale or lliglilaiid glen. 
From I'weed to Spey — what marvel, then, 
At times, untiiilden notes shoiilil rise, 
Confusedly bound in memory's ties, 
Kntangling. as they rush along. 
The war-march wiih the funeral song? — 
^~mall ground is now for boding fear; 
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 
My sire, in native virtues great, 
Resiijning lordship, lands, and state, 
Not then to fortune more resign'd. 
Than yonder oak might give the wind , 
The graceful foliage storms may reave. 
The noble stem ihey cannot grieve. 
For me," — she stoop'd, and, looUinsr round, 
i'luck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground, — 



" For me, whose meiiiory scarce convey 

An image of more splendid days. 

This li'tle flower, that loves the lea, 

.May well my simple emblem be; 

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 

That in the king's own garden gnws; 

.•Viid when I place it iii my hair, 

Allan, a biird is hound to swear 

He ne'er saw Coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreath 'd in her dark locks, and smiled, 



Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 
Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw, 
When angels stoop to soothe their woe. 
He gazed, till fmd regret and pride 
Thnll'd to a tear, then thus replied : 
" Loveliest and best ! thou little kuow'st 
The rank, the honours, thou hast lost . 

might 1 live to see thee grace, 

III Scotland's court, thy birth-righl place, 
To see my favourite's step advaiu-e, 
The lightest in the courtly dance. 
The cause of every gallant's sigh. 
And leading star of every eye. 
And theme of every minstrel's art, 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart I " 3 

XI 
"Fair dreams are these," the mnideii cried 
(Light wa>^ her accent, yet she sigli'd ;) 
"Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy; 
Nor would my foi>istef)s s[)nna liiore gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal niinstrels lay as thine. 
And then for suit(us proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye.— 
Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say, 
That grim Sir Koderick owns its sw.-iy. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpme's pride. 
The terror of Loch Lomond's side. 
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day." — 

XII. 
The ancient bard his glee repress 'd : 
"III hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 
For who, through all this western wild, 
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled ! 
Ill Holy-Rood a knight he slew ; 4 

1 saw, when back the dirk he drew. 
Couriiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide; 

And since, though outlaw'd, h.ith his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 
Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day, 
That 1 such hated truth should say — 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 
Disowii'd by every noble peer.a 
Even tne rude refuge we have here ? 
Alas, this vvild marauding Chief 
Alone might hazard our relief. 
And now thy maiden charms e.tpand, 
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 
Full soon may dispensation sought. 
To back his suit, from Koine be brought. 



^^ 



4 See .\pppii(lix, Note P. 

5 See .\ppt;iiUix, Mote U. 



^^ 



A 



f 168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



TliHti. tlioiisti :m exile on the hill, 
Tliv fatht^r. MS the Donilas. still 
Be lie 111 ill niveiviice and fear; 
Ami tlioiisli t.i) i^Hlcnck ilmii'it so dear, 
That, thou inislitsi ^Miide with silken thread, 
Slave ol' thy will, this chieftain diead ; 
Yet. loved maid, Ihy mirth refriiiii! 
Thy hand is on a lion's mane."— 

XIII. 
"Minstrel," the nmid replied, and liish 
Her father's soul slanced from her eve, 
'• Mv debts to Rodenrk's house I know 
Allthat a mother roiild bestow, 
To l.ady Margaret's rare 1 owe. 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrovv'd o'er her sister's rliild , 
To her brave rhiefiam son. from ire 
Of Scotland's kins whoshroiids my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
And.conld I p:iv it with my blood. 
Allan! Sir Roderick shonld command 
Mv blood, mv life,— bnt not mv hand. 
Rather will Kllni nonslas dwell 
A votaress ni Alaionnan's cell; ' 
Rather tbroni^li realms bevoiid the sea, 
Scekimr the world's cold charity. 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Honslas heard, 
An oircast pilirnm will she rove, 
i'lian wed the man she cannot love. 2 

XIV. 
"Thon shakest,Rood friend, thy tresses giey,- 
That pleadimr look, what can it say 
But what 1 own?— I grant linn biave. 
But wild as Bracklinns tlmiiderins: wave; 3 
And generous, save vindictive mood. 
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood: 
I grant hiiii true to friendly band, 
As his claviiiore is to his hand ; 
But O ! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel : 
I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan the wealth they bring. 
When back by lake and glen they wind, 
And in the Lowland leave behind. 
Where once feme pleasant hanilef stood, 
A mass of aslies slaked with blood. 
The hand that for my father fought, 
I honour, as his daughter ought; 
But can I I'.lasp it reeking red, 
From peasants slaughfer'd in their shed? 
i^o! wildly while his virtues gleam. 
They make his [lassioiis darker seem, 
And flash along his spirit liigh. 
Like lightning o'er the midniglit sky. 
While yet a child, — and children know, 
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 
1 shudder'd at his brow of gloom. 
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haugluy mien and lordly air: 
But. if thou join'st a suitor's claim. 
In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 
A Douglas knew tlie word, with fear. 
To change such odious theme were best, — 
What think'st, thou of our stranger guest ? "- 



XV. 

What think I of him? — woe the while 
That lirought such wanderer to our isle! 
Thy father's battle brand, of yore 
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,* 
What time he leagued, no longer foes. 
His Border spears wiih Hotspur's bows, 
Did, self-unscalibarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe 6 
If courtly spy hath harbour'd here. 
What may vve for the Douglas fear? 
What for this island, deem'd of old 
Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold T 
If neither s[iy nor foe. I pray 
What yet mav jealous Roderick sny ? 
—Nay, wave not iliy disdainful head, 
Bethink thee of tlie discord dread 
That kindled, when at Beltane game 
Thou led'st the dance wiih Malcolm Graeme, 
Still, though thy sire the peace re'iew'd. 
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the fend ; 
Beware! — But hark, wh-it sounds are these? 
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 
No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake. 
Still is the caiina'sS hoary heard. 
Yet, by my minstrel faitti. I heard — 
And hark again ! some pipe of war 
Sends tlie bold pibroch from afar." 

XVI. 
Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four mann'd and masted barges grew, 
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
Steer'd full upon the lonely isle; 
The point of Brianchoil they pass'd. 
And, to the windward :is they cast, 
Against the sun they gave toshine 
The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd Pine. 
Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
Spear, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
Now might yon see the tartans brave. 
And plaids and plumage dance and wave . 
Now see the bonnets sink and rise. 
As his tough oar the rower plies; 
See, flashing at each sturdy s'roke, 
The wave ascending into smoke ; 
See the proud pipers on the bow. 
And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
From their loud chanters'' down, and sweep 
The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 
As. rushing through the lake amain. 
They plied the ancient Highland strain. 

XVI L 
Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sound, by distance tame 
Mellow'd along the waters came. 
And, lingering long by cape and bay, 
Waii'd every harsher note away ; 
Then bursting holder on the ear, 
The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear ; 
Those thrilling .sounds, that call the might 
Of old Clan-Alpine lo the fight. 8 



See Appendix, Note R 

•' F.IIen is most exquisitely drawn, and could not have 
n improved by contrast She is heautiful, frank, affec- 
tionate, ralion.nl, and playful, combining tlie innocence 



of a child with the elevated sentiments and courage of a 

heroine." — Quarterly Rrvicw. 
3 See Appendix, Note. S. 4 ihid, Note T. 5 Ibid. Note V 
6 Cotton prass. 7 The pipe of the bagpipe- 

6 See Appendix, Note V. 



7 



z 



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THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



1 00 > . 



Tliick bent the rapid notes, as when 
The mustering hundreds shake tlie glen, 
And, hurrjMii? at the sianul d ead, 
The batter'd earth relnrns their tread. 
Tlieii prelude hsht. of livelier tone, 
Express'd their merry marching on, 
Ere peal of closmg hattle rose. 
With mingled ontcry. shrieks, and blows, 
And mimic din of stroke and ward. 
As broad swoid upon target jan'd; 
And groanina: pause, ere yet a$;ain, 
Condensed, the battle yell'd amuin; 
The rapiil r.harje. the rallying shout, 
Ketreal borne. headlons into rout, 
And hur.s's of triumph, to declare 
(■ an-A I pine's conquest — all were there. 
-Nor ended thus lire strain ; but slow, 
Sunk m a moan prolon^'d and low. 
And (^liaiised the conquering clarion swell, 
For wild lament o"er those that lell. 

xviir. 

The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 
And. when they slept, a vocal strain 
B:ide their hoarse chorus wake again, 
Wliile loud a hundred clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chiettain's praise. 
Each bfiatman. bending to his oar. 
With measured sweep the burden bore, 
III such wild rulenre, as the breeze 
M ikes through Decembers leafless trees 
The choius first could Allan know, 
-Kmlerick Vich Alpine, ho! iro ! " 
And near, and nearer as they row"d, 
Distinct the marliai diuy flow'd. 

XIX. 

BOAT SONG. 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! 

Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine ! 
Long: may the tree, in his banner that ulances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 
Heaven send it happy dew, 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourseon, and broadly to grow. 
While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! leroe ! " ' 
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in sviarer to fade ; 
V\ hen the whirl wind has strippd every leaf on 
the mountain, 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her 
shade. 
Moor'd lu the rifted rock. 
Proof to the tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
Echo his praise asren, 
"Kodengli Vicli Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 
XX. 
Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, 
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan 
replied ; 
Glen Luss and itoss-dhu, they are smoking in 
rum, 
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on 
her side. 2 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid. 



Tliink ofClan-Alpine with fearand with woe; 
Lennox and Leven-sjlen 
Shake when they hear as^-n, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe ! " 
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the High- 
lands ! 
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green 
Pine! 
()! that the ro.'^e-hnd that graces yon islands. 
Were wreathed in a garland around liiin to 
twine ! 
O that some seedling gem, 
Wortliy such nohle stem, 
Honour'd and blessd in ilieir shadow might 
grow ! 
Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
Ring from the deepmost slen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 
XXI. 
With all her joyful female band. 
H.id Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew. 
And high their snowy arms they threw. 
As echoing back with shrill jurclaim. 
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; 
While, prompt to please, wi'h mother's art. 
The darling passion of his heart. 
The Dame call'd Ellen to the strand. 
To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
'■ Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou. 
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ? " — 
Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
Tlie unwelcome summoning obey'd. 
And, when a distant bugle rung, 
In the mid-path aside she sprun? : — 
" List. Allan-Bane ! From mainland cast, 
I hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours," she cried, " the skiff to guide. 
And waft him from the mountain side." 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and briglit. 
She darted to her shallop light, 
And. eagerly while Roderick scann'd. 
For her dear form, his mother's band. 
The islet far behind her lay. 
And she had landed in the bay. 

XXII. 
Some feelings are to mortals given. 
With less of earth in tliem than heaven 
And if there be a huiiian tear 
From passion's dross refined and clear, 
A tear so limpid and so meek. 
It would not stain an ansel's cheek, 
"Lis that which pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
And as the Douglas t<i his breast 
His darling Ellen closely press'd. 
Such holy drops lier tresses steep'd, 
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd. 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
Mark'd she, that fear (affection's j)roof ) 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; 
No ! not till Douglas named his name. 
Although the youth was Malcolm Giieme. 

XXIII. 
Allan, with wistful look the while, 
Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle. 
His master piteously he eyed. 
Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride. 



170 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



X 



A 



Then dasliVI, with hasty hand, away 

From liis dinini'il eye the sathering spray; 

And Dousliw, as his hand lie laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said. 

'•Canal thou, younsr friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistenme: eye ? 

I'll tell thee : — he recalls the day, 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud, 

While many a minstrel an.«iwer'd loud, 

When Percy's Noi man petmon, won 

In bloodv field, before me shone. 

And twice ten knigfhts. the least a name 

As nnshty as yon Chief may claim, 

Oracins iiiy P'>nip. heliiiid me came. 

Yet trust me. Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all tliat marshall'd crowd. 

'IhoUKh the waned crescent own'd my might, 

And ill my train troop'd lord and kniaht, 

'I'lioiigii Blaiityre hymn'd her holiest lays. 

And Both well's hards flung back my praise. 

As when this old man's silent tear, 

And this poor maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true. 

Than aught my belter fortunes knew. 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, 

O ! It out-beggars uU 1 lost !"' 

XXIV. 

Delightful praise !— i.ike summer rose, 
That brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd. 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcohn heard. 
The flush of .shame- faced joy to hide, 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide , 
The loved caresses of the maid 
'I'he dogs with crouch and whimper paid , 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took her favourite stand, 
Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye, 
Nor, though unhooded. sought to fly. 
And, trust, while in such guise she stood. 
Like fabled Goddess of the wood, 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught, 
Well nnght the lover's judgment fail 
To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he stole. 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 

XXV. 

Of stature tall, and slender frame. 

But firmly knil. was Malcolm Grseme. 

The belted plaid and tartan hose 

Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose, 

His flaxen hair of sunny hue, 

Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. 

Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye 

The ptarmigan in snow could spy : 

Kach pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 

He knew, through Lennox and iMenteitli ; 

Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 

When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 

And scarce that doe, though wiiig'd with fear, 

Outstripped in speed the mountaineer: 

Right up Ben-Lomond could he press. 

And not a sob his toil confess. 

His form accorded with a mind 

Lively and ardent, frank and kind , 

A blither heart, till Ellen came. 

Did never love nor sorrow lame ; 

It danced as lightsome in his breast, 

As play'd the feather ou his crest. 



Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, 
His sconi of wrong, his zeal for truth, 
And bards, who saw his features bold. 
When kindled by the tales of old, 
Said, were that voiith to manhood grown, 
Not long should' Roderick Dhu's renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, 
But quail to that of .Malcolm Giueme. 

XXVL 
Now back they wend their watery way, 
And. " O my sire !" did Ellen say, 
• Why ur2e thy chase so far astray ? 
And why so late return 'd ? And why" — 
The rest was in her speaking e^e. 
•' My child, the chase 1 fullo%v for, 
' lis" mimicrv of noble war ; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas 1 have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I stray 'd, 
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade. 
Nor stray'd 1 safe ; for. all around. 
Hunters and horsemen scour'd the Kroiiiid 
This youth, though still a royal ward, 
Risk'd life and land to he my guard. 
And through the pas-^es of the wood 
Guided my steps, not unpursuetl ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
)espite old spleen, for Douglas' sake 
Then must he seek Strath- Endrick glen, 
Nor peril ought for me agen." 

XXVIL 
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 
Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
Yet. not in action, word or eye, 
Fail'd aught in hospitality. 
In talk and sport they whiled away 
The morning of that sumnwer day; 
But at high ncwn a courier light 
Held secret parley with the knight. 
Whose moody aspect, soon declared, 
That evil were t he news he heard. 
Peep thought seem'd toiling in his heat). 
Yet was the evening banquet made, 
Ere he assembled round the flame, 
Ifis mother, Douglas, and the Grarme, 
And Ellen, too: then cast around 
His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground, 
As studying phrase that might avail 
Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd, 
1'lien raised his haughty brow, and said : — 

XXVIII. 
" Short be my speech ; — nor time affords, 
Nor my plain temper, glozing words 
Kinsman and father, — if such name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim , 
Mine honour'd mother ; — Ellen — why. 
My cousin, turn away thine eye? — 
And Graeme ; in wlntm 1 hope to know 
Full soon a noble friend or foe, 
When age shall give thee thy command. 
And leadms; in thy native land.— 
List all !— The King's vindictive pride 
Boasts to have tamed the Border side. i 
Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 
To share their monarch's silvan game, 
'I'hemselves in bloody toils were snared ; 
And when the banquet they prepared. 
And wide their loyal portals flung. 
O'er their own gateway siruKgling hung. 



lS*e Ap[i"<Jix. Nol« V. 



^ 



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THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



171 



\ 



t/md rvics their bliKid from ^^e^s:<•^t's mead, 

From Yarrow hnies. and banks of Twreil, 

Where the lone streams of Ettrick ghde, 

And from the silver Teviot's side ; 

Ttie dales, where martial clans did ride, 

Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the ScoUisli thr.me, 

So faithless and so ruthless known. 

Now hillier comes ; his end the same, 

The same pretext of silvan game. 

What !?race for Highland Chiefs, judge ye 

By fate of Border chivalry.l 

Yet more ; amid Glentinhis ?reen, 

Douglas, thy stalely Ibrm was seen. 

This hy espial sure I know ; 

Your counsel in the streisht I show." 

XXIX. 
Ellen and Mariraret fearfu ly 
Sought fouifort ill each o her's eye, 
Then turii'd their siaslly look, each one, 
This to her sire — that to her son. 
'i'he hasty colour went and came 
111 the bold cheek of Malcolm Giijeme ; 
But from his ulance it well appear'd, 
'Twas but for Hilen that he fear'd : 
While, sorrowful, Imt undisiiiay'd. 
The Douglas thus Ins counsel said : — 
"Brave Koderick. though the tempest roar. 
It may but thumJer and pass o'er; 
Nor will 1 here remain an hour. 
To draw the lightning on thy bower; 
For well thou kiKiw'sr, at this ^rey head 
The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 
For thee, who. at thy Kms's command, 
Canst aid him with a gallant band, 
Submission, homage, humbled pride. 
Shall turn the .Monarcirs wrath aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and 1 will seek, apart. 
The refiiije of some forest cell. 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. 
Till on the mountain and the moor. 
The stem pursuit be pass'd and o'er." — 

XX. K. 
"No, hy mine honour," Hoderick said, 
"So help me, heaven, and my good blade! 
No, never! Bhisted be ymi Pine, 
My fathers* ancient crest and mine, 
If from Its shade in danger part 
The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 
Hear my blunt speech: Grant me this maid 
To wife, thy couii-sel to mine aid ; 
To Douglas, leasued with Koderick Dhu, 
Will friends and allies flock enow; 
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief. 
Will bind to us each Western Chief. 
When the loud pipes mv bridal tell. 
The Links of Forth shall hear the knell. 
The guards shall s:art in Stirling's porch; 
And, when I light the nuptial torch, 
A thousand villages in flames. 
Shall scare the slumbers of King James I 
— Nay. Ellen, blench not thus away. 
Anil, hiother. cease these sijnis, I pray; 
I meant not all my heart misht say. — 
Small need of inroad, or of light, 
When the sasre Dousrlas may unite 
Each mountain clan in friendly band. 
To guard the passes of iheir land. 
Till the foil'd king, from pathless glen, 
Shall boo'less turn him home ai^en." 



1 S«« Appendix, Note Z. 



XXXL 

There are who have, at midjiight hour, 

In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 

And on the Ver^e that i)eeiled o'er 

The ocean-tide's incessant roar, 

Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream, 

Till waken'd by the mornms beam; 
When, dazzled by the eastern cloW, 
Such startler cast, his dance below, 
And saw unmeasured de|)t|i ar()Und, 
And heard nninteniulied sound. 
And thought the battled fence so fr:ul. 
It waved like cobweb in the Kale ; — 
Amid his senses' giddy wheel. 
Did he not desperate 'im[)Ulse feel, 
HeadloiL? to pliiii-re himself below. 
And meet the worst Ins fears foreshow T — 
Thus, yilen. dizzy and jistound. 
As sudden rum yawn'd around. 
By (crossing terrors wildly tossd. 
Still for the Douglas fearing most, 
Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, 
To buy hia safely with her hand. 

XXXII. 

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 

In Ellen's guiveriiig lip and eye. 

And eager rose to speak— but ere 

His lomriie could hurry forth his fear. 

Had Douglas markVl the hectic strife. 

Where death seem'd cimihiiting with life ; 

For to her cheek, in leverish flood, 

One instant rush'd the throbbing blood, 

Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 

Left its domain as wan as clav. 

'• Roderick, enough ! enough !" he cried, 

'• My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 

Not that the blush to wooer dear, 

Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 

It may not be— forgive her, Chief, 

.Nor hazard aught for our relief 

Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 

Will level a rebellious spear. 

'Twas I that taught his youthful hand 

To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 

I see him yet, the princely boy ! 

Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 

1 love him still, despite my wrongs. 

By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 

O seek the grace you well may find, 

Without a cause to mine combined." 



xxxin. 

Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode \ 
The waving of his tartans broad. 
And darken'd brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill Demon of the night. 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upcm the nighted pilgrim's way: 
But, unrequited Love ! ihy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenom'd smart. 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 
At length the hand of Douglas wrimg, 
While eyes, that mock'd at tears before, 
Wiih bitter drops were running o'er. 
The death pangs of long-cherish'd hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had .scope, 
But, struggling with his spirii proud. 
Convulsive heaved its chequer'd shioud. 
While every sob— so mute were all- 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 



^ 



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172 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The son's despair, the mniher's look, 
III niig-lii. 'ihe peiitle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came, 
To aid her parting steps, the GriBnie. 

XXXIV. 
Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— 
As flasiies flame throiiRh sable smoke. 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, 
n'o one broad blaZe of ruddy glow. 
So the deep aniruish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
With stalwart grasp ins hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 
" Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said. 
'• Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 
The lesson 1 so lately lanu:lit ? 
This roof, the Douglas, anil that maid, 
Tliauk thou for piiiii>hiiii'iit delay'd " 
Eager as greyhound on lus game. 
Fiercely with Kodorick grappled Grseme. 
"Perish my name, if aught afford 
Its Chieftain safety save his sword !" 
Thus as they stVove, their desperate htuid 
Griped to the dagger or the brand. 
And death had been— but Douglas rose. 
And thrust between the struggliti? foes 
His giant strength :— " Chieftains, forego ! 
1 hold the first who strikes, my foe. — i 
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 
What ! is the Douglas fall'ii so far, 
His daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil 
Of such dishonourable broil I" 
Sullen and slowly they unclasp. 
As struck with shame, their desperate grasp. 
And each upon his rival glared. 
With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 

XXXV. 
Ere yet the brands aloft were flung. 
M.argaret on Roderick's mantle hung. 
And .Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream. 
As. falter'd through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veil'd his wrath in scornful word. 
"Rest safe till morning: pity 'twere 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air!' 
Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 
Nor lackey, with his freeiioru clan, 
The pageant pomp of earthly man 
ftfore would he of Clan-Alpine know. 
Thou canst our strensrth and passes show — 
Malise. what ho I'' — his henchman came ;3 
" Give our safe-conduct to the Grieme" 
Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold, 
" Fear noihinsr for thy favourite hold ; 
Tlie spot, an ansel deigned to grace, 
Is bless'd. ihousli robbers haunt the place. 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as m blaze of dav. 
Though with his boldest at his back 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
Brave [)ouglas, — lovely K.llen. — nay, 
Nought here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen. 
So secret, but we meet agen — 



1 Tlie Author hue to npo|o|{ize for the inadvertent appro- 
priation of a whole line from the tragedy of DouglaB, 
" I hold the first who strikes, my foe." 

Note to Ihe second Fditian, 
I See Appendix, Note 2 A. 3 Ibid, Note 3 B. 



Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour." — 
He said, and left the silvan bower 

XXXVI. 
Old Allan follow'd to the strand, 
(Such was the Douglas's command.) 
And anxious told, how, on the morn. 
The stern Sir Rotlerick deep had sworn. 
The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
Dale. glen, and valley, down, iind moor. 
Much were the peril to the Gneme, 
From those who to the signal came ; 
Far up Ihe lake 'twere safest land. 
Himself would row him to the strand. 
He gave his coun.sel to the wind. 
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, 
Round dirk and pouch and broadsword roll'd, 
His ample phiid in tighten'd fold, 
And stripp'd his limbs to such array. 
As best might suit the w^ry way, — 

XXXVU. 
Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee, 
Pattern of old fidelity !" 
The Minstrel's hand he kindly press'd, 
" () ! could I point a place of rest ! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land, 
My uncle leads my vassal band ; 
Ti) tame his foes, his friends to aid. 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 
Yet, if there be one faithful Grtenie, 
Who loves the Chieftain of his name. 
Not long shall honour'd DoUi;las dwell, 
Like huntetl s'ag in mountain cell ; 
Nor. ere yon pritle-swoU'n robber dare,— 
1 may not give the rest to air ! 
Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, 
Not the poor service of a boat. 
To waft me to yon rnountttin-side." 
Then plunged he in ihe flashing tide. 
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore. 
And stoutly steer'd him from the shore , 
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye, 
Kar 'mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave, 
To which the moon her silver gave, 
F'ast as the cormorant could skim. 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Then binding in the moonliaht dell. 
Loud shoutetj of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew 



W^z 2latJ2 of tt)c 3Lalte. 



CANTO THIRD. 



THE GATHERING. 



I. 
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of 



lo da 



Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
And told our marvelling boyhootl legends store. 

Of their strange ventures happ'd by lanil or 
sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be I 



^ 



7" 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



173 



How few. all weak and vviUier'd of llieir 
force, 
Wait on the verge of dark eternity, 
Like s'randed wrecks, llie tide returning: 
hoarse. 
To sweep ihein from our sight ! Time rolls 
his ceaseless Course. 

Yet live there still who can remember well, 

Hi>w, when a iiiouiitain chief his busle blew, 
Bi.th tielil anil forest, dini^le, cliff, and dell, 

And solilaiy lieith. the signal knew; 
Ami fast the faithful clan aroinid hiin drew, 

Wliat lime the warning note was keenly 
wound. 
Wh^t time aloft their kindred banner flew. 

While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the ga- 
theniiir soimd. 
Ami while I he Fi.-ry Cross glanced, like a 
meteor, rounil.i 
II. 
The summer dawn's reflected hue 
To purple ciaiiaed Loch Katrine blue, 
Mildly and soft the western breeze 
Just iviss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees. 
And the pleiised lake, like maiden coy, 
Trembled but dimpled not for joy; 
The moiiuiam-sliadi'ws on her bie;ist 
Were neitht^r broken nor at rest; 
In blight, uncertainty they lie. 
Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 
The watei-lily to I he light 
Her chalice rear'd of silver bright; 
Tiie doe awoke, and to the lawn. 
Begeinin'd with dew-drops, led her fawn. 
The grey mist left the mountain side, 
The torrent sliow'd its glistening pride ; 
Invisible in flecked sky. 
The lark sent down her revelry: 
The blackbird and the specKJed thrush 
Go<id-moriow save fnnii brake and bush 
In answer coo'd the cushat dove 
Her notes (»f peace, and rest, and love. 

III. 
No thought of peace, no thousht of rest. 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
Willi sheathed broadsword in his hand. 
Abrupt he paceil the islet strand. 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 
Was prompt the ritual lo prepare. 
With deep and deathful meaning fraught. 
For such Antiquity had laiiuht 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should lake its road. 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast;— 
Such stance the mountain eagle threw. 
As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
And, iiish in middle heaven, reclined, 
With her broad shadow on the lake. 
Silenced the warblers of the brake. 

IV. 
A heap of wither'd boushs was piled. 
Of jumper and rowan wild, 
Minsieii with shivers from the oak. 
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 

1 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 2 Ibid. Nole 2 D. 



\ 



Brian, the Hermit, by it stood. 

Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 

His Knsled beard and matted hair 

Obscured a visage of despair; 

His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er. 

The scars of frantic penance bore. 

That nionk. of savage form and face,^ 

The impendina; danger of his race 

Had drawn from deepest solitude. 

Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 

Not his the mien of Christian priest. 

But Druid's, from the grave released. 

Whose harden'd heart and eye might brook 

On human sacrifice to look ; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mix'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 

The hallow'd creed gave only worse 

And deadlier emphasis of curse ; 

No peasant soiisht that Hermit's prayer, 

His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care. 

The eager huntsman knew his bound. 

And in mid chase calld off his hound ; 

Or if. in lonely glen or strath. 

The desert-dweller met his path. 

He pray'd, and .-ign'd the cross between. 

While terror took devolion's mien. 

V. 
Of Brian's birth strange tales were fold. 9 
His mother watch'd a midnisht fold 
Built deep within a dreary glen. 
Where scattered lay the bones of men. 
In some forgotten battle slain. 
And bleach'd by drifting wind and mill. 
It might have tamed a warri(n-'s heart. 
To view such mockery of his art ! 
The knot-grass feller'd there the hand, 
Which once could burst an iron band ; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone. 
That buckler'd heart to fear unknown, 
A feeble and a timorous guest. 
The field-fare framed her lowly nest ; 
There the slow hlmd-worm left his slime 
On the fleet limbs that iiiock'd at time; 
And there, too. l,\v the leader's skull. 
Still wreath'd witli cliapiet, flusli'd and full, 
For heath-bell with her purple bloom. 
Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
All niffht, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sale, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
—She said, no shepherd sought hc^r side, 
No hunter's hand lier snood untied. 
Yet ne'er aeain to braid her hair 
The viririn snood did Alice wear : ■* 
Gone was her maiden slee and sport. 
Her maiden erirdle all too short. 
Nor sought she. from that tatai niuht, 
Or holy church or blessed iite. 
But lock'd her secret in her hrcust. 
And died in travail, unconfe.ssd. 

VI. 
Alone, among his young compeers. 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heart-broken boy. 
Estranged from sympathy and joy, 
Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 
On his mysterious lineaire fluiis. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, 
I To wood and stream his hap to wail, 
I Till, frantic, he as truth received 
What of his birth the (;rowd believed. 

I 3 See Appendix, Nole 2 



4 Ibi.l, Note 3 K. 



7 



Z 



2i 



174 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



:^ 



Aiu) sonRht, ill mist iuul nuteor fire. 
Til meet and know liis Phantom Sire! 
In vam. t(i sinitlic Uis wayward fate, 
'(lie cloister opeii lier piiyiliK grate ; 
In vam. tlie Itianiins of llie affe 
Unc^laspM ilie j^ab.e lelter'd pase ; 
Even 111 its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Ut magic, cahala. and spells. 
Ai't every dark pursuit allied 

I'd rnrious and presuiiipiuous pride ; 

liil with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 
And heart with invslic horrors wrung. 
Desperate he sought Benliarrow's don, 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 

VII. 

The desert gave liim visions wild, 

Such as might suit the spectre s child i 

Wliere with black clitTs the torrents toil, 

He watch'd the wheeling eddies boil. 

Till, irom their foam, his dazzled eyes 

Beheld the River Demon rise; 

The momitain mist took form and limb, 

Of noontide hag. or goblin grim ; 

The midnight wind came wild and dread, 

Swell'd with the voices of the dead ; 

Far on ttie future battle-heath 

His eye beheld the ranks of death : 

Tlius the lone Seer, from mankind hurl'd. 

Shaped forth a disembodied world. 

One lingering .>--ynipathy of mind 

Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 

The only parent he could claim 

Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 

Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, 

The fatal Beii-Sliie"s boding scream ; 2 

Sounds, too. had come in midnight blast, 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharidw's shingly side. 

Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride ; 3 

The thunderbolt had split the pine,— 

All augur'd ill to Alp. lie's line. 

He girt his loins, and came to show 

The signals of imiiending woe. 

And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 

As bade the Chiefiain of his clan. 

VIII. 

'Twas all prepared : — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock. 
Before the kindling |>ile was laid. 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The hfe-lilood ebb Ml crimson tide. 
Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy limb. 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet form'd with care. 
A cubit's length in measure due; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose |)areiils 111 Inch C'ailliach wave 4 
Their shadows o'er Clan Alpine's grave. 
And. answering Lomond's breezes deep. 
Soothe many a cliieflain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, ilius form'd. he held on high, 
W ith wasted li;md, and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke. 
While his anti'hema he spoke. 



] 8«e Apptndi: 



2 Ibid, Note a H. 



IX. 

" Woe to the clansman, who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew. 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low ! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 
But, from his sires and kindred thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe" 
He paused ; — the word the vassals took, 
With forward step and tiery look, 
On high their naked brands they shook. 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first in murmur low, 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward finds his source. 
And flings to shore his muster'd force. 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 

*' Woe to the traitor, woe ! " 
Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew. 
The joyous wolf from covert drew. 
The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 



The shout was hush'd on lake and fell. 
The monk resumed his mutter'd spell : 
Dismal and low its accents came. 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame , 
.\nd the few words that reached the air. 
Although the holiest name was there. 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook ah("ive the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud :— 
" Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 
.\t this dread sign the ready spear! 
For. as the flames this symbol sear. 
Her home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim. 
While maids and matrons im his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 

And infamy and vvoe." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-liawk's whistle on the hill. 
Denouncing misery and ill. 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammer'd slow ; 
Answern g, with iinprec^ation dread, 
"Sunk he his lioiiie in einliers red! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head, 

We doom to want and woe ! " 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Unskui. thy goblin cave ! 
And the grey [lass where birches wave. 

On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 
Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his labouring breath he drew. 
While, with set teeth and clenched hand, 
And eyes that glovv'd like fiery brand. 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head. 
Who, summon'd to his Chieftain's aid. 
The signal saw and disobey'd. 



S See .\ppeadi: 



y4 



7 



Z- 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



175 > 



The ciosslet's points of sparkliiisc woihI, 
He quencli'il hiikiii!? the l)ul)bliiia; blood, 
And, as a^rtin the siRii he reai'd. 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" Wiien lilts this Cross from man to man, 
Vich-Alpiiif's smimioiis to his clan, 
Boi-st he the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! 
May nivens tear the careless eyps, 
VV(ilves make the coward heart their ()rize! 
As sinks that lilood stream in the earth. 
So may his heari's-hlood drench his hearth '. 
As dies ill liissma: ffore tlie spark. 
Quench thou his lisht. Destruction dark. 
And he the srace to liim denied. 
Bought hy this sign to all heside ! " 
He ceased ; no echo save agen 
'I'tie murmur of the deep Ameu. 

xn. 

Then Roderick, with impatient look, 

Fnuii Brian's hand the symhol tiKik : 

•• Speed. Malise. speed ! " he said, and pave 

'I'lie (;rosslet to his henchman brave. 

"The miister-iilac'e he Lanrick mead — 

Instant the time — S|)eed, Malise, speed!" 

Like heath-liiid, when the hawks pursue, 

A harjfe across l,och Katrine flew ; 

High stood the henchman on the prow; 

So rapidly the haise-men row. 

The hiihliles. where they launcli'd the boat, 

Were all uuhmken and afloat, 

Daucmg in foam and ripple still, 

Uhen It had iiear'd the mainland hill. 

And from the silver lieach's side 

Still was the prow three fathom wide. 

When lightly bounded to the land 

'I he messenger of blood and brand. 

XIII. 
Speed, Malise, speetl! the dun deer's hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied. ' 
S()eed. Malise, speed ! such cause of haste 
Thine ;ujtive sinews never braced. 
Bend 'Kainst the sleepy hill thy breast, 
Bui-st down like torrent from its crest ; 
With short and springing footstep pass 
The trembling hog and false morass; 
Across the brook like roebuck hound, 
And thread the brake like questing hound ; 
The crag is hisli. the scaur is deep. 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: 
Parch'd are thy hurnina: lips and brow, 
Yet bv the fiiuntam pause not now; 
Herald "f battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 
The wounded hind tlion tiack'st not now, 
Pursuest not imdd through greenwood bough 
Nor pliesl lliou now thy flying pace, 
Willi rivals III the mountain race; 
But danger, death, and warnor deed. 
Are ill thy course — speed. -Malise, speed ! 

XIV. 
Fast as the fatal symbol flies. 
In arms the huts and hamlets nse ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown, 
They pour'd each haiily tenant down. 
Nor slack'd the messemier his pace ; 
He show'd the sign, he named the place. 
And. pressin? forward like the wind, 
Left clamour and surprise behind. 



^ 



J See .Appendix, -Note 2 L. 
2 See Aptwiidix, Note 'i M. 



The fisherman forsook the strand. ' 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; 
Wi'h cliaiised cheer, the mower blitiie 
Lefi in the half-cut swathe the scythe; 
The herds wiihout a keeper strav'd. 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 
The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away. 
The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms. 
Kacli son of Alpine rush'd to arms; 
So swept the tumult and art"ray 
Along the margin of Achray. 
Alas, thou lovely lake I that e'er 
Thy baiii%s should echo sounds of fear! 
'I he rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 
So stilly on lliy bosom deep. 
The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud. 
Seems for the scene loo gaily loud. 

XV. 

Speed, Malise speed ! the lake is past, 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen. 
Half hidden in the copse so sreeii ; 
Ihere mayesi thou rest, thy labour done. 
Their Lord shall speed tlie signal on.— 
As Sloops the hawk up<Mi his prey, 
The henchmaa shot him down the way. 
— What woful accents load the gale ? 
The funeral yell, the female wail ! 
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 
A valiant warrior fights no more. 
Who, in the battle or the chase. 
At Roderick's side shall fill his place! — 
U ithin the hall, where torches' ray 
Supplies the excluded beams of day. 
[jes Duncan on his lowly bier. 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His stnpling smi stands mournful by, 
His youngest weeps, but knows not why, 
1 he village maids and matrons round 
The dismal corouacli resound.2 

XVI. 

CORONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was Ihe sorest. 
The font, reappearing. 

From the raiii-drops shall borrow. 
But to us conies no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are seare.st, 
But our flower was in flushing, 

When blighting was nearest. 
Fleet foot on the correi.a 

Sage counsel in cumber. 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone, and for ever ! 




^ 176 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



XVII. 
See Stiimah,' who, tlie hier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder eyed, 
Poor Stumaii ! whom his least iialloo 
Conld send Uke li(?iitniii? o'er tlie dew, 
Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 
As if some strans-er step he hears. 
'Tis not ii mourner's muffled tread. 
Who conies to sorrow o'er tlie dead. 
Bur headlong haste, or deadly fear, 
Ura^e tlie precipitate career. 
All stand agrhast :— unheeding all. 
The henchman hursts into the hall ; 
Before the dead man's bier he stood ; 
Hold forth the Cross besmear'd with blood , 
"'i'lie muster-place is [.atirick mead; 
Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed 1" 

XVIII. 
Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword tied; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her open'd arms he flew, 
Press'd on her lips a fond adieu — 
" Alas !" she sobb'd, — " and yet, be gone, 
And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son !" 
One look he c;ist upon the bier, 
Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear. 
Breathed deep to clear his labouring breast, 
And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest. 
Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed. 
First he essays his fire and speed. 
He vanish'd, and o'er moor and mo.ss 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear. 
While yet his footsteps she could hear; 
And when she inark'd the hencluiian's eye 
Wet with unwonted sympathy, 
•' Kinsman," she said. " his race is run. 
That should have sped thine errand on; 
The oak has fall'n, — the sapling bough 
Is all Duncragsran's shelter now. 
Yet trust I well, his duty done. 
The orphan's God will guard my son. — 
And you, in many a danger true. 
At Duncan's hest your blades that drew. 
To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 
Let babes and women wail the dead." 
Then weapon-clang, and martial call, 
Resounded through the funeral hall. 
While from the walls the attendant band 
Snatcli'd sword and targe, with hurried hand 
And short and flitting energy 
Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 
As if the sounds to warrior dear. 
Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 
But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 
Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course. 

XIX. 
■ficnledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Tre.2 
O'er dale and hill the summons flew, 
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 
The tear that gather'd in his eye 
He left the mountain breeze to dry ; 
Until, where Teilh's young waters roll 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll. 



That graced the sable strath with green. 
The chapel of St. Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 
But Ansrus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily, 
Though reel'd his sympathetic eye. 
He dash'd amid the torrent's roar: 
His ria:ht hand high the crosslet bore. 
His left the pole-a.xe grasp'd, to guide 
And stay his footing in the tide. 
He stumbled twice — the foam splash'd high, 
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
And had he fall'n.— for ever there. 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! 
But still, as if in parting life. 
Firmer he grasp'd the Cro.ss of strife. 
Until the opposing bank he gain'd. 
And up the chapel pathway stram'd. 

XX. 

A blithesome rout, that morning tide. 
Had sought the chapel of St. Brule. 
Her troth Tonibesa's .Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave. 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch. 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude, but glad proression, came 
Bonneted sire and coif-chid dame; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 
Which snooded maiden would imt hear; 
And children, that, unwitting why. 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride. 
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
'I'he tear and blush of mornina: rose. 
With virgin step, and bashful hand. 
She held the kerchief's snowy band; 
The gallant bridesrooui by her side. 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride. 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of cheer. 

XXI. 
Who meets them at the churchyard gate ? 
The messenger of fear and fate ! 
Haste in his hurried accent lies. 
And srief is swimming in his eyes. 
All dripping from the recent flood, 
Pantini; and travel-soil'd he stood, 
The fatal sign of fire and sword 
Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: 
"'I'he muster place is Lanrick mead; 
Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed !" 
And must he change so soon the hand. 
Just link'd to his by holy band. 
For the fell Cross of blood and brand ? 
And must the day. so blithe that rose. 
And promised rapture in the close. 
Before its setting hour, divide 
The bridegroom from the plighted bride? 
O fatal doom!— it must! it must! 
Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, 
Her summons dread, brook no delay; 
Stretch to the race — away ! uway ! 

XXII. 
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside. 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride. 
Until he saw the starring tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer; 
Tlien. trusting not a second look. 
In haste he sped him U|> the brook. 



Faitl\fu!. The uame of a dog. 



2 See Appeiidi, 



;2 N. 



^ 




K 



BEARING THE FIERY CROSS. 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word. 



176, Verse xxi. 



^ 




r 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



M 



Nor barkwurd glnnoed. till on the hea'h 
Wheie LiibiMiar's like supplies the Teilli. 
— Wliiit ill tlie racer's husorii stirr'd? 
'I'lie sicUeuiiis p;imr of hope deferr'd. 
And iiretiKirv. wi:h a rurtunns train 
Of all Ins morniii;; visions vain 
MiiuLid with love's iniparience. came 
The ii.anly thirsL for martial fame; 
The siormy joyof monnfameers. 
Ere yer they ra<h uion the spears : 
And zeal for Clan and I'hiefani burnm?, 
And hope, from well-fm^ht field returnmg, 
With w.irs red hunnurs on his crest, 
To clasp Ins Mary to his breast. 
Stuui; l)y such thoughts, o'er bank and brae. 
Like tirr from tlint he "lanceil away. 
While liiih resolve, and feeling strong, 
Bu.sl into voluntary sou^. 

XXIII. 

SONG. 

The heath thi.s night must be my bed. 
The hnicUen' cuttain for my head. 
My Inlhiby the warders tread. 

Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; 
To-morrow eve. more stdly laid. 
My conch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid ! 

It wdl not waKen me. Mary 1 
I may not. dare not. fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it prnmiseil me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know: 
When hursts Clan Alpme on the foe. 
His liean must be like liended bow. 

His foot like arrow free, .Mary. 

A time will come with feeling fraught, 
For. if 1 fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lov.^rs dving thought 

S.iall be a thought on thee. Mary. 
And if return'd from conquerd toes. 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How sweet the linnet simr repose. 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

XXIV. 
Nobfaster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Bahiuidder. spee'is the midniahl blaze.' 
Riishiiis:. in contlagration slroiis. 
Thy deef> ravines and dells along, 
Wrapping thy clitfs m [lurple glow. 
And reddening the dark lakes below; 
Nor faster speeils it, nor so far. 
As .I'er ihy heaths the voice of war. 
Tlie sieiial roufsed to martial coil 
The sullen mar^iin of Loch Voil, 
Waked still Loch Doine. and to the source 
Alarm'd, B:dvaig, thy swampy course; 
Tiience southward Inrn'd its rapid road 
Adown Sirath-Uartney's valley broad. 
Till rose in arms each m.in might claim 
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name. 
From the grev sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft; and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
« Each valley, each segiiester'd glen, 
iMuster'd its little horde of men, 

1 Braeicn — Fern 

2 See Appt-ndix, Note 2 O. 



That met as torrents from the heisht 

In Hishland dales their streams unite, 

Still gatheriiiK. as they pour along, 

A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 

Till at the rendezvous they stood 

By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 

Each train'd to arms since life began. 

Owning no tie but to his clan. 

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand, 

No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 3 

XXV. 
That summer morn had Roderick Dhu 
.*^urvey'd the skirts of Benvenue. 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, 
'i'o view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce; 
Sill lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 
In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait, 
No banner waved on Cardross gate, 
On Duchray s towers no beacon shone, 
N<n' scared the herons from Loch Con ; 
All .seem'd at peace — Now. wot ye why 
The Chietlain, with such anxious eye. 
Ere to the muster he repair. 
This western frontier scami'd with care? — 
In Benvenue's most darksinne cleft, 
A fair, though cruel, pledge w;is left; 
For Douglas, to his promise true. 
That morning from the isle withdrew, 
And in a deep sequester'd dell 
Had sought a low and lonely cell. 
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
Hius Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung;* 
A softer name the Saxons gave. 
And call'd the grot the Goblm-cave. 

XX VL 
It was a wild and strange retreat, 
.\s e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, ufion the mounrain's cre.st. 
Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast, 
Its trench had staid full many a rock, 
liurl'd by primeval e;irtliquake shock 
From Benvenue's grey summit wild. 
And here, in random mm piled. 
They frown'd iiummbent o er the spot, 
And form 'd the rugged silvan grot. 
'I'he oak and birch, with mingled shade, 
.At noontide there a twiUi^ht m;ide. 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliit or stone, 
Wii h such a glimpse as ("irophei's eye 
Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still. 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
A sullen sound would upward break. 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
'I'he incessant war of vvave and rock. 
.Suspended clitfs, with hideous sway, 
Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern icrey. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In such the wild-cat leaves her young; 
Yet Dou;;las and his dau;rhter fair 
Sought for a space their safety there. 
Grey Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread; 
For there, she said, did fays resort. 
And satyrs 3 hold their silvan court. 
By mooiilight tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash beholder s gaze 



^ 



Z 



J ^ 178 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



XXVII. 

Now eve, with western sh:ul<iws Ions, 
Floated on Katrine l)ri!;lit. and s^tnuig, 
When Roderick, wjlli a cliosen few, 
Ke|iass'd tlie liei^lits of Benveiiue. 
Aliove I lie CSoliliiicave they ro. 
ThiouKli llie wild pass, of Beal-nam-bo: 1 
i'he pioinpt retainers speed before. 
To lauiicli tiie shallop from the sluire, 
For. cross Lck^Ii Katrine lies his way 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And plane his clansmen in array. 
Yet lass the chief m inusiiiff mind, 
Unwonted sijflit. Ins men hehind. 
A sinsle pasie. to hear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord; 2 
The rest their way tliniii^li thickets break, 
And soon await hiin liv the lake. 
It was a fair and jiallayt si-ht, 
"^I'o view them from the iieisjhboiiring height. 
By the low-levell'd siliiheams lislit' 
Forslrenfflh and sialuie. fniiii the clan 
Each warrior was a cliosen man, 
As even afar mifrht well be seen, 
By their proud step and martial mien. 
Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 
Their targets s:leam, as liy the l)oat 
A wild and warlike sionp they stand, 
Tliat well became such mountiim-slrand. 

XXVIII. 
Their Chief, with step reluctant, still 
Was lingerini; on the crasay liiH, 
Hard liy where tnrn'd apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning morn, 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild roar, 
Mor think of Ellen Douglas more: 
But he who stems a stream with sand, 
And fetters (lame with flaxen band. 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to coniiuer love I 
live finds the Chief, like ip»itless ghost, 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye, 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear. 
The .iccents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
"^I'hat waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But hark ! what mingles in the strain? 
It is the harp of Allan Bane. 
That wakes its measure slow and high, 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
What melting voice attends the strings] 
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings. 

XXIX. 

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 
Ave Maria I maiden mild ! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild. 

Thou c:inst save amid despair. 
Sale may we sleep beneath thy care. 

Though banish'd, outcast, and reviled — 
Maiden I hear a maiden's prayer; 

Mother, hear a suppliant child I 

Ave Maria 
Ax-e Maria! undefiled! 

The flinty couch we now must .share 



N 



I See Api.i'iidix, Nc 



Shall seem with down of eider piled. 

If thy protect ion hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air 

Shall breathe of halm if thou hast smiled , 
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; 

Mother, list a sup[)liant child ! 

Ave Maria! 
Ave Maria ! stainless styled ! 

Foul demons of Hie earth and air. 
From this their wonted haunt exiled. 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care. 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer. 

And for a father hear a child ! 

Ave Mana! 
XXX. 
Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Unmoved in atlitude and limb, 
As list'ning still, Clan-Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword, 
Until the pasre, with humble sign. 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then while his plaid he rounil him cast, 
"It is the last time — 'lis the last," 
He mutter'd thrice, — "the last time e'er 
That angel voice shall Roderick hear!" 
It was a goading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain-side; 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
-And instant 'cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery bay. 
And eastward held their hasty way, 
Till, with the latest beams of light, 
The band arrived on Lanrick height, 
Where muster'd, in the vale below, 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI. 

A various scene the clansmen made. 
Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray'd , 
But most with mantles folded iMund. 
Were couch'd to rest upon the ground. 
Scarce to be known by curious eye, 
From the deep heather where they lie, 
So well was niatch'd the tartan screen 
With heath bell dark and tirackens green, 
Unless where, here and there, a blade. 
Or lance's point, a glimmer made. 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade 
But when, iidvancmg through the erloom. 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, 
Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times return'd the martial yell; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And Silence claim'd her evening reign. 



W^z Hatjj of t!)c 2Lafee. 



THE PROPHECY. 



'The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new. 
And hope is brightest when it dawns from 
fears ; 



A 



7 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



179 



The nise is sweetest wash'd wii li iiionims dew. 
And love is loveliest when emlialni'd in tears. 

O wildiMS r(««'. vvlunn fancy thus endears, 
I hid vour blossoms in my bonnet wave. 

Emblem of hot* and love through future 
years ! " 

Thus spoke youns Norman, heir of Armandave. 

VViiat time the sun arose oa Vennachar's broad 
wave. 

II. 

Siirh fond ronceit, half said, half suiie. 

Love pioiiii.ted to the brideKniom"s tongue. 

All Willie he strlpp"d the wild-rose spray, 

His Mxe and bow beside him lay, 

JM.r on ;i pass "twixt lake and wood, 

A wMkefnl sentinel he stood. 

Hark ! on the f'ck a footstep rung, 

And instant to his arms he sprung 

••Stand, or thou diest'.-What, .Malise ?— soon 

Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 

Bv thv keen step and glance I know, 

'liiou brinsf'st ns tidings of the foe.' — 

(Knr while the Fierv Cro.'is hied on. 

On distant sc<mt h:HJ .Malise gone ) 

"Wiiere sleeps the Chief?" the henchman 
said.— 

-Apart, in voiider misty glade; 

To Ins lone couch I'll be your guide. — 

Then call'd a slumberer by his side. 

Ami stirr'd him with his slacken'd bow— 

'■Uii. up. Glentarkiii ! rouse thee, ho! 

We >eek the Chieftain ; (.n the track, 

Keep eagle watch till I come back. 

ur. 

Together up the pass they sped : 

" What of the foenien ?" Ndrman said.— 

" Varying reports fnnn near and far; 

This ceitiiiii. — that a band of war 

Has for two days been ready boune. 

At prompt ccmiinand. to march from Doune; 

King James, the while, with princely powers. 

Holds revelry m Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 

Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout. 

The warriors plaid may bear it out ; 

But. Norman. li«w wilt thou provide 

A shelter for thy bonny bride ?"— 

'• What ! know ve not that Koderick s care 

To the lone isle haili caused repair 

Each maid and matron of the clan. 

And everv child and aged man 

Unfit for arms; and given his charge. 

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge. 

Upon these lakes shall float at large, 

But all beside the islet moor. 

That such dear pledge may rest secure ?"— 

IV. 
" Tis well advised —the Chieftain's plan 
Bespeaks the father of his clan. 
But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 
Apart from all his followers true?"— 
'• It is. because last eveniiig-tld« 
Brian an augury hath tried. 
Of that dread kind which must not be 
Unless in dread exireinily. 
The Taghairm call'd ; by which, afar. 
Our sires foresaw the events of war.i 
Duncraggan's inilk-white bull they slew." 



MALISK. 

Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew ! 
The choicest of the prey we had. 
When swept our merry-men Gallangad " 
His hide was snow, Ins horns were dark. 
His red eye glovv'd like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe, 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 
But steep and flinty was the road. 
And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad. 
And wlien we came to Dennan's Row. 
A child might scatheless stroke his brow."- 

V. 

NORMAN. 

"1'liat bull was slain : his reeking hide 
They stretch'd the cataract beside. 
Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
Adown the black and craggy boss 
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe 3 
Conch'd on a she.lve beneath its brink. 
Close where the thundering torrents sink. 
Hocking beneath their headlong sway. 
And drizzled by the ceiiseless spray. 
Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 
The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but hush ! 
See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 
The hermit gams yon rock, and stands 
To gaze upon our slunibering bunds. 
Seems he not. Malise, like a ghost. 
That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host? 
Or raven on the blasted oak, 
That, watching while the deer is broke,'* 
His morsel claims with sullen croak ?" 

MALISE. 

— " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me. 

Thy words were evil augury ; 

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 

Clan- Alpine's omen and her aid. 

Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hell, 

Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell. 

The Chieftain joins him, see — and now. 

Together they descend the brow." 

VI. 
And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word :— 
" Roderick I it is a feartul strife. 
For man endow'd with mortal life. 
Whose shroud of senlieiil clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill. 
Whose eve can stare in stony trance, 
Whose hair can rou?e like warrior's lance,- 
'Tis hard for such to view, unfuil'd. 
The curtain of the future world. 
Yet, wiiness every quaking limb. 
My sunken pulse.' my eyeballs dim, 
Mv soul with harrowing iinguish torn,— 
This for my Chiefiam have I borne! — 
The shapes that sought my fearful couch, 
An human tongue may ne'er avouch; 
No mortal man. —save he. who. bred. 
Between the living and the dead. 
Is gifted beyond nature's law. — 
Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
At length the fatal answer came. 
In characters of living flame ! 



180 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Not spoke in word, nor blazed in srroU, 
But borne and branded on my soul;— 
W'hic/i spills the forcvmst foimnn's life, 
That parly conquers in the slrije." — i 

VII. 
"Tlinnks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! 
Good IS tinrie augury, and fair. 
Clan-Alpme ne'er in battle stood. 
But lirst our broadswords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
S«'lf-ofler'd to the auspicious blow : 
A spy has sought my land this morn, — 
No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth, 
To east, to westward, and to south ; 
lii;d Murdoch, bribed to be his suide, 
lias charge to lead iiis steps aside, 
'I ill, in deep path or dingle brown, 
)le light on those shall bring hini down. 
— But see, who comes h:s news to show I 
Mali.se ! what tidings of the foe V — 

VIII. 
■'At D/iune. o'er many a spear and glaive 
'Two Barons pnuiil their l);iiiiiers wave. 
J saw the Moray's silver star. 
And mark'd the s;ilile pale of Mar " — 
'• By Alpine's soul. liit;h tidings those ! 
I love to hear of woriliy toes. 
When move Ihey on .''' — " 'I'u-morrow's noon 
Will see them here for i)atlle bonne." — 2 
" Then shall it see a meetinu; .^terii ! — 
But. for the place — sav, couldsl thou learn 
Nought of the friendly" clans of Kuinl 
SireiiKlheu'd bv them, we well might bide 
'I'he battle on Ben ledi's side 
Tliou couldst not .'— W ell ! Cla'i-Alpiiie's men 
Shall man the Trosach's shaciry Kleii ; 
Within Loch Katrine's sjortre we'll tight. 
All 111 our maids' and matrons' siijlit, 
iiach for his hearth and household fire. 
Father t<)r child, and son for sire. — 
Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 
Is It the breeze alfects mine eye ? 
Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear! 
A messenger of doubt or fear ? 
No I sooner mav the .*^;ixoii lance 
Ui.tix Benledi from his stance. 
Than doubt or terror can pierce throusfh 
The unyieldin- heart of Koderick Uhu! 
' j IS siubborn as his trusty targe.— 
Kach to his post! — all know i heir charge." 
'I'he pibioch sounds, the hands advance. 
'1 he liroadswords gleam, the banners dunce, 
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. 
—I turn me from the martial roar, 
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 

IX. 
Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone , 
A.nd Kllen sits on the grey stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan , 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are poiir'd on her unheeding ear. — 
" He will return— Dear lady, trust! — 
Wiih joy return; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afar, 
Some refuge from impending war, 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the a[)proacliiiig storm. 
1 ."saw their bouts, with many a light. 
Floating the live-long yesternight. 



\ 



1 See .\ppeiidix, Note 2 X. 



Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
1 mark'd at morn how close they ride. 
Thick inoor'd by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild-ducks couching in the fen. 
When sloops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the mainland side, 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare T" — 



ELLEN. 

" No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind 

My wakeful terrors could not blind. 

When in such tender tone, yet grave, 

Douglas a parting blessing gave, 

The tear that glisten'd in his eye 

Drown'd not his purpose lix'd on high 

.My soul, though feminine and weak, 

Can image his; e'en as the lake, 

llself disturb'd by slightesi stroke. 

Reflects the invulnerable rock. 

He hears report of battle rife. 

Ho deems himself the cause of strife. 

I saw him redden, when the theme 

Turn'd. Allan, on thine idle dream, 

Of .Malcolm Grteme, in fetters bound. 

Whicii I. thou said.st, about him wound. 

Think'st ihou he trow'd thine omen aught T 

Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 

For the kind youth.— for Roderick too — 

(Let me be just) that friend so true ; 

In danger both, and iu our cause ! 

Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 

Why else that solemn warning given, 

■ If not on earth, we meet in heaven I' 

Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane. 

If eve return him not again. 

Am I to hie, and make me known ? 

Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne. 

Buys his friend's safety with his own ;^ 

He" goes to do — what I had done. 

Had Douglas' daughter been Ins son I" 

XI. 
" Nay. lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 
If aught should his return delay, 
He only named yon holy fane 
As fitting place to meet again. 
Be sure he's safe-; and for the Grseme, — 
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name ! — 
My vision 'd sight may yet prove true, 
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
When did my gifted dream beguile? 
Think of the stranger at the isle. 
And think upon the harpings slow, 
That presaged this approacliing woe ! 
Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal spot! 
IU luck still haunts a fairy grot. 
Of such a wondrous tale I know — 
Dear lady, change that look of woe. 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." — 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it a.s thou wilt ; I hear. 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
The Minstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 



■2 Fur battle boune—ie:idy for bat lie. 



y4 



7" 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



XII. 

B A L I, A. D. 1 
AUCE BRAND. 

Merrv it is in the good grreenwood, 
Wlien tlie mavi-sS and merle 3 are sinsiniar. 

When the deer sweeps l)y, and the liounds 
are in cry. 
And the hunter's horn is rinsing. 

"O Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold iiy wood and wold, 

As outlaws wont to do. 

"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 

Tlwit on tlie nighl of our luckless flight. 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech 

'I'he hand that held the glaive, 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed. 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray. 
A cloak must sheer from the slaughter'd deer 

To keep the cold away." — 

" O Richard ! if my brother died, 

'Tvvas hill a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried, 

And fortune sped the lance 

" If pa'l and vair no more T wear, 

Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, 

As guy the forest green. 

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 

Ami lost thy native land. 
Still Alice has her own Kichard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 

XIII. 

BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 

So blittie Lady Alice is sinking; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side. 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Eltin Kin?, 

Who won'd wiihin the hill, — * 
Like wind in the porch of a ruiii'd church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 

Oui- ir.oonlight circles screen ? 
Or vvho comes liere tc chase tiie deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? 5 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairie.s' fatal green ? 8 

" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie. 

For thou wert christen'd man ; ' 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly. 

For mutter'd word or ban. 

*• Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 

The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he wish and pray that his life would part. 

Nor yet find leave to die." 



181 \ 



ALLAD CON' 



NU E D. 



'Tis meny, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
Though the birds iiavp still'd their sijiying; 

The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 
And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, th.it hideous dwarf. 

Before Lord Kichard st;uids, 
And. as he cross'd and hless'd himself, 
"I fear not sign." quoth the grisly elf, 

"That is made with bloody hands." 

But out then spoke she, .Alice Brand, 

That woman, void of fear. — 
" And if there's blood upon his hand, 

'Tis but the blood of deer."— 

•'Now hind thou liest, thou bold of mood ! 

It cleaves unto liis hand. 
The stain of thine own kindly blood, 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sisu, — 
" And if there's blood on Kichard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 

" And I conjure thee. Demon elf, 

By Him whom Demons fear. 
To show us whence thou art thyself. 

And what thine errand here ?' — 

XV. 

BALLAt? CONTINUSD. 

"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 

When fairy birds are sinsing," 
When the court doth ride by their monarch's 
side. 

With bit and bridle ringing: 

"And gaily shines the Fairy-land — 

But all is sbstening shovv, 8 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 

"And fading, like that varied gleam. 

Is our inconstant shape. 
Who now like knight and lady seem. 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

" It was between the night and day, 
When the Fairy King has power. 

That T sunk down in a sinful fray. 

And, 'twixi life and death, was snatch'd away 
To the joyless Elfin bower. 9 

" But wist I of a woman bold. 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal mold. 

As fair a form as thine " 
She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twica — 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue. 

The darker grew the cave. 

She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ; 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 



3 Blackbird. 



^ 



A 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



'llu 
^ For 



Merry if is in Rooil s:reeiiwo()d, 
When I lie mavis and merle are sinsin?:. 

But merrier were thev in Duntennlme grey, 
VVtien all the bells were ringing. 

XV[. 
Just as the minstrel sounds were staid, 
A stranger climl>"d Mie sleepy glade : 
His martial step, his stately mien. 
His Inintins suit of Lincohi green. 
His easle glance, remeiiihrance claims — 
'lis Snowdoun's Knight. 'I is James Fitz-J ames. 
Ellen lieheld as in a dream. 
Then, siarting. scarce suppress'd a scream : 
" O stnitiger ! in such hour of fear, 
What evil hap has brought thee hereT"— 
•• An evil hap how can it be, 
Tliat bids me look agaiti on thee T 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me beiimesthis morning tide, 
And maishall'd. over bank and bourne, 
The happy path of my return " — 
"'I'he happy (lath !— what! said he nought 
Of war. of battle to be fought. 
Of guarded pass?" — '• No. by my faith ! 
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." — 
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern. 
—Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
That he will guide the stranger sure! — 
What prompted thee, unhappy man ? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed by love or fear. 
Unknown to him to guide thee liere." — 

XVII. 

" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 
Since it is worthy care from thee ; 
Yet life I hold but idle breath, 
Wnen love or honour's weieh'd with deatli. 
Then let me profit by my chance. 
And speak my purpose bold at once. 
1 come to bear thee from a wild. 
Where ne'er before such blossom smiled , 
By this soft hand to lead Ihee far 
Ki-oni frantic scenes of feud and war. 
Near Bochastle my horses wait; 
They bear us soon to Stirlinu^ gate. 
I'll place thee in a lovely bower, 
I'll guard thee like a tender flower"— 
"0! hush, Sir Knight ! 'twere female art, 
To say 1 do not read thy heart ; 
Too much, before, my seifish ear 
V\'as idiv sootiied mv praise to hear. 
That faial bait hath lured thee back. 
In ileal hful hour, o'er dangerous track; 
And how, () how, can I atone 
The wreck my vanity brousht on! — 
One way remains— I'll tell him all- 
Yes ! strugglins bosom, forth it shall I 
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 
Buy thine osvn pardon with thy shame ! 
But first — my father is a man 
Outlaw'd and exiled, under l)an ; 
The [irice of blood is on his head, 
With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 
Still wouldst thou speak? — then hear the 

truth ! 
Fiiz-James. there is a noble youth,— 
If yet he is! — exposed for me 
And mine to dread extremity — 
Iliou hiist the secret of giy'heart ; 
Forgive, be generous, aiiiJ depart I'' 



XVIII. 
Fitz-James knew every wily train 
A lady's fickle heart to eain ; 
I5ul here he knew and felt Ihf m vain. 
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye. 
To give her steadfast speech the lie; 
In maiden confidence she stood. 
Though mantled in her cheek llie blood. 
And told her love with such a sigh 
Of deep and hopeless agony. 
As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom. 
And she sat sorrowing (m his tomb. 
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye. 
But not with hope fled sympathy. 
He proffer'd to attend her side. 
As brother would a sister auide — 
" O ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart 1 
Sater for both we go apart. 
O haste thee, and from Allan learn. 
If thou may'st trust y<m wily kern.'' 
With hand upon his forehead laid. 
The conflict of his mind to shade, 
A parting s'ep or two he made ; 
Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain. 
He paused, and turn'd, and came again. 

XIX. 
" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word !— 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful Mimarch gave. 
And bade, when I had boon to crave. 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
'I'he recompense that I would name. 
hillen. I am no courtly lord. 
But one who lives by lance and sword. 
Whose castle is his helm and shield. 
His lordship the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand. 
Who neither reck of state nor land ? 
Ellen, thy hand— the ring is thine; 
Flach guard and usher knows the sign. 
Seek thoii the king without delay ; 
This signet shall .secure thy way ; 
And claim thy suit, whate'er it he, 
As ransom of his pledge to me." 
He placed the golden circlet on. 
Paused— kiss'd her hand — and then was gone 
The aged Minstrel stood agh;ist, 
So liastily F'iiz-James shot past. 
He join'il his guide, and wending down 
The ridges of the mountain brown. 
Across the stream they took their way. 
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 

XX. 

All in the Trosaoli's glen was still. 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 
" Munloch ! was that a signal crv ?"— 
He stanmier'd forth. — '• I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
He look'd — he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave sleed : — " Ah ! gallant grev I 
For thee— for me. perchance— 'twere well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell.- - 
Murdoch, move first— but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and Ihou shalt die!" 
Jealous and sullen on they fared. 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 
Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge, 



A 



7 



THE LxVDY OF THE LAKE, 



Vhen Id! si wased fem:ile form, 

BlislUecl by wralli of smi and storm, 

III tatter' il weeds and wild array, 

Stood on the clilF beside the way, 

And slanciii;^ rmmd her restless eye. 

Upon Hie wood, ilie rock, the sky. 

Seeiii'd nought to inai k, yei all lo spy. 

Her l)row was wieath'd with Randy broom ; 

With gesture wild she waved :i plume 

Of feathers, which tlie eji^les fl.n? 

'lo craj? and clitf from dusky wing; 

Sii(^h spoils her desperate s'ep had sought 

W here .sr-arce wiis footing for the goat. 

The tartan [(laid she fii-st descried. 

And shriek'd till all the n(cks replied ; 

As loud she laiigli'd when near they drew. 

For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 

And then her haniJs she wild y wrung, 

And tlien she vve|)t, and then she sung — 

She sun;; !— the voice, in better nine. 

Percliance to harp or lire miglit chime ; 

.And now. thouKli sirain'd and niuuheu'd, still 

Kung wildiy sweet to dale and hill. 

XXII. 

SONG. 

T hey bid me sleep, thry hid me pray, 
n liey say my brain is warp 'd and wrung— 

I cannot sleep on Hi^ldaiid brae, 

I cannot pi ay in Hiiihland tongue. 
Bui were I now where Allan ! glides, 
Or heard my native Devan's tides, 
^o sweetly would 1 re.st, and pray 
That Heaven would close my wintry day ! 

'Twas thus my hair they bade nie braid. 
They made me to the churcli repair; 

II was my bridal mom they said. 

And my true love uould ineet me there. 
Kilt woe heiide the cruel guile. 
That drown'd in blood the morning smile! 
And woe betide the fairy dream! 
1 only waked to sob and scream. 

XXIII. 
" Who is this maid ? what means her lay T 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle grey, 
As the lone heron spreads his wing. 
By twilight, o'er a haunted sprins." — 
'•'I'ls Blanche of Devan." Murdoch said, 
*' A crazed and captive Lowland maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 
V\ hen Koderick foray 'd Devan-side. 
The gay brides; room resistance made. 
And felt our Chiefs unconquer'd blade. 
I marvel she is now at larsje. 
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. — 
Hence, brain-sick fool !''— He raised his bow: — 
"Now, if thou strikesl her but one blow, 
I'll pitch thee from the clift' as far 
As ever peasant pitch'd a bar!" 
"i'hanks, champion, thanks!" the Maniac 

cried. 
And press'd her to Filz-James's side. 
♦ See the grey pennons I prepare. 
To seek my true-love through the air! 
1 will not lend that savage groom. 
To break his fall, one downy plume ! 



No !— deep amid disjointed >ifones. 
The wolves shall batten on his bones, 
And then shall his detested plaid. 
By bush and brier in niid air staid. 
Wave forth a banner fair and free, 
.Meet signal for their revelry."— 

XXIV. 
'• Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still I " — 
'•O! thou look'st kmdly, and 1 will.— 
Mine eve has dried and wasted been. 
But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 
And, though mine ear is all uiistrumr. 
Still, still It loves the Lowland tongue. 

" For my sweet William was forester true. 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away! 

His coat It was all of the greenwood hue. 
And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay ! 

" It was not that I meant to tell . . . 
But thou art wise and sue.ssest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone. 
And hurried note, the sons went on. 
Still on the Clansman, fearfully. 
She fix'd her apprehensive eye ; 
Then turn'd it on the Knight, and then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 

XXV. 
"The toils are pitcii'd, and the stakes are set, 

Ever sing men ily. merrily ; 
The bows they bend, and the knives they 
whet. 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

" It was a sta?, a stag of ten.2 

Bearing its brandies sturdily; 
He came stately down the glen. 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

" It was there he met with a wounded doe 

She was bleeding deathfully ; 
She warii'd him of the toils below, 

U, so faithfully, faithfully ! 

" He had an eye, and he could heed, 

Ever ."^uig wanly, wanly; 
He had a foot, and he could speed — 

Hunters watch so narrowly." 

XX VL 
Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd. 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion vvrouirht. 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. — 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware. 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
•• Disclose thy treachery, or die !" 
Forth at full' speed the Clansman flew. 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz- James's crest. 
And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast,— 
.Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed. 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need ! 
With heart of tire, and foot of wind. 
The fierce avensrer is behind ! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death —the pnze is life ! 
Thy kindred ambush lies before. 
Close coucli'd upon the heathery moor ; 




treams. the from the 
dracelld of Stirli 
I a Havi 



illu of PcrlhBhire into the great carse or fXiin 



^ 



7 



Z 



/ 



f 18 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



184 



Them coiiklst tliou rearli ! — it may not be — 

Thine aiiihush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see, 

The fiery Saxon grains on thee ! 

— IxoMstless s[)eeds the deadly thrust, 

As liiilitnin? strikes the [liiie to dust; 

With loot and hand Fitz-James must strain, 

Ere he can win his blade asaiii. 

Bent o'er the tall'ii. with falcon eye. 

He Kriinly smiled to see him die ; 

llieii slower wemled back his way. 

Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 

XXVII. 
She sale beneath the birchen-tree, 
ller elbow resting on her knee ; 
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft. 
And cazed on it, and feebly laugh'd; 
Her wreath of broom and feathers grey, 
Dagsled with blood, beside her lay. 
The Kiiisht to stanch the life stream tried,— 
'• Straiisrer, it is iii vain !" she cried. 
"This hour of dealli has given me more 
Of reason's power than years before : 
For. as these ebbing veiiis decay. 
My frenzied visions fade away. 
A helpless injured wretch I die, 
And somethiiis tells me m thine eye, 
■^riiat thou wert mine avenger bom. — 
Seest thou this tress 7—0 I still I've worn 
This little tress of yellow hair. 
Through danger, frenzy, and despair! 
It once was bright and clear as thine. 
But blood and tears have dimm'd its shine. 
I will not tell thee when 'twas shred. 
Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 
Aly brain would turn ! — but it shall wave 
I. ike plumage on thy helmet brave, 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 
And thou wilt Itnng it me again. — 
I waver still —O God ! more bright 
Let reason beam her parting light! — 
'''! by thy knighthood's honour'd sign. 
And for thy life preserved by mine, 
V\ lien ihou shall see a darksome man. 
Who boasis him Chief of Alpine's Clan, 
With tartan's broad and shadowy plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong! 
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the path . . . O God ! . . . farewell." 

XXXIII 

A kindly heart had brave FitzJaines ; 
Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's chiinis. 
And now with mmeled grief ami ire, 
He saw the murder'd maid exiiire. 
"God. in my need, be my relief 
As I wreak this oti yonder Chief! " 
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
He bleiuled with her bridegroom's hair; 
The mingled braid in blood he dyed. 
And placed it on his bonnet-side : 
" By Him whose word is truth I I swear. 
No other favour will I wear. 
Till this sad token 1 imbrue 
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 
— But hark ! what means yon faint halloo T 
The chase is up.— but they shall know. 
The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe." 
Barr'd from the known but guarded way, 
I'hrough copse and cliffs Fitz-James must 
strav, 



\ 



'k of food and loss of strength, 
[■ouch'd him in a thicket hoar. 

toils and perils o'er: — 



K 



And oft must change his desperate track. 
By stream and precipice turn'd back. 
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, 

Fr ■ 

Ht 

And thought hi: 

"Of all my rash adventures past, 

This frantic feat must prove the last! 

Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd, 

That all this Highland hornet's nest 

Would muster up in swarms so soon 

As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ?— 

Like bloodhounds n >vv they search me out, — 

Hark to the whistle and the shout ! — 

If farther through the wilds I go, 

I only tall upon the foe: 

I'll couch nie here till evening grey, 

Then darkling try my dangerous way." 

XXIX. 
The shades of eve come slowly down. 
The woods are wrapt in deeper brovvn, 
The f)wl awakens from her dell. 
The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
Finough remains of glimmering light 
To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 
Yet not enough from far to show 
His figure to the watchful foe. 
With cautious step, and ear awake. 
He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 
And not the summer solstice, there, 
Temper'd the midnight mountam air. 
But every breeze, that swept the wold. 
Benumb d his drenchetl limbs with cold. 
In dread, in danger, and alone, 
Famish'd and cliill'd. through ways unknown. 
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on ; 
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd, 
A watch-fire close before him biirn'd. 

XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear, 

Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 

And up he sprung with sword in hand. — 

"Thy name and pur[)ose! Saxon, .stand !" — 

" A stranger." — ' What dost thou require .'" — 

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life's beset, my patn is lost, 

The gale has cliill'd my limbs with frost." — 

" Art thou a friend to Roderick ?" — " No." — 

"Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" — 

" 1 dare ! to him and all the hand 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." — 

" Bold words! — hut. though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim. 

Though space and law the stag we lend. 

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 

Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when. 

The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain ? ' 

Thus treacherous scouts. — yet sure they lie. 

Who say thou camest a secret sfiy !'' — 

"They do, by heaven I— ('ome Roderick Dhu, 

And of his clan the boldest two, 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." — 

" If by the blaze I mark aright. 

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight. "- 

" Then by these tokens niayest thou know 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."— 

" Enough, enough; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare. 



] See AppeiiUiX, Notr 3 V. 



z. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



XXXI. 
He grave him of his Hifrliland cheer. 
The harden'il flesh of nmuulain deer ; 1 
Dry fuel on the tire he laid, 
And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
He tended liini like welcome guest, 
Then thus hi.s farther speech address'd. 
•■ Straiiffer, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true; 
'Each word against his honour spoke, 
Demands ot me avenginer stroke ; 
Yet more, — upon thy fiite, 'lis said, 
A mighty A usury is laid. 
It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
Tliou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with ine, here, brand to brand, 
Worn as I lion art, to bid thee stand : 
But. not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 
Will I depart from lionoiir's laws; 
To assail a weaned man were shame. 
And stianaer is a holy name ; 
Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 
In vain he never must require 
Then rest thee here till dawn of day , 
Myself will guide thee on the way. 
O'er sock and stone, ihrouuh watch and ward, 
Till past Clan-.\lpine's outmost guard. 
As far as Coilantogle's ford; 
From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 
" 1 take thy courtesy, by heaven. 
As freely as 'lis nobly given !" — 
" Well, rest ihee ; for the bii tern's cry 
Sing." us the lake's wild lullabv." 
With that he sh.iok the gather'd heath. 
And spread his plaid upon the wreath; 
And the brave foenien. side by side, 
Lay peaceful down, like brothers tried. 
And slept until the dawnin? beam 
Purpled the mountain and the stream. 



STJe HatiB of t1)e llnfee. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



THE COMBAT. 

I. 
Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 

When first, by the bewilder'd pilgrim spied. 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night. 

And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide. 
And lights the fearful path on moumain side ;— 
hair as that beam, althonsh the fairest far. 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 
Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright 
star. 
Through all the wreckful slorms that cloud 
the brow of War. 

II. 
That early beam, so fair and sheen. 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen. 
When. roiisiii2 at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed. 



Look'd out upon the dapple'', sky, 
Miiiter'd their soldier matins bv, 
And then awaked their fire, to steal. 
As short and rnde. their soldier meal. 
T'hat o'er, the Gael 2 around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue. 
And, true to promise, led the way. 
By thicket green and mountain srrev. 
A wilderin? path ! — they winded n<>w 
Along the precipice's brow. 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
Tlie windimrs of the Forth and Teilh, 
And all the vales beneath that lie. 
Till Siirlins's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their fan best glance 
Gain'd not the lensih of horseman's l:\nce. 
' Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So lansled oft. that, bursting through. 
Kach hawthorn shed her showers of dew,— 
That diatnond dew, so fiiire and clear, 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 

III. 
At length they came where, stem and steep. 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vemiachar in silver flows. 
There, ridge on ridge. Beiiledi rose; 
Ever the hollow path twined on. 
Beneath sleep bank and threatening stone, 
An hundred men niiglil hold the post 
With hardihood against a host. 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak. 
With shingles bare, and dill's between. 
And patches bright of bracken green. 
And heather black, that waved so high. 
It held the cojise in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and still. 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 
And oft both path and hill were torn. 
Wbere wintry torrents down had borne, 
.^iid heap'd upon the cumber'd land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace. 
The guide, abating of his pace. 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And ask'd Fitz- James, by what strange cause 
He sought these wilds? traversed by few. 
Without a pass from Roderick DUu. 

IV. 
" Brave Gael, my pass in danger fried. 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
■V'et. sooth to tell," the Saxon said. 
'• 1 dreamt not now to claim its aid 
When here, but three days since. 1 c.ime, 
Bewilder'd in pursuit of game. 
All seeni'd as peaceful and as still. 
As the mist slumbering on yon liiM ; 
Tiiy dangerous Chief was then afar. 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide. 
Though deep, perchance, the villain iied." — 
'• Yet why a second venture try ?"— 
"A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves our free course by such fix'd cause. 
As gives the poor mechanic laws? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
7'he lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A Knight's free footsteps far and wide. — 



185 \ 

— s 



f 186 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



A falcon flown, a sreyliound stray'd, 
'I'lie men y glance of mouiiiHiu maid : 
Or. if !i pntli be diinserous known, 
Tlie danger's self is lure aloue."— 

V. 
" Thy secret keep I nrse 1 liee not ; — 
Yet. ere asain Vfc .sonslit this spot, 
Sav, heard ye lioufeiit of Lowland war, 
Asainst Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?" 
— '• No, liy niv word ; — of bands prepared 
To (fuard Kinsr James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but. when tliey liear 
Tins muster of the mountaineer. 
Their pennons will abroad be flunar. 
Which else in Doune had peaoetul hun?."— 
" Free he they Anna ! — for we were loih 
Their silken folds sliouid feast the moth. 
Free be tliey flung! —as free shall wave 
Chin- Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But. Stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewilder'd in the mountain game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich-Alpine's vow'd and rnorlal foe ?"— 
"Warrior, but vester -morn. I knew 
Nought of thy Chieftain. Roderick Uhu, 
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man. 
'I'he chief of a rebellious clan. 
Who, in the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight: 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 

VI. 
Wrothful at such arraignment foul. 
Dark lower'd the clansiiian's sable scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said. 
•' And heard'st thou why he drew his blade? 
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe? 
What reck'd the Chieftain if li« stood 
On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 
He riglits such wrong where it is given. 
If it were in the court of lie;iven "— 
"Still was it outrage; — yet, 'tis true. 
Not then claiiii'd sovereignly his due; 
While Albanv. with feeble hand. 
Held boridvv'd trunclieon of command, 1 
1 he young King, iiiew'd in Stirling tower, 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life! — 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 
Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain 
His herds and harvest rear'd in vain — 
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne."' 

VIL 
The Gael beheld him grim the while. 
And answer'd with disdainful smile. — 
" Sa.\on, from ycmder mountain high, 
I mark'd thee send delighted eye. 
Far to the south and east, where lay, 
Extended in succession gay. 
Deep waving fields and pa.stiires green. 
With gentle slopes and groves between : — 
These fertile plains, that soften'd vale. 
Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
The stranger came with iron hand. 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ! See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 



Ask we this savage hill we tread, 

For fatten'd steer or household bread ; 

Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 

And well the mountain might reply,— 

' To you. as to your sires of yore. 

Belong the target and claymore ! 

1 give you shelter in my breast. 

Your own good blades must win the rest.' 

Pent in this fortress of the North, 

'T'hink'st thou we will not sally forth. 

To spoil the spoiler as we may. 

And from the robber rend the prey? 

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 

The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 

While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 

But one along von river's maze, — 

The Gael, of plain and river heir. 

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.' 

Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold. 

That plundering Lowland field and fold 

Is aught but retribution true ? 

Seek Other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." — 

VllL 
Answer'd Filz-James.— " And, if \ sought, 
Thmk'st thou no other could be brought ? 
What deem ye of my path waylaid ? 
Mv life given o'er to ambuscade ?"— 
•' As of a meed to rashness due : 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,— 
1 seek mv hound, or falcon stray'd. 
I seek, good faith a Highland maid.-- 
Free hadst thou been to come and go; 
Hut secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet, for this, even as a .spy, 
Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die. 
Save to fulfil an augury."— 
" Well, let it pa.>-s ; nor will I now 
Fresh cause of enmity avow. 
To chafe thy mood aiid cloud ihy brow. 
Enough. 1 am Iry promise tied 
'I'o match me with this man of pride : 
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 
In peace; but when I come agen, 
I come with banner, brand and bow. 
As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
For love-lorn swain, m lady's bower. 
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel Chieftain and his band !" — 

IX. 
" Have, tlien. thy wish !"— he whistled shrill, 
And he was answer'd from the hill ; 
Wild as the .scream of the curlew, 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, through copse and lieath. aro.se 
l?(mnets and spears and bended bows ; 
On right, on left, above, below. 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe : 
From shingles grev their lances start. 
The bracken bush' sends forth the dart, 
The rushes and the willow-wand 
Are bristling into axe and brand. 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife, 
'i'hat whistle garrison'd the glen 
At imce with full five hundred men, 
As if the yawning hill to heaven 
A subterranean host had given. 
Wa'ching their leader's beck and will, 
All silent there they stood, and still. 



7^ 



^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



187 



Like the loose crags, whose threatening muss 
Lay tiitteriiifi: nVr Ihe hollow [>a-ss, 
As'if ail infant's touch could urse 
Their heailloiis: jiassjise down the verge, 
With Me|i and weapon forward flung, 
I'fKin the tnoiin'ain-side they hinis. 
T he Mountaineer cast glance of pride 
Along Benledi's livitisside, 
Then lix'd his eye and sahle hrow 
Full on Fitz-Jaines — " How say'st thou now? 
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; 
And, Saxon, — I am R(Hlerick Dliu !" 



Fitz- James was hrave : — Thnnsrh to liis heart 

The life-hlood ilinll'd with sudden start, 

He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 

Keturn'd the Chief his haughty stare. 

His hack asainst a rock he bore. 

And (irmly placed his foot before: — 

"Come one. come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as L" 

Sir Roderick mark'il — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy which warriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand: 

Down sunk the disappearing band ; 

Each warrior vanisli'd whei-e he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wooii ; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seem'd as if their mother Earth 

Had swailow'd up her warlike birth. 

The wind's last breath had toss'd m air. 

Pennon, and plaid, and plumase fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side. 

Where heath and fern were waving wide : 

The sun's last glance was glinted back. 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 

The next, all unreflected. shone« 

On bracken green, and cold grey stone. 

XI. 
Fitz-James look'd round — yet scarce believed 
The witness that his sight received ; 
Such apparition well niieht seem 
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
Sir Roderick in sus()ense he eyed. 
And to his look the Chief replied, 
•• Fear nought — nay. t hat I need not say — 
But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 
As far as Coilantogle ford : 
Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
For aid against one valiant hand, 
Thoueh on our strife lay every vale 
Rent by the Sax<in from" Ihe Gael 
So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on whicli you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
V\ iihoiit a pass from Roderick Dliu."i 
They moved : — I said Filz-James was brave. 
As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
Vet dare not say, that now his blood 
Kept on its wont and temper'd flood. 
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
That seeming lonesome pathway through, 
Which vet, by fearful proof, was rife 
With lances.'thal. to take his life, 
Waited hut signal from a guide. 
So late dishonour'd and defied. 



1 See Appendix, Mote 3 K. 



2 Ibid, Note 3 L. 



^ 



Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
T he vanish'd guardians of the gmund. 
And still, I'rom copse and heather deep. 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
And in the plover's shrilly strain. 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green. 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 
Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
■^I'o hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XIL 
The Chief in silence strode before. 
And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore 
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks. 
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 
On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 
Where Home, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. 2 
And here his course the Chieftain staid. 
Threw down his target and his plaid, 
And to the Lowland warrior said : — 
" Bold Saxon! to his promise just, 
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. 
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebellious clan, 
Hal h led thee safe, through watch and ward. 
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now. man to man. and steel to steel, 
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See here, all vanlageless I stand, 
Arm'd, like thvself. with single brand : 3 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sworu." 

XIII. 

The Saxon paused :— '• I ne'er delay'd. 

When foeman bade me draw my biade; 

Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy dealh : 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith. 

And my deej) debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved : 

Can nought but blood our feud atone? 

Are there no means ?" — •' No. Stranger, none! 

And hear. — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 

For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 

Between the living and the dead ; 

' Who spills the foremost foenian's life, 

His party conquei-s in ttie strife '" — 

"Then by my word," the Saxon said, 

" The riddle fs already read 

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliflf.— 

There lies Red .Murdoch, stark and stiflf. 

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, 

Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Stirling, let us go. 

V\ hen. if thou wilt be still his foe. 

Or if the King shall not agree 

To grant thee grace and favour free. 

I plight mine honour, oath, and word, 

Tliat, to thy native strengths restored. 

With each advantage shall thou stand. 

That aids thee now to guard thy land." 

XIV. 

Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's eye — 
"Soars thy presumption, then, so high. 



3 See Appendix, Note S M. 



T 



A 



/ 



7 



I. 



^ 



188 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



"S 



X III 



Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
H()iii;iKe to name to Kodenrk Dim T 
He yields not, lie. to man nor Fate ! 
'I'lioii adcl'st hut fuel to my hate :— 
My clansman's blood demands revenue. 
Not yet prepared ?— By heaven, I change 
.My thought, and hold thy valour light 
As that of some vain carpet knigrht, 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose hest boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." — 
" ( thank thee, Roderick, for the word! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
ISow, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; 
Thongh not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
(Jf this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odd": against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt— 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." — 
Then each at. once his falchion drew, 
i'larh on the ground his scabbard threw. 
Each look'd to sun, and stream, and pltiin. 
As what ihey ne'er might see again: 
Then loot, and point, and eye opposed, 
III dubious strife they darkly closed. 

XV. 
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu 
That on the field his targe he threw. i 
Whose br;izen studs anil toush bull-hide 
Had deaih so often dasli'd iiside ; 
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield. 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to auard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far. 
The Gael maiutain'd unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; 
No stin'ed draught, no scanty tide. 
The gushini; Hood the tartans dved. 
F'lerce Roderick felt the fatjd dram. 
And showei'd his blows like wintry rain; 
And. as firm rock, or castle-roof. 
Atfainst the winter shower is proof, 
The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foil'd his wild laije by steady skill; 
Till, at ailvaiitiige t:i'en. h's brand 
Foiced Kodei-K k's weapon from his hand. 
And backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud Chiefiain to his knee, 

XVI. 

"Now.vield thee, or bv Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood d\ es my blade !" 
"Thy threats, thy mercy, ! defy I 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 3 
— Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain cat who guards her young. 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; 
Heceived, but reck'd not of a wound. 
And lock'd his arms his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel. 
Through bars of brass and triple steel !— 



} See Appendix, Note 3 N. 



They tuir, they strain ! down, down they go. 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd, 
His knee was planted m his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward threw, 
Across his brow his hand he drew. 
From blood and mist to clear his sight. 
Then gleamed aloit his dagger bright! — 
—But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleam'd on high. 
Reel'd soul and .sense, reel'd brain and eve. 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The strugglin? foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing srasp; 
I'nwounded from the dreadful close, 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 

XVII. 
He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life. 
Rfdeem'd. unhoped, from desperate strife. 
Next on his foe Ins look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appear'd his last; 
In Roderick's gore he dipt the braid. — 
'• Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid; 
Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 
The praise that Failh and Valour give." 
With that he blew a bugle-note, 
lindid the collar from his throat, 
LInboiineied, and by the wave 
Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 
Then faint afar are heard the feet 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 
The Sounds increase, and now are seen 
Four mounted squires in Lincoln irreen : 
Two who bear lance, and two who lead. 
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed ; 
I'.'ach onward held his headlong course. 
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse,— 
With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 
- "Exclaim not. gallants ! question not.— 
You, Herbert and Luffness. aliKht, 
And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 
Let the grey palfrey bear his weight. 
We destined for a fairer freight. 
And bring him on to Sirling straight; 
I will before at better speed. 
'I'o seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
l]lie sun rides high ; — I must be boune. 
To see the archer-game at noon ; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea.— 
De Vaux and Hemes, follow me. 

xviri. 

" Stand, Bayard, stand !"— the steed obey'd. 
With arching neck and bended head. 
And glantMng eye and quivering ear. 
As if he Wed his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James m stirrup staid. 
No grasp upon the saddle laid. 
But wreath'd his left hand in the mane, 
And lightly hounded from the plain, 
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirr'd his courage with the steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed m air, 
The rider sate erect and fair. 
Then like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launch'd along the plain tliey go. 
They dash'd that rajiid torrent through. 
And up Caihoiiies hill thev flew; 



•1 See Appcudix, Note 3 O. 



^ 



7^ 



2i 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



189 



^' 



Si ill at rhe gallop prickM the Kiiidit, 
His merry-iiien fullowVl as Ihey imsrht. 
Alons: iliy banks, swifr. T«itli I they ride, 
And in the race they niOv-;< thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendnrk now are ()ast. 
And Deansiovvn lies heldnd them cast; 
They rise, the haiiiier'd towers of Doune,! 
Tliey sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair I'niiniiioiid sees the hoofs strike fire. 
They sweep like hreeze throusrii Ochtertyre; 
They mark just glanoe and disappear 
The lofiv brow of anderit Kier; 
They hathe their courser's swelterins? sides, 
1) TK Forth! amid thy slu??isli tides. 
And on the opnosins shore take ground. 
With plash, wiih scramble, and with bound. 
Iv'iffht-haml they leave ihy clitfs, Cnug-Forih .' 2 
AikI soon I he bulwark of the North, 
Lirey Stirllns:. with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career iook'd down. 

XIX. 

A>; up the flinty path they strain'd, 

Sudden his sieed the leader rem'd ; 

A -iijiial to Ills squire he flunsr. 

V\'ho mst;mt to his stirru() spnin?: — 

•• .-^eesl thou, De Vaiix, you woodsman grey, 

Who lowii-waid holds the rocky way. 

Of stature tall and poor array ? 

Mark'st ihou the firm, yet active stride, 

V\ ith which he scales the iiK.untain-side T 

KnowVt thou from whence he comes, or 

whom?"'— 
'• \o, liy my word ; — a burly g^room 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's train would nobly grace." — 
'•Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply. 
And jealousy, no sharper eye ? 
Afar, ere to the hill he drew. 
That stately form and step I knew; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen, 
Treads not such step on Scottish ereen. 
'Tis James of Douglas, by S:dnt Serle ! 
The uncle of the banish'd Earl. 
Away, away, to court, to show 
The near approach of dreaded foe : 
The King must stand upon his guard . 
Doiidas and he must meet prepared." 
Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and 

straight 
They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 

The Douglas, who had bent his way 

From Canihus- Kenneth's abbey isrrey, 

Now. as he climb'd the rocky shelf. 

Held sad communion with himself: — 

'• Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 

A prisoner lies the noble Gruime, 

And liery Roderick soon will feel 

The vengeance of the roy d steel. 

1. only I. can ward their iate,— 

God srrant the r.uisom come not late ! 

The Abbess hath her promise given. 

My child shall be the bride of Ht^aven ; — 

— ^^Be pardon'd one repining tear! 

l-'or He. who gave her, knows how dear. 



1 The ruins of llnuii 
tt.r Karls of Mtriite.th 
Momv, are situated at 



Castle, formerly the residence of 
now tlie priperty of the Earl of 
the coiiflaence of the Ardoch and 



2 it may be worth noting that the Pnet marks the pro- 
gress of the King by naming in su ces.sion flares familiar 
%iid dear to his own early reeollections— Blair-Dfummnnd, 
tbc Beat of the Homes of Kaimes i Kier, that of the priiici- 



\ 



How excellent! but that is by. 

And now my business is — to die. 

—Ye towers! within whose circuit dread 

K Douglas by his sovereign bled; 

And thou, O sad and fatal mound ! 3 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 

As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand. — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 

— Bui hark ! what, blithe and jolly peal 
Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ? 
And see! upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet! 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum. 

And merry moirice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this quaint array, 

Tiie burgtiers hold their sports to-day.* 

James will be there : he loves such show, 

Where the eood yeoman bends his bow, 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe. 

As well as where, in proud career. 

The high-born tilter shivers spear. 

I 'II follow to the Castle-park, 

And play my prize ; — King James shall mark, 

If ase has tamed these sinews stark, 

Whose force so oft, in happier -days. 

His boyish wonder loved to praise." 

XXI. 
The Castle gates were open Hung, 
The quivenns: drawbridge rock'd and rung, 
And echo'd loud the flinty street 
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, 
k^ slowly down the steep descent 
Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 
While all along the crowded way 
Was jubilee and loud huzza. 
And ever James was bending low. 
To his white jennet's saddle-how. 
Doffing his cap to city dame, 
Who smiled and hlush'd for pride and shame. 
And well the simperer miuht he vam, — 
He chose the fairest of the train. 
Gravely he greets each city site. 
Commends each pageant's qu;imt attire, 
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud. 
And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 
Who rend the heavens with their acclaims. 
" Lkmis live the Commons' King. King James !" 
Behind the King throng'd peer and knight, 
And noble dame and damsel bright. 
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 

— But in the train you might discern 
Dark lowering brow and visage stern; 
There nobles mourn "d their pride restrain'd, 
And the mean burghers' joys disdain'd ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan. 
Were each from home a banish'd man, 
There thought upon their own grey tower. 
Their waving woods, their feudal power. 
And deem'd themselves a shameful part 

Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 

XXII. 
Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout. 



pal family of the name of Stirling; Ochtertyre, that of 
John Ramsay, the well-known antiquary, and correspond- 
ent of Burns ; and Cr.-iigfcrth, that of the Callenders of 
Craigforth, almost under the walls of Stirling Castle ;~all 
hospitable roofs, nnder which he tiad spent many of his 
younger days. — Ed. 



3 See Appendix, 



4 Ibid, Note 



V 



IJ. 



7 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



190 



'I'liere irnjrricers. with hell :it heel, 
And blade in liand, tlieir mazes wheel ; 
But oliief. beside the bilits. tliefe stand 
B(.ld Kdbin Hood i and all his band- 
Friar Turk with qnarterslaflf and cowl, 
Old Sratlielocke with Ins surly scowl, 
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, 
Si^arlet, and Mutch, and Liltle John , 
Their bugles challenge all that will. 
In archerv to prove tlieir skill. 
The Doudas bent a how of inisrht,— 
His first shaft centred in the white, 
And when in turn he shot again. 
Ills second split the first in twain. 
From the King's hand must Douglas take 
A silver dart, the archer's slake ; 
Fondly he watch'd. with watery eye. 
Some answering glance of sympathy, — 
No kind emotion made reply ! 
Indiflferent as to archer wight, 
I'he monarch gave the arrow bright.2 

XXIII. 
Now. clear the ring ! for. hand to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose. 
And proud demanded mightier foes, 
Nor call'd in vain ; for Douglas came. 
— For life i^ Hugh of Laihert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's tare. 
Whom senseless home his comrades hear. 
Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring.3 
While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words suppress'd; 
Indignant then he turn'd him where 
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 
When each his utmost strength had shown, 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 
And sent the fragment through the sky. 
A rood beyond the farthest mark; — 
And still ill Stirling's royal park, 
The grey-hair'd sires, vvho know the past. 
To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day. 

XXIV. 
The vale vvith loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd 
A purse well-fill'd with pieces broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 
And threw the gold among the crowd. 
Who now, with an.xious wonder, scan. 
And sharper glance, the dark grey man , 
Till whispers rose among the throng. 
That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas lilood lielong ; 
The old men niark'd. and shook the head, 
To see his hair vvith silver spread, 
And wink'd aside, and told each son, 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form. 
Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm ; 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing .Nature's law. 



N 



Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd. 
Till murmur rose to clamours loud. 
But not a glance from that pioud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King, 
With Douglas held communion kind, 
<3r call'd tlie banish'd man to mind ; 
No. not from those who. at the chase, 
Once held his side the honour'd place. 
Begirt his board, and. in the field, 
Found safety underneath his shield; 
For he, whom royal eyes disown, 
Wlien was Ins form to courtiers known ! 

XXV. 

The Monarch saw the gambols flag. 
And bade let loose a gallant stag. 
Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 
Two favourite greyhounds should pull down 
'I'hat venison free, and Bouideaiix wine. 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra.— whom frorii Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North,— 
Brave Lufra saw. and darted forth. 
She left the royal hounds mid-way. 
And dashing on the antler'd prey. 
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 
And deep tlie flowing life-blood drank. 
The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short. 
Came up, and with his leash unbound, 
In anger struck the noble hound. 
—The Douglas had endured, that morn. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud. 
Had borne the pity of the crowd; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred. 
To share his board, to watch his bed, 
And oft would Ellen Lufra 's neck 
In maiden glee with garlands deck , 
I'hey were such playmates, that with name 
Of Cufra, Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming high. 
In darken'd brow and flashing eye , 
As waves before the bark divide. 
The crowd gave way before his stride, 
Needs but a bulTet and no more. 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal. 
Though gauntleted in gh»ve of sleeL 

XX\L 
Then clamonr'd loud the royal train, 
And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 
But stern the Baron's warning — •' Back ! 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
Beware the Douglas — Yes! behold. 
King James! the Douglas, doom'd of old. 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends. 
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends " — 
"Thus is my clemency repaid ? 
Presumptuous Lord !" the monarch said ; 
" Of thv mis-proud amhi'ious clan. 
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man. 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know : 
But shall a Monarch's presence brook 
Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 
What ho! the Captain of our Guard! 
Give the offender fitting ward.— 



N 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 R. 



3 See Appendix, Note 3 T. 



^ 



^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKC. 



191 



Break (iff the sports !" — for tumult rose, i With trailing arms and ilrodpins; head, 

A 1x1 veoriien 'i.'aii to l)enil their bows,— The Douglas up I lie hill lie led. 

" Break off the sports !" he said, and frown'd, | And at the Castle's battled verse, 

" And bid our horsemen clear the ground." With sighs resign 'd his honourd charge. 



^: 



XXVII. 

Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pi'ck'd amom; 'he crowd, 
Re[)eird by tlireats and insult loud ; 
To earth are honie the old and weak, 
The timorous flv, the women shriek ; 
Wrh flint, wiihshaft, with staff, with bar. 
The hardier urse tumultuous war. 
At once round Uousjlas darkly sweep 
'I'he royal spears ni curie deep, 
An'd slowly scale the pathway steep; 
\\ lule on the rear m tliiiiuler pour 
The rabble with disorder'd roar. 
With irnef the noble Dou:ihis saw 
The Commons rise asamst the law, 
And to the leading soldier said. — 
■■ Sir John of Hvndford ! 'twas my blade 
That kniijlithiKKi on thy shoulder laid ; 
For that simkI deed, permit me then 
A wold with these misguided men. 

XXVIIi. 
'• Hear, eentle friends ! ere yet for me, 
Ye break the bands of fealty 
My life, my honour, and mv cause, 
1 tender free lo Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as rnust require 
The aid of your missuuied ire ? 
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 
Is then my selrish rase so stron?, 
My sense of public weal so low, 
Tliat. for mean vengeance on a foe, 
Those cords of love I should unbind. 
Which knit my country and my kind? 
Oh no! Believe, in yonder lower 
r will not soothe my ca[)live hour. 
To know those spears our foes should dread. 
For iiiR III kindred a:ore are red ; 
Til know, in fruiiless brawl besun. 
For me. I hat mo' her wails her sou ; 
h'lir me, that widow's mate expires; 
Fur me. I hat (trplians weep their sires , 
That patnois mourn insulted laws. 
And curse the Douglas iw the cause. 
O let your patience ward sucii ill. 
And keep your right to love me still !" 

XXIX. 
The crowd's wild fury sunk a?ain 
In tears, as tempesis melt in ram. 
UiMi luted h.iiids and eyes, they pray'd 
Fiir bles-ings on his generous head. 
Who for Ins country felt alone. 
And prized her blood beyond his own. 
Old men. upon the verge of life, 
Bless'd him svho siaid the civil strife; 
And mothers held their babes on high. 
The self-devoted Chief to spy. 
Triumphant over wrongs and ire. 
To whom the prattlers owed a sire: 
Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 
As if behind some bier beloved. 



1 " Who deserves grealiiess, 

Deserves your hate; and your affections are 
A nick man'x appetite, who desiren moiit that 
Which wniilrt incrpaoe his evil. He thai depends 
tpou your ravourij, swims with fins of lead. 



XXX. 

The offended Monarch rode apart, 
Wiih bitter thought and swelling heart, 
And would not now vouchsafe asaiu 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
•'0 Lenno.x, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this common fo»l t 
Hear'st thou," he said, ''the loud acclaim. 
With which they shout the Douglas name ? 
With like acclaim, tlie vulgar throat 
Stram'd for King James their morning note ; 
Wiih like acclaim they hail'd the day 
When first I liroke the Douglas' sway ; 
And like acchiim would Douglas greet. 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd wmild wish to reign. 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ! 
Vain as the leaf upon I he stream, 
.And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. 
Thou many-headed monster thing, i 

who would wish to be thy king ! 

XXXI. 

•' But soft ! what messenger of speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 

1 guess his cognizance afar — 

What from our cousin, Jcilin of Mar ?" — 
'■ He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 
Within the safe and guarded ground : 
For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 
.Most sure for evil to the throne, — 
The ouilaw'd Chieftain, Ihnlerick Dim, 
Has summon'd his rebellious crew ; 
"I'is said, in James of Bothwell's aid 
These loose banditti stand arniy'd. 
The Karl of .Mar, this morn, from Donne, 
To break their muster march'd, and soon 
Your Grace will hear of battle fought; 
But earnestly the Earl besought. 
Till for such danger he provide. 
With scanty train you will not ride." — 

XXXIl. 

•' Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier look'd to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of .Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war: 
Koderick, this morn, m single fight. 
Was made our [)risiiner by a knight; 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host. 
Nor would we th.it the vulgar feel. 
For their Chief's crimes, aveiging steel. 
Bear Mar out message. Braco : fly !" — 
He turn'd his steed, — " My liege, I hie,— 

And hews down oaks with rushes. Han« ye! Trust /ei 
With every minute you do change a iniDd; 
And call him noble, that was now your hale, 
Him vile that was your garl;ind." 

Corioiantu, Act I. Sc 



^ 



^ 192 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Vet., ere I cross lliis lily lawn, 
1 fear the hroiulswords will he drawn." 
'l"he turf tiie flyiiii; courser spuni'd, 
And to Ins towers the King retura'd. 

XXXHI. 
Ill with Kin? James's mood that day, 
tainted gay (east and minstrel lay; 
Soon were disnnss'd ihe courtly throng. 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
'Norlfss upon the saddeii'd town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The hurshers spoke of civil jar, 
(If rumour'd feuds and niouniain war, 
Of .Moray, .Mar. and Roderick Dhu, 
All Uj) ill arms —the Douglas too, 
I'hey inourn'd him pent within the hold. 
" Where stout Earl William was of old"— 1 
And there his word the speaker siaid, 
And linger on his lip lie laid, 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
Bui jaded hor.semen, from the west, 
At evening to the Casile press'd ; 
And liusy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of tight on Katrine's shore. 
At noon the deadly fray begun, 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumour shook the town, 
'I'lll closed the Night lier pennons brown. 



8ri)e 2la"lii) ot t!)e 2Lafec. 



\ 



CANTO SIXTH 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 
I. 

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 
Rousing each caititi' to his task of care. 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance. 

Scaring the prowling robber to his den; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, 

And warmng student iiale to leave his pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse 
of men. 

What various scenes, and, O ! what scenes of 
woe. 
Are witiiess'd by that red and struggling 
beam ! 
The fever'd patient, from his pallet low. 
Through crowded hospital beholds its 
stream : 
The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam. 
The debtor wakes to thouglit of gyve and 
jail, 
The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting 
dream , 
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering 
pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his 
feeble wail. 



labbcJ by J.i 



n. 



Stir 



II. 

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 
While drums, with rolling note, foretell 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement barr'd. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 
.And, straggling with the smoky air, 
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 
Ill comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blacken'd stone, 
And sliow'd wild shapes in garb of war. 
Faces deform 'd with beard and scar. 
All haggard from the midnight watch, 
Ami lever'd with the stern debauch ; 
Vm the oak table's massive board, 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, 
And beakers drain'd, and cups o'ertlirown, 
Show'd in what sport the night had tlown. 
Some, weary, snored on tloor and bench ; 
Some labour'd still their thirst to ijuench ; 
Some, chill'd with watching, spread their 

hands 
O'er Ihe huge chimney's dying brands, 
While round them, or beside them flung. 
At every step their harness rung. 

III. 
These drew not for their fields the sword, 
Like tenants of a feudal lord. 
Nor own'd the patriarchal claim 
Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; 
Adventurers they, from far who roved. 
To live by battle which they loved. 2 
There the Italian's clouded face. 
The swarthy Spaniards there you trace, 
The mountain-loving Switzer there 
More freely breathed in moiinlain-air; 
The Fleming there despised the soil. 
That paid so ill the labourer's toil; 
Their rolls show'd French and German name ; 
And merry England's exiles came. 
To share, with lUconceal'd disdain, 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield 
The heavy halberd, brand, and shi"l'l ; 
la camps licentious, wild, and bold; 
In pillage fierce ami luicontroli'd; 
And now, by holytide and feast. 
From rules of discipline released. 

IV. 
They held debate of bloody fray. 
Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achniy. 
Fierce was their speech, and. 'mid their words. 
Their hands oft grappled to their swords; 
N(n- sunk their tone to spare the ear 
Of wounded comrades groaning near. 
Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored. 
Bore token of the mountain sword. 
Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard 
Their prayers and feverish wails were heard , 
Sad burden to the ruflfian joke, 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 
At length up-started John of Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear, 
In peace a chaser of the deer 
In host a hardy mutineer. 
But still the boldest of the crew, 
When deed of danger was to do \ 



2 See Appeudix, Note 3 U. 



-^ 



7 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



He grieved, that. cl:iy. llieir sanies rut shcirt, 

Aim) niiirr'il the dicer's biawlm? sport. 

Anil sliouied loud, '• Renew Uie bowl! 

Ami. while a merry ciilch I troll, 

\*-\ each the luixoni chorus hear. 

Like breihreii of the brand and spear." 



SOLDIER 



SO N O. 



Oi\r vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 
L;t,d a swinging long curse (in tlie bonny brown 

howl, 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly 

black-jack, 
And the seven dendlv sins in a flagon of sack ; 
\ i\ whoop. Barnaliy'! off with ihy liquor. 
Drink upsees ' out. and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar lie calls it d.imnation to sip 
riie ripe ruddy dew of a woinan's dear lip. 
Savs, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so 

' sly. 
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry 

olack eye ; 
Vet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker. 
Till she bloom like a rose, and a tig Jot the 

vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he 

not ? 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and 

pot; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch. 
Who mfriiise the domams of our good Mother 

f;iiurch. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjories the word, and a fig for the 

vicar ! 

VI. 

The warder's challenge, heard without. 

Staid in mid roar the merry shout. 

A s(4dier to the porial went, — 

"Here is old Berrram, sirs, of Ghent; 

And. — beat for jubilee the drum! 

A maid and minstrel with him come." 

Beriraiii. a Fleiuing. grey and scarr'd. 

W;is enterins now the Court of Guard, 

A harper with him, and in plaid 

All muffled close a mountain maid. 

Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 

Of the loose sfene and boisterous crew. 

" What news?" they roar'd : — •' I only know. 

From noon till eve we fought with foe. 

As wild and as uiitameahle 

As the rude mountains where they dwell ; 

On both sides store of blood is lost. 

Nor much success can either boast." — 

•• But whence thy captives, friend ? such spoil 

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ; 

Thou now hast glee-inaiden and harp! 

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 

The leader of a juggler band."—* 

VII. 
" No. comrade ; — No such fortune mine. 
After the tight these sousht^ our line, 
Tluit ased harper and the sirl. 
And, having audience of the Earl, 

1 Barrhanalian interjectiont borrowed from the Dutch. 



Mar bade I should purvey them steed. 

And hi ins I hem hitlierwiird with speed. 

Foi bear your inirlh and rude alarm. 

For none shall do them shame or harm." — 

■' Hear ye his boast '" cried John of Brent, 

Ever to strife and jauirlimr bent ; 

'•Shall he strike doe liesule our lodse, 

And yet the jealous niu:srard grudge 

To pay the forester his tee-f 

I'll have mv share howe'er it be. 

Despite of .Moray, Mar, or thee " 

Bertram his forward step withstood , 

And. burning in-his vengeful mood. 

Old Allan, though until for strife, 

Laid hand upon his da?s:er-knife ; 

But Ellen boldly stepp'd between. 

And dropp'd at once the tartan screen : — 

So. from his moriiin? cloud, appears 

The sun of May, thromjh summer tears. 

The savage soldiery, amazed. 

As on descended ansel sazed ; 

Even liarily Brent, abash'd and tamed, 

Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 

VIII. 
Boldly she spoke,— "Soldiers, attend ! 
My father was the soldiers friend ; 
Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led, 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the stron?. 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong "— 
Answer'd De Brent, most tbrward itiU 
In every feat or good or ill. — 
" 1 shame me of the part I play'd : 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! 
An outlaw 1 by forest laws. 
And merry Needwood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose. — if Hose he living now," — 
He wiped his iron eye and brow. — 
" Must bear such age, I think, as then — 
Hear ye. my mates ; — I go to call 
Tiie Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halberd on the floor; 
And he that steps my halberd o'er. 
To do the maid injurious part, 
.My shaft shall quiver in his heart! — 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
Ye all know John de Brent. EiiougK." 

IX. 
Their Captain came, a gallant young,— 
(Of Tullibardiiie's house he sprung), 
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 
Gay was his mien, his humour light, 
And, though by courtesy controU'd. 
Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 
The high-born maiden ill could brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye ;— and yet, m sooth, 
Yoimg Lewis was a generous youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien. 
ill suited to the garb and scene, 
Might lightly bear construction strange. 
And give loose fancy scope to range. 
"Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! 
Come ye to seek a champion's aid, 
On palfrey white, with harper hoar. 
Like errant damosel of yore ? 
Does thy high quest a knight require. 
Or may the venture suit a squire ?' — 
Her dark eye flash'd ;— she paused and siph'd,- 
"O what have I to do with pride ;— 

' 3 See Appendix, Note 3 V. 



\%\ \ 



•T 



7 



104 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Tliroush scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, 
A siiprilianl for a father's hfe. 
I rrave an aiuhenne of tlie Kin?. 
I't^hoki. ti) back niv suit, a nii?, 
Tlio royal pledije of trraiefnl claims, 
(iiven by the Monarch to Fitz-James. 

X. 

Thfi sisnet-rin? youns Lewis took, 

With deep respect and alter'd look . 

And said.—" This rin? our duties own , 

And pardon, if to worth unknown. 

In semblance mean obscurely veil'd, 

l.adv, in aiicht mv foliv fail'd. 

Soon as the dav flings wide his eatfs. 

The Kins shali know what snitor waits. 

Please vou. meanwhile, in fittiiis: bower 

Kepose vi-u till his wakin? hour; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your best, for service or array. 

Permit I marshal von the way." 

■But. ere she t'ollow'd, with the grace 

And open bounty of her race. 

vShe bade her slender purse )>e shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took , 

But Brent, with shy and awkward look. 

On the reluctant maiden's hold 

F''ovced bluntly back the proffer'd gold ;— 

"Forgive a haughty English heart. 

And O forget its ruder part! 

The vacant pnrse shall be mv share, 

Which in my barret-cap 111 bear. 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 

Where gayer crests may keep afar." 

With thanks— 'twas all she could— the maid 

His rugged courtesy repaid. 

XI. 
When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to .Tohn of Brent : — 
•' My lady safe. O let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I.— to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since liist my sires 
Waked for his noble house their lyres. 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chief's birth begins our care, 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir. 
Teach tlie youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
In peace, m war. our rank we keep. 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep 
Nor leave him till we pour our verse — 
A doleful tribute!— o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right— deny it not !"— 
'• Little we reck," said John of Brent, 
" We Southern men, of long de.scent ; 
Nor wot we how a name— a word- 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landhtrd's part. — 
God bless the house of Beaudesert! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer. 
More than to drive the labouring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
'i'hy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 

xn. 

Then, from a rusted iron hook. 

A bunch of pfiuderous keis he took 



Lighted a torch, and Allan led 

Through grated arch and passage dread. 

Portals they pass'd. wliere. deep within, 

Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 

Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, 

Lay wheel, and axe. and headsman's sword, 

And many an hideous engine grim. 

For wrenching joint, and crashing limb, 

By artist forui'd, who deem'd it shame 

And sin to give their work a name. 

Tliey halted at a low-brow'd [)f)rch. 

And Brent to .Mian gnve the torch. 

While bolt and cliaui he backward roll'd, 

And made the bar unhasp its hold. 

They enter'd : — 'iwas a prison room 

of stern security and ukjom. 

Yet not a dunseon ; for the day 

Through lofty gratings found its way, 

And rude and antique garniture 

Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor. 

Such as the rugged days of old 

Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold 

•' Here," said De Brent, '• thou mayst remain 

Till the Leech visit him again. 

Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 

To tend the noble prisoner well " 
Retiring then, the bolt he knew, 
And tlie lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 
Housed at the sound, from lowly bed 

A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel look'd. and knew — 
Not his dear lord, but R(»derick Dhu ! 
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, 
They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought. 

XIIl. 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 

Shall never stem the billows more. 

Deserted by her gallant band. 

Amid the breakers lies asirand, — 

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dha ! 

And oft his fever'd limbs he threw 

In toss abrupt, as when her sides 

Lie rocking in the advancing tides. 

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 

Yet cannot heave her from her seat ; — 

O! how unlike her course at sea ! 

Or his free step on hill and lea !,— 

Soon as the Minstrel he coriild scan, 

" What of thy lady ? — of my clan ?— 

My mother? — Doiislas? — tell me all? 

Have they been ruin'd in my fall ? 

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 

Yet speak, — speak boldly,— do not fear."— 

(For Allan, who his mood well knew. 

Was choked with grief and terror too ) — 

••Wlio fought — who fled?— -Old man, he 

l7rief;— 
Some might — for they had lost their Chief — 
Who basely live ? — who bravely died ?"— 
"O, calm thee. Chief!" the Minstrel cried, 
"Ellen is safe ;"—" For that, thank Heaven!" — 
" And hopes are for the Douglas given ;— 
The Lady Margaret, tof), is well ; 
And, for thy clan. — on field or fell, 
Has never harp of minstrel told. 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent. 
Though many a goodly bough is rent." 

XIV. 
The Chieftain rear'd his form on high, 
.\nd fever's fire was in his eye ; 



A 



7^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



195 > 



But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 

Cheqiier'd Ins swarthy brow and clieeks 

— •• Hark, Mnistrel ! 1 have lu-nrd thee jilay, 

With measure hold, on festal day, 

In yon lone isle, . . . a?aiii where ne'er 

Shall harper play, or warrior hear! . . . 

That, stirrina air that peals on hisih, 

O'er Deriiiul's race our victory.— 

Strike It! >^aiid then (for well thou canst,) 

Free from thy minstrel-spirit gflaiiced. 

Film? me the picture of the fipht, 

Winn met my clan the SaXon might. 

I'll listen, till my fancy heais 

The claiiij of swords, the ciiisli of s<pears ! 

These urates, these walls, shall vanish then, 

For the fair field of fishtin!? men. 

And my free spirit hurst away. 

As if It soar'd from battle fray." 

The treiiiblina: TJard with awe ohey'd. — 

Slow on the harp his hand lie laid ; 

But S(M)ii lenienihraiice of the sisrht 

He Witiit-asd from the mountain's height, 

With what old Bertram told at ni?ht, 

Awaken d the full power of song:," 

And bore him in career alomr ;— 

As shallop launc:i'd on river's tide. 

That slow and fearful leaves the side, 

But, when it feels the middle stream. 

Drives downward swift as lightnings beam. 

XV. 

B.^TTLS OP BS5.I.' AM -DaiNE,^ 

" The Minstrel came once more to view 
The esisterii nd:;e of Benveiiue, 
For, ere he parted, he would say 
Farewell to loVely Uich Achray— 
Where shall he rind, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! 
Tiiere is no breeze upon the fern, 

Nor ripple on the lake. 
Upon her eyiy nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake j 
The small birds will not smg aloud, 

The spiiiiiiing trout lies still. 
So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud. 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledisdis-anl hill 
Is It the thunder's solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread. 
Or echoes from the groanins ground 

The warrior's measured tread ? 
Is it the liglitniiig's quivering glance 

That on the thickft streams. 
Or do they flash on spear anil Innce 
The sun's retiring beams'? 
— I see ths dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star, 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, 
That up the lake comes winding far! 
To hero bound for battle-strife. 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'T were worth ten years of peaceful life, 
One glance at their array ! 

XVI. 
" Their light-arm'd archers far and near 

Survey "d the tangled ground. 
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 

.\ twilmht forest frown'd. 



Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stem battalia crowri'd. 
No cymbal clash'il, no clarion rang, 

Still Were the pipe and tiruin ; 
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, 

'I'lie sullen march was dumb. 
There breai bed no wind their crests to shake, 

Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, 

That shadow'd o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, 

Can rouse no lurking foe. 
Nor spy a trace of living thing. 

Save wiien they stirr d the roe ; 
The host moves, like a deep-sea wave. 
Where rise no rooks its pride to brave, 
High-swelling, dark, and .^low 
The lake is pass'd, and now they gain 
k narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ; 
.And here the hor.se and spearmen pause, 
W'hile, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the aicher-nieii. 

XVII. 
" At once there ro.se so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell. 
Had peal'd the tianner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven. 
Like chaff before tiie wind ot heaven, 

Tlie ardieiv appear; 
For life ! for life ! their plight they ply— 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broadswords flashing to the sky. 

Are maddening in the rear. 
Onward they drive, in dreadful race. 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of fligiit and chase. 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearmen's twilight wood ? — 
'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances 
down ! 
Bear back both friend and foe !' — 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown, 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay levell'd low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side. 
The bristling ranks the onset bide.^ 
'We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 

As their Tinchel 3 cows the game ! 
They come as fleet as forest deer, 
We '11 drive them back as tame.' — 

xvin. 

•' Bearing before them, in their course. 

The relics of the archer force. 

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 

Kight onward did Clan- Alpine come. 
Above the tide, each broailsword bright 
Was brandishing like beam of light, ^ 

Each targe was dark below ; 
And with the ocean's mighty swing. 
When heaving to the tempest's wing, 
They hurl'd them on the foe. 

I heard the lance's shivering crash, 

As when the whirlwind rends the ash. 

I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 

As if an hundred anvils rang! 

But .Moray wheel'd ins rearward rank 

Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine s flank, 



1 See Appendix, Ifole 3 W. .«pace, and gradually narrowing, brought immen-ie 

2 S<e AppeniJix, Nnfe 8 X. lilies of deer together, which usually made de-iperale 

3 K circle of sporlamen, who, by surroundinE a great efforts to break through the Txnchil 



A 



f 196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



-• My ban 
'C' he cr 



^v 



III, nilvaiicel 
1 st-e,' he ciiticl, • tlieir column shake.— 
Now, gallants I for youi- ladies' sake, 

Upon Itiein with llie hnioe I' 
The horsemen dash'il ;iiiioiis the rout, 

As deer break throiifjh the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, tlieir swords are out, 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Roderick then! 
One blast npon his bu^le-horn 

Were worth a thousand men I 
And refluent Ihroiigli the pass of fear 

The battle's tiih; was pour'd ; 
Vaiiisli'd the Saxon's slrugj,'lin» spear, 

Vamsh'd the mountani-sword. 
As Brai'klimrs ch;iMn, so black and steep 

Keceive.s her nianiis linn. 
As the dark caverns of ilie deep 
Suck the wild whirlpool m, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the bailie's miiisled mass : 
JNoiie Imger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall tight again. 

XIX. 
"Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling pass within, 
— .Minstrel, away, the work of fate 
Is bearing on : its issue wait, 
Wliere the rude Trosach's dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.— 
Grey Benvenue 1 soon repass'd, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
The sun is set ; — the clouds are met. 

The lowering scowl of heaven 
An inky view of vivid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts of wind from niountain-glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 
I heeded not the eddying surge. 
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gors^e, 
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, 
Which like an earthquake shook the ground. 
And spoke the stern and desperate strile 
Tint parts not but with parting life. 
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 
Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged agen. 

But not in mingled tide; 
The plaided warriors of the North 
High on the mountain thunder forth 

And overhang its side ; 
While by the lake below appears 
The dark'iiing cloud of Saxon sjiears. 
At weary bay each shattered band. 
Eyeing Ilieir'foemen. siernly stand ; 
Their banners stream like latter'd sail, 
That flings its fragments to the gale, 
And l)roken arms and disarray 
'Mark'd Ihe fell havoc of the day. 

XX. 
"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, 
The Saxon stood in sullen trance, 
Till Moray pointed with his lance. 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle! — 
See ! none are left to guard Its strand, 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
''I'ls there of yore the robber band 
Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces srore. 
To him will swim a bowshot o'er, 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 



Liahtlv we'll tame the war-wolf tlien, 
Lords 'of his mate, and brood, and den.' 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 
On earth his casque and corslet rung. 

He plunged him in the wave : — 
All saw the deed— the i)urpose knew. 
And to their clamours Benvenue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to rheer, 
The helpless females scream for fear, 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'Twas tlien, as by the outcry riven, 
Pour'd down at once the h)wenng heaven; 
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast, 
Her billows rear'd their snowy crest. 
Well for the swimmer svveli'd they hish, 
To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 
For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail, 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael — 
In vain — He nears the isle — and lo! 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
—Just then a flash of lightning came. 
It tinged the waves and strand with flame ; — 
I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame. 
Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand: 
It darken'd, — but, amid the moan 
Of vviives, 1 heard a dying groan ; 
Another flash 1 — the spearman floats 
A weltering corse beside the boats, 
And tlie stern matron o'er him stood, 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 

XXI. 

" * Revenge I revenge !' the Saxons cried, 

The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 

Despite the elemental rage, 

Aeain thev hurried to en^Mge ; 

But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 

Bloody with spurring came a knight, 

Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. 

Clarion and trumpet by his side 

Rung forth a iruce-noie high and wide, 

Whiie. in the Monarch's name, afar 

An herald's voice forbade the war. 

For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 

Wei'e both, he said, in captive hold " 

—But here the lav made sudden stand !— 

The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand ! — 

Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 

How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy: 

At first, the Chieftain, to the chime. 

With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 

That motion ceased,— yet feeling strong 

Varied his look as changed the sons; 

At length, no more his deafend ear 

'i'he minstrel melody can hear; 

His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench'd, 

As if some pang his heart-strings wiench'd ; 

Set are his teeth, his fading eye 

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu !— 

Old Allan- Bane look'd on aghast. 

While grim and still his spirit pa-^s'd : 

But when he saw that life was tied, 

He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead. 

XXll. 

L .\ M 3 N T , 

" And art thou cold and lowly laid. 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boiust, Clan-Alpme's shade I 



■^ 



7^ 



THE LADl OF THE LAKE. 




For thee shall none a requiem sjiy ? 

— For thee, who loved the iiiiiistrel's lay,— 

Far thee, of Bothwell's h(>ii>e tiie slay, 

The .shelter of her exiled line. 

K'en in this pns<in-h(iii.se of thine, 

I'll wail for Alpnie's houour'd Pme I 

" What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieks of srief shall rend'yon hill! 
What tears of hurniu? rasje shall thrill, 
V\hen mourns thy trihe thy battles done. 
Thy fall before ttie race was won, 
l"hy sword un^irl ere set of sun ! 
There breathes not clansmen of thy line. 
But wonld have siven his life for thine. ^- 

woe for Alpine's lionour'd Pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage !— 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The [irison'd eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And. when its notes awake again, 
Even she. so long beloved in vain. 
Shall with my harp her voice coml)ine. 
And mi.x her woe and tears with mine. 
To wail Clan-Alpine's houour'd Pine." — 

XXIII. 

Rllen. the while, with bursting heart, 

Keiiiaiii'd in lordly bower apart, 

Where playVl with many-oolour'd gleams, 

Thniiish sforied pane the rising beams. 

In vani on gilded roof they fall. 

And ln:litpn"d up a tapestried wall, 

And for her use a menial tram 

A rich collation spread in vain 

The banquet proud, the (thainher gny. 

Scarce drew one curious <rlance astray ; 

Or. if slie look'd. 'twas but to say. 

With belter omen dawu'd the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

1 he dun-deer's hid" for canot)V ; 
Where oft her noble father sliared 
The siiii|ile meal her care prepared. 
While l.ufra. crouching by her side. 
Her station claiui'd with jealous pride, 
And Douglas, bent on woodland game. 
Spoke of the chase to .M ilcolm urjeme. 
Whose answer, oft at random made. 

"The wandering of his thoughts hetray'd. — 
Those who such simple jovs have known. 
Are taught to prize them when thev're gone. 
But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 
The window seeks with cautious tread. 
What distant music has the (lower 
To win her in this woful hour? 
'Twas fnmi a turret that o'erhung 
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung 

XXIV. 

LAY OF THE IMPaiSONED tlUMTSMAN. 

•' My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle greyhound loathes his food. 
My horse is weary of his stall. 
And F am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were, as I have been. 
Hunting the hart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhound free. 
For that's the life is meet for me. 
I hate to learn the ebb of tune. 



From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, 



^ 



Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
'Vhe lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook niv vespers sing; 
These towers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 
Mo more at dawning morn I rise. 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. 
Drive the fleet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend with evening dew, 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet. 
And lay my trophies at her feet, 
W Idle fled the eve on wing of glee, — 
That life is lost to love and me I" 

XXV. 

The heart-sick lav was hardiv said. 
The list'ner had riot lurn'd her head, 
It trickled still, the starting tear. 
When light a footstep struck her ear. 
And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near. 
She turn'd the hastier, lest again 
The prisoner should renew his strain. — 
" O welconje. brave Fitz-James !"' she said , 
•• How may an almost orphan maid 

Pay the deep debt" "O say not so! 

To me no gratitude you owe. 
Not mine, alas ! the'booii to give. 
And bid thv noble father live ; 
I can but be thv guide, sweet maid. 
With .Scotland's king thv suit to aid 
No tyrant he, thoiisfh ire and pride 
May lay his better mood aside. 
Come. Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time, 
He holds his court at morning prime." 
With beating heart, and bosom wrung. 
As to a bro'her's arm she clung. 
(5ently he dried the falling tear. 
And gentlv whisper'd hope and cheer; 
Her faltering steps half led. half staid. 
Through gallerv fair, and high arcade, 
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 
A portal arch unfolded wide. 

XXVI. 

Within 'twas brilliant all and light. 
A thronging scene of figures bright, 
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight. 
As when the selling sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even. 
And from their tissue, fancy frame* 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid 
A few faint steps she forward made. 
Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 
For him she sought, who own'd this state, 
The dreaded prince whose will was fate. 
She gazed on many a princely port. 
Might well have ruled a royal court ; 
On many a splendid garb she gazed. 
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed. 
For all stood bare ; and. in the room. 
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent; 
On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 
ATidst fins, and silks, and jewels sheen. 
He stood, in simple Lincoln green. 
The centre of the glinerinif ring. 
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King' 



.\lipemllx, Note 3 Y. 



y1 



7 



198 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N. 



\ 



K 



XXVII. 
As wreath of snow, on mount ain-breiist. 
Slides from the rock tliat gave it rest. 
Poor B:11(;ii sliiled from her stay, 
And at the Moiiarcli's feet she hiy ; 
No word her chokiiis voice commands. — 
She show'd the rins:, she clasp'd her hands. 

! not a moment couhl he hrook, 

The generous prince, that su|ipliant look ! 

Gently he raised her: and. the while. 

rheck'd with a glance the circle's smile; 

(Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd, 

And liade her terrors bellisnnss'd : — 

'■ Yes. Fair ; the wandering poor Filz-Jaines 

The fealty of Scotland claims. 

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 

He will redeem his signet ring. 

Ask nought for Douglas; yester even. 

His prince and he have much forgiven. 

Wrong hath he hud from slanderous tongue, 

I. fiom his rehel kinsmen, wrong. 

V\e would not, to the vulgar crowd. 

Yield what f hey craved with clamour loud ; 

Calmly we heard and Judged his cause, 

(^ur council aided, and our laws. 

1 stai.(;h'd thy father's death-feud stern. 
V\ iih stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn; 
And Boihweli's Lord henceforth we own 
"^riie friend and bulwark of our Throne. 
But, lovely nifidel, how now? 

\\ hat clouds thy misbelieving brow? 
Loid James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 
Thou must confirm this doubling maid." 

XXVHI. 
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung. 
And on his neck his daughter hung. 
The Monarch drank, that happy hour. 
The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — 
When it can say, with godlike voice. 
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 
Yet would nf)t Jatnes tlie general eye 
On Nature's raptures long should pry. 
He steppM between — " Nay, Douglas, nay, 
Stfn\ not my proselyte away ! 
The riddle 'tis my right to read. 
That Itroughf. ihis li;ippy chance to speed. 
Yes, Ellen, when liisguised I stray 
In life's mure low but hap(iier way, 
'Tis under name winch veils mv power. 
Nor falsely veils — for Stirling'.s tower 
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims, i 
And .Normans call me James Fitz-James. 
Thus watch 1 o'er msubed laws. 
Thus learn to right the injured cause."— 
Then, iti a tone :ipait and low, — 
" Ah, litilc traitress ! none must know 
Whiit idle <lieam. what lighter thought. 
What vanitv full dearly bought, 
Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 
My speil-bound steps to Betivenue, 
In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive !" — 
Aloud he sp<il(e— "Thou .^tiU dost hold 
That little talisman of gold, 
Pleilge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring— 
Whai seeks fair Ellen of the King?" 

XXIX. 
Full well the conscious maiden guess'd 
He probed the weakness of her breast ; 



ISee Appendix, Nole 3 Z. 



But, with that consciousness, there came 

A lightening of her fears for Graeme, 

And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire 

Kindled 'gainst him. who. for her sire, 

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; 

And, to her generous feeling true. 

She craved the erace of Roderick Dhii. 

"Forbear thy suit :— the King of Kings 

.\loiie can stay life's parting wings, 

1 know his heart. I know his hand. 

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand ; — 

My fairest earldom would I give 

To hid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live ! — 

Hast Ihou no other boon to crave? 

No other captive friend to save ?" 

Blushing, she turn'd her from the King, 

And to the Douglas gave the ring, 

As if she wish'd her sire to speak 

The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek. — 

•' Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 

And srubborn. justice holds her course — 

Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at the word. 

Down kneel'd the Graeme to Scotland s Lord. 

•' For thee, rash yoiitli, no suppliant sues. 

From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 

Who, nurtured underneath our smile. 

Hast paid our care by treacherous wile. 

And sought amid thy faithful clan, 

A refuge for an outlaw'd man. 

Dishonouring thus thy loyal name.— 

Fetters and warder for the Gramme !" 

His chain of gold the King unstrung 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung. 
Then gently drew the glittering band. 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow 
dark. 
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm hghts her 
spark. 
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wend- 
ing. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending. 
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; 
Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers 
blending. 
With d IS' ant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of 

housing bee. 
Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 
And little reck I of the .lensure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long 
wav. 
Through secret woes the world has never 
known. 
When on the weary night dawn'd wearier dav 
And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is 

thine own. 
Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire. 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 
'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now. the dying nuiiihers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, ■ 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-noteofthedisfant spell— 

And now, 'tis silent all! — Enchantress, fare 



thee well i 



A 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAK 



E . 199 \ 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

the heii/hts of Unm - Var, 

Awl ro'isfd the ravnn. tohcre, 'lis told, 
A ginitl iiwdi his dm of old.— P. IWJ. 



kind proue white sometimes, but they are not 
of the kind of the Greffiers or Bouxes, which 
ve haiie at these dayes."— 77i^ no/de Art of 
Venerip or Huntmo, truiislated wid collected for 
t'lP. Ust! of all Noblemen and Gentlemen. Lond. 
1611. 4to, p. 15. 



Note C. 

For the death-wound and death-halloo. 



Ua-v;tr. as the name is pronounced, or more 
properly Uaic/hmnr, is a inountain to the north- 
east of the village r>f Cailender in Menteith, 
«leriviii2 its name, which siiriiities the s;reat den, 
or cavern, from a sort of r-etreat amon? the 

Kf he^n' U^rihi'of a'feul^'"l^'l^e? ^-^e?dMs'>'^- Ms-u;^;;;ddrZ.-F. 161. 

When the sta? turned to bay, the ancient 
hunter had the penhtus tasK of soiuir in upon, 
and killing or disabling the desperate animtil. 
At certain times of the year this was held par- 
ticularly dang:erous, a wound received from a 
stag's horn being: then deeiued [xiisotious, and 
lie from the tusks of a 



Deen 
times. It was the refuse of robbers and ban- 
diMi, will) have been only extirpated within 
tiiesi! forty or fifty years.' Strictly speakin;^, 
this stronghold is not a cave, as the name 
would imply, tint a sort of small enclosure, or 
recess, surrounded with largje rocks, and open „...„ „ ...... .,.,.,.^ .,„,., 

above head. It may have been onarinally de- more dana;erous than 



sisrned iis a toil for detfr, who misiit f^et in 
from the outside, but would find it dilfieult to 
return. Tins opinion prevails anions; llie old 
sportsmeu and deer-stalkers lu the neig:hbour- 
hood. 



Note B. 

Turn ftoos of black Saint HuherVs breed. 
Unmatched for courojye, breath, and speed. 

P. 161. 

"The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's 
hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuer- 
theless, the race is so" mingled at these davs. 



boar, as the old rliyme testifies : 



" If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier, 
Bui barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou 
need'dt uol fear." 

At all times, however, the task wa.s dangerous, 
and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, 
either by setting behind the stag while he was 
gazing on the hounds, or by watching an op- 
pftrtiinity to gallop roundiv in upon him, and 
kill him with the sword. See many directions 
to this purpose m the Booke of Hunting, chap. 
41. Wilson the historian has recorded a pro- 
vidential escape which befell him in this ha- 
zardous sport, while a youth and follower of 
that we find them of all colours. These are the Earl of Essex, 
the hounds which the ahbo's of St. Hubert! "Sir Peter Lee. of Lime, in Cheshire, invited 
haue always kept some of their race or kind, my lord one summer to hunt the stagg. And 
ill honour or reinemi)rarice of the saint, which having a great stagg in chase, and many gen- 
was a hun!«r with S. Eustace. Whereupon tlemen in the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. 
we may conceiue that (by the grace of God) And divers, whereof I was one. alighted, and 
all good huntsmen shall follow them into pa- 1 stood with swords drawne. to have a cut at 
radise To return vnU) my former purpose, | him, at his coming out of the water. The 
this kind of dogtrs liath bene dispersed through I staggs there bemg wonderfully fierce and 
the counties of Henault, Lorayne, Flanders, | dangerous, made us youths more eager to be 
and Burgoyne They are migiity of body, at him. But he escaped us all. And it w:is 
neuerthele.ss their legges are low and short, i my misfortune to be iiindered of my coming 
Lkewise they are not swill, although they be ! nere him, the way being sliperie, by a falle; 
very good of sent, hiiirins^ cliaces which are i which gave occasion to some, who did not 
farre stragsled, fearins neither water nor cold, ; know mee. to speak as if 1 had falne for feare. 
and doe more couel the cliaces that smell, as V\ Inch being told mee, I left the stagg, and 
foxes, bore, and such like, than other, because followed the gentleman who [first] spake it. 
Uiey find themselve.s neitlier of swiftness nor But I found him of that cold temper, that it 
ctjurage to hunt and kill i he chaces that are seems his words made an escape from him ; 



lighter and swifter. The bloodhounds of this 
colour proue good, especially those that are 
cole blacke. but [ made no great account to 
breed on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet 



by his denial and repentance it appeared. But 
this made mee more violent in the [lursiiit of 
the stagg. to recover my reputation. And I 
happened to be the only horseman in, when 



I found a book which a hunter did dedicate to \ the dogs sett him up at bay; and approaching 
a prince of Lorayne, which seemed to loue I near him on horsebacke, he broke through the 
hunting much, w herein wjts a blasoii which dogs, and run at mee. and tore my horse s side 
the same hunter gaue to his bloodhound, with his homes, close by my tliigli. Then 1 
called Souyllard, which wiis white : — | quitted my horse, and grew more cunning (for 

the dogs had sette him up againe), ste.ding bn- 
hmd him with my sword, and cut liis ham- 
strings; and then got upon his back, and cut 
V\'lieienpon we may presume that some of the his throale ; which, as I was doing, the 



^ 



>k 



200 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



pimy came in, aiiJ blamed my rashness for 
riiiiiiiiiK: such a hazard."— PccA's Desiderata 
Curiosa, li. 461. 



^ se 



Note D. 

Aru! now to issue from thf qlen, _ 
No pathway meets thf. wmuUrer's lifn, 
Unkss he climb, withfoo/intj nice. 
A far projecting prectpux. — P. 162. 

Until the present roMd was made through 
the romantic pass which I have presumpfii 
nusly attempted to describe m the preceding 
stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of 
the defile called the Trosachs. exc^eplins by a 
sort of ladder, composed of the branches and 
roots of trees. 



Note E. 

To truet with Highland plu7ulr.rers here. 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer.— P. 162. 

The clans who inhabited the romantic re- 
gions in the neighbourhood of Loch Katrine, 
were, even until a late period, much addicted 
to uredatoi7 excursions upon their Lowland 
neighbours. " In former times, those parts of 
this district, which are situated beyond the 
Grampian rans:e. were rendered almost inac- 
cessible by strong Carriers of rocks, and moun- 
tains, and lakes. It was a border country, and. 
though on the very ver°e of the low country, 
it was almo.st totally sequestered from the 
world, and, as it were, insulated with respect 
to society 'Tis well known that in the I!iu:li- 
lands. It was. in fonner times, accouiile.l not 
only lawful, but honourable, ainoiig hostile 
tribes, to commit depredations on one another; 
and these habits of the age were perhaps 
strengthened in this district, by the circum- 
stances whicli have been mentioned. It bor- 
dered on a country, the inhabitants of which. 
while they were richer, were less warlike tiian 
they, and widely differenced by language and 
manners." — Graham's Sketches of Scenery in 
Perthshire. Ed in. 1806. p. 97. The reader will 
therefore he pleased to remember, that the 
scene of this poem is laid in a time, 



Note F. 

A grey-hair' d sire, wJiose ei/e inlrnt. 
Was on the vision'd future bent.—?. 163. 

If force of evidence could authorise us to 
believe facts inconsistent with I he general 
laws of nature, enough might lie produced in 
favour of the existence of the ^^econd-sight. 
It is called in Gaelic Taishitaraugh, from Taish, 
an unreal or shadowy appearance ; and those 
f>ossessed of the faculiy are called Taishatrin. 
which may he aptly translated visionaries. 
Martin, a steady believer in the second-sight, 
gives the following account of it : — 

I'he second sight is a sinuuhir fiiculty, of 
seeing an otherwise invisible object, without 



any previous means used by the person that 
used it for that end : the vision makes such a 
lively impression upon the seers, that they 
neither see, nor think of anylhins else, except 
I he vision, as long as it coiitinucs ; and then 
they appear pensive or jovial, accoidmg to the 
object that was represented to them. 

" At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of the 
person are erected, and the eyes continue 
staring until the object vanish.' This is ob- 
vious to others who are by, when the peixiiis 
happen tosee avision.and occurred more than 
once to my own observation, and to others 
that were with me. 

"There is one in Skie, of whom his ac- 
quninta-nce observed, that when he sees a 
vision, the inner part of his eyelids turns so 
far upwards, that, at^er the object disappears. 
he must draw them down with his fiiigeis, 
and sometimes employ oihers to draw I hem 
down, which he finds to be the much easier 
way. 

"This faculty of the second-sight does not 
lineally descend in a family, as some imasrine. 
for I know several parents who are endowed 
with it. but their children not, and vir^ versa ; 
neither is it acquired by any previous compact. 
And, after a strict enquiry,! could never u .irn 
that this faculty was communicable any w,»y 
whatsoever. 

"The seer knows neither the object, time, 
nor place of a vision, before it appears; and 
the same object is often seen by different per- 
sons living at a considerable (list;ince from one 
another. The true way of judging as to the 
time and circumstance of an object, is by ob- 
sei-vation; for several persons of judgment, 
without this faculty, are more capable to judge 
of the desisrn of a vision, Uian a novice that is 
a seer. If an object appear in the day or 
iiisht. it will come lo pass sooner or later ac- 
cordingly. 

"If an object is seen early in the morning 
(which is not frequent), it will be accomplished 
in a few hours afterwards. If at noon, it will 
commonly be accomplished that very day. If 
in the evening, perhaps that night; if after 
candles be liirlited, it will be accomplished 
that night: the later always in accomplish- 
ment, by weeks, months^ and sometimes 
years, according to the time of night the vision 
is seen 

" When a shroud is perceived about (me, it 
is a sure prognostic of death; the lime is 
judged according to the heisht of it about the 
person ; (iir if it is seen above the middle, 
de.itli is not to be expected for the space of a 
year, and perhaps some months longer; and 
iis it is frequently seen to ascend higher to- 
wards the head, "death is concluded to be at 
hand within a few days, if not hours, as daily 
experience confirms b'..\ai[iples of this kiiiil 
were shown me, when the pel-sons of whom 
the obseiv.-itions were then made, enioyed per- 
fect health. 

"One instance was lately foretold by a seer, 
that w;is a novice, concerning I he death of one 
of my acquaintance; this wa.s communicated 
to a few only, and with great confidence ; I 
being one of the niimlier, did not in the least 
regard it. until the death of the person, about 
the time foretold, did contirm me of the cer- 
tainty of the prediction This novice men- 
tioned above, is now a skilful suer, ;is aiipears 



^ 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 201 




from tniiny hite iristiitices; he lives iii the p;i- 
risli of Si Mary's, ilie most novrheni in .^kie. 

•• If ii woman is seen stiiiidiiis :il a man's left 
hand, it is a presage that she will be his wife. 
whi-tiuT I hey be married to others, or unmar- 
ried ai Ilie I line of the apparilioii 

" If fwo or three women are seen at once 
nfar a mMn's left hand, slie that is next him 
will undoubtedly be his wife first, and so on, 
wliclher all tiiiee. or the man. be single or 
married at the time of the vision or not; of 
whicli there are several lare instances among 
those of my acquaintanre. It is an ordinary 
Miins for them to see a man that is to come to 
the house sliorily after : and if he is not of the 
sr'er's a'-quamtance, yet he gives such a lively 
deMJiiption of his s'iiMire, c.omiilexion, habit, 
Ac. Ill ii upon his arnvariie answers the cha- 
rac;er given liim in all respects. 

"If the person so appealing he one of the 
seer's acquaintance, he will tell his name, as 
well as other pariiculars; and be can tell by 
hi- countenance whether he comes in a good 
or bad humour. 

•'I have been .seen thus myself by seers of 
both sexes, at some hundred iniles' distance ; 
S(mie that saw me in this manner had never 
seen me personally, and it happened accoidins 
to ttieir vision, without any previous design of 
mine to no lo those places, my coniing there 
being purely accidental. 

'• It IS ordinary with them to see houses, gar- 
dens, and irees. in places void of all three; 
and this m progress of iime uses to be accom- 
plished : as at Mogshot. in the Isle of Skie, 
where there were but a few sorry cowhou.ses, 
tbalched with straw, yet in a very few years 
after, the vision, which appeared olten. was 
accomplished, by the building of several good 
houses on the very spot represented by the 
seers, and by the planting of orchards there. 

•• 'I'o see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm 
or breast, is a forerunner of a dead child to be 
seen in the arms of those persons; of which 
there are several fresh mslaiices. 

"To see a seat empty at the time of one's 
sitting 111 It, is a presage of that person's death 
soon alter. 

" When a novice, or one that has lately ob- 
tained the second-sight, sees a vision m the 
m^ht-iime without doors, and he be near afire, 
he presenily falis into a svvoon. 

•' Some find themselves as it were in a crowd 
of people, having a corpse which they carry 
along with them; and afer such visions, the 
seers come in sweaiinsc. and descnhe the peo- 
ple that appeared: if tliere be any of their 
acquaintance among 'em. they give an account 
of their names, as also oi the bearers, but they 
know nothing ccnicerning the corpse. 

•'All those who have the second sight do 
not always see these visions at once, though 
they be together at the lime. But if niie who 
has this faciilly. desiiiiiedly touch his lellow- 
seer at the ins! ant of a vision's appearing, 
then the second sees it as well as the lirst ; 
and this is someiimes discerned by those that 
are ne.ir them on such occasions " — Marlm's 
Descrrp'iim of t lie Wtstein Islands, 1716, .Svo, p. 
3lX). ri Sf-q. 

To these particulars innumerable examples 
mgiit be ailded. all attested by urave and cre- 
dible auilmrs. But. m despite uf evidence 
wliicli nor her ISac.n. Boy e, nor Johnson were 



able to resist, the Taisch, with all its visionary 
properties, seems to be now universally aban- 
doned to the use of poetry. The exquisitely 
beautiful poem of Lochiel will :it once occur 
to the recoliectimi of every reader. 



Note G. 

Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 

Sovie chief had framed a rustic bower. — P. l&t. 

The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were con- 
tinually exposed to peril, had usually, in the 
most retired spot of their domains, some place 
of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as 
circumsiances would admit, was" a tower, a 
cavern, or a rustic hut. in a strong and .se- 
cluded situation. One of these last gave re- 
fuge to the unfortunate Charles Kdward, in 
his perilous wanderings after the battle of 
Culloden. 

•'It was situated in the face of a very rough, 
high, and rocky mountain, called Letternilichk, 
still a [lart of Benalder, full of sreat stones 
and crevices, and some scattered wood inter- 
spersed. The habitation called the Cage, in 
the face of that mountain, was within a small 
thick bush of wood. There were first some 
rows of trees laid down, in order to level the 
floor for a habitation ; and as the place was 
steep, this raised the lower side to an equal 
height with the other : and these trees, in the 
way of joists or planks, were levelled with 
earth and gravel. There were betwixt the 
trees, growing naturally on their own mots, 
some stakes fixed in the earth, which, with 
the trees, were interwoven wi:h ropes, made 
of heath and birch twiss, up to the lop of the 
Cage.it being of a round or rather oval shape; 
and the whole thatched and covered over 
with fog. The whole fabric hnn?. as it were, 
by a large tree, which reclined from the one 
end. all along the roof, to the oilier, and which 
gave it the naniH of the Cage; and by chance 
there happened to be two stoiitiS at a small 
distance from one another, in the side next 
ihe precipice, resembling the pillars of achim- 
nev. wliere the fire was placed. The smoke 
had Its vent out here, all along the fall of the 
rock, which was so much ol' tlie same colour, 
that one could discover no dilTerence in the 
clearest dav."— //ow'j's History oj tlie RebtUion, 
Loud. 1802, 4lo, p. 381. 



Note H. 

Ml/ sire's tall form rniuht (jracr the -part 
Of Ferraijus or Ascabart. — P Ui \. 
The.se two s(>ns of .Anak flourished in !T> 
maiiuc fable. The first is well known to me 
admirers of Arioslo, by i he name of Ferrau. 
He was an antagonist of Orlando, and wiis at 
length slam by him in sinsle combat. There 
is a romance in the Auchmleck .MS., in which 
Fe Tragus is thus ilescribed : — 

" On a day come liOlug 
Unto Charls the King, 

Al of a ilDughti Biiight 
Was conriei. 10 Navers, 
Stout he was and r^rB, 
Vcii.;.gu he hight. 



\ 



^ 



A 



^ 202 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



M 



or Babiloun the somlan 
Tlniler him sciide gaii, 

With King Charls to fight. 
Sn hani he was to fond 1 
Th.I no dint of lironil 

-No greued him, apligtit 
Ii- h.idde Iwenti mt-n siiengthe 
Anil fniii fel of lennlhf, 

Thilkr painim hede,2 
Ami four feet in the fare, 
V-meIen3 in the plare. 

And fifteen in brede 4 
Mis no«e was a fot and more ; 
His brow, as brislIeK wore ; 5 

He that it seighe it sede 
He loked lothelirhe, 
And was swart 6 an any piche, 

Of him men miaht adrvde." 

Romance of Chnrlrma^nr. 1, 461-4S4. 
Attchmteck MS., folio 265. 

Ascnpart, or Asrabart. makes a very mate- 
rial figure in the His'ory of Bevis of Haniptdn, 
by whom lie was coriqiiereil. His efliiiies may 
lie seen gunrtlins one side of a srate at, Sontli- 
Jimplon, while the other Is occupleti by Sir 
Bevis himself. The liinietisions of Ascahart 
were little inferior to those of Ferragus, if the 
following description be correct : — 



Note K. 

arid slill a harp unseen. 



They metlen 


wit 


h a geaunt, 


Wiihalothe 


Khe 


semblanut. 


He was worn 


erliehe slront. 


Rome? Ihrel 


i To 


e long. 


His herd was 


hnl 


gret and rowe ; 


A spare of a 


'ol b 




Hi- .lob was 


to 


eue 10 a Btrok, 


A lite bodi of 




ak. 11 



" Beues hadde of him wonder gret. 
And askede him what a het, 12 
And yaf Iti men of hi« contre 
Were ase meche 14 ase was he. 
• Me name,' a sede, 15 • is Ascopard, 
Garci me sent hiderward. 
For In briny ttiis quene ayen. 
And the Beues her ofslen. id 

And was i-driue out of me 18 toun 
Al for that ich wa.ssolite 19 
Kneri man me wolae smite, 
Ich was so lite and so merugh, 20 
Eueri man me clepeile dwerugh, 21 
And now iiham in this londe, 
I wax morV!2 ich undersiomle. 
And stranger than other tene;23 
And that sehel on us be sejie ' " 

Sir Bfvis of Hampton, 1 2512. 
Auckinleck MS , fol. 169. 



Note T. 

Though all unnslt'd his birth and name. — P. 164. 

The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to 
a [iniictilious excess, are said to have consi- 
dered it as churlish, to ask a sfrans-er his 
iiaiiie or lineage, liefore he had taken refiesh- 
ment. Feuds were so frequent ainoin; them, 
that a contrary rule would in many crises have 
pruduceil the discovery of some circumstance, 
winch might have excluded the guest from the 
lienetit of the assistance he stood in need of. 



1 Found, proved —2 Had. --3 Measured.— 4 Breadth.— 
Were, -ti Black— 7 Fully —8 Rouah.- 9 ITis -10 Hive. 

I The stem of a lillle oak tree. — 12 He hicht, was called. 
ir--l4 Great -15 He said. — 10 .SI iv - 17 His ~l« My. 

( l.iiile. — 20 Lean —21 Dwarf — 22 Greater, taller. — 






Vide ■• Certayne Matte 



Fitl'd up the symphony between. — P. 164. 

" They"' (meaning the Highlanders) " delight 
much in musicke, hut chiefly in hat^is :iiid 
clairschoes of their own fashion. The strings 
of the clairschoes are made of brass wire, and 
the strings of the harps, of sinews; which 
strings they strike either with their nayles, 
growing long, or else with nn instrmnent ap- 
pointed for that use. They take great plea- 
sure to decke their harps and clairschoes with 
silver and precious stones; the poore ones 
tli.il cannot attayne herennio. decke them 
with christall. Tiiev sing Verses [irettily rom- 
poiiiid. contavning (for the most part) (iravses 
of valiant men There is not almost any other 
argument, whereof their rhymes mtreat. They 
speak the ancient French language altered a 
little." 24_" The harp and clairschoes are now 
only heard of in the Highlands in ancient song. 
At what period these itisl rumen's ceased to he 
used, is not on record; and tradition is silent 
on this hetid. But. as Irish harpers occasion- 
ally visited the Highlands and U'es'.ern Isles 
till lately, the harp might have been extant so 
late as ilie middle of the last century. Thus 
far we know, that from remote times down to 
U\e present, harr'er.s were received as wel- 
come giK^sts, particularly in the Highlands of 
ScoMaiid ; and so late ;is the latter end of the 
sixteenth century, as apjiears by the above 
quotation, the harp was in common use among 
the natives of the Western Isles How it hafi- 
pened that the noisy and iinharmonious hag- 
pi fie banished the soft ami expressive harp, we 
cannot say ; but ceriain it is. that Ihe liag|iipe 
is now the only instrument that obtains uni- 
versally in the Highland districts." — Cnmiib^ll's 
Jimrney through North Britain. Lond. 1808 
4to. I 175. 

Mr. Gnnn, of Edinburgh, has lately published 
a curious F.'ssav upon the Harp and Harp 
Music of the Highlands of Scotland. That 
the instrument was once in common use there, 
is most certain. Clelland number.s an ac- 
quaintance with it among the few accomplish- 
ments which his satire allows to the High- 
landers : — 



Note L. 

Morn's gemal injlacnce roused a minstrel orry. 
P. 166. 
That Highland chieftains, to a late period, 
retained in their service the bard, as a family 
officer, admits rif very easy proof The aui hor 
of the Letters from the North of Scotland, an 
officer of engineers, quartered at Inverness 
about 1720, who certainly cannot he deemed a 
favourable witness, gives tho following ac- 
count of Ihe office, and of a hard whom he 
heard exeici.se his talent oC recitation :— "I he 
bard is skilled in the genealogy of all ihe 
Highland families, sometime-^ precepiurto ;he 
young laird, celebrates in Irish verse the ori- 
ginal of the tribe, the famous warlike .iclions 



A 



r. 

I of I 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



of Ilie successive heaJs. and sinsfs his own 
lyrirKs us an opiaie to tlie cliief when imhs- 
posed for sleep; bnl poets are not equally 
e-iieeined :ind honoured in all count lies. 1 
happened to h« a witness of tlie dishonour 
d.me to the inu.se at ihe house of one of the 
ch efs. where twd df these haids were set at a 
>;o.kJ ilisiance. a' the lower end of a Ions' lalile, 
with a parcel of lUKhlanileis of no extraordi- 
narv a[tpearanr,e, over a cup of ale. Poor in- 
spiralim! 'I'liey weie not asked to drink a 
Klass of wirte at our lahle, thousih the whole 
company consisied only of the grtal man, one 
of h s near relations, and niy.self. Afier some 
liUle time, the chief ordered one of them to 
s nu me a Hishland song. The bard readily 
obeyed, and with a hoarse voice, and in a tune 
of few various notes, be^ran. as I was told, one 
of his own Ivrnks: and wlien he had pro- 
ceeded to the foiir;h or fiftli stanza. I per- 
ceived, by the names of several persons, tcleiis, 
and iiKiuntains, winch I had known or heard 
of b-fiire. that it was an account of some cian 
battle. But in his Koin^ on. the chief (who 
piqies himself upon his schonl-learnins). at 
Some particular passai^e. bid him cease, and 
cr.c.l out, -'I'liere's notliins; like tnai m Virgil 
or H. liner.' 1 bowed, and told him I believeil 
so. Tins you may believe was very edifying 
and dehijhUul."— i><(e/s. n 1C7. 



Note M. 

Tlie Grame. — 'P. 166. 

The ancient and powerful family of Graham 
(which, for melricMl reasons, is here spelt after 
the Scottish proiiuii(!iation) held extensive 
possessions in the coiinlies of Dumbarton and 
Siirlins. Few families can boast of more his- 
torical renown, havins; claim t<i three of the 
most reinaikahle characters in the Scottish 
annals Sir John the Grifiiiie. the faithful and 
undaunted partaker of Ihe l.ibours and patri- 
otic warfare of Wallace, fell in the unfortunate 
field of Falkirk, in 1298. The celebrated .Mar- 
quis of .Montrose, m whom Ue Retz saw real- 
ized his abstract iilea of the heroes of anti- 
quity, was the second of these wc»rthies. And, 
notwitiistandiii!? the severiiy of his temper, 
and the rigour with which he executed the 
o[)pressive mand ites of ttie princes whom he 
served. 1 do not hesitate to name as a third. 
John Graiiiie of Claverlioiise, Viscount of Dun- 
dee, whose heroic deal ii :n the arms of victory 
may be allowed to cancel the memory of his 
cruelty to the non-conformists, during the 
reigns of Charles 11. and James II. 



Note N. 

Thts harp, which erst Saint Modan swai/'d. 
P. 167. 

1 am not prepared to show that Saint Modan 
was a performer (>n the harp. It was. how- 
ever, no nnsainily accomplishment; for Saint 
Dunstan cerianily diil play upon that instru- 
ment, which retaining, a.s"was natural, a por- 
tion of the sanctity attached to its master's 



character, announced future events bv its 
spontaneous sound. " But labouriiisir once in 
these mechanic arts for a devout niatrone that 
had sett him on work, his violl. that jiuiig by 
him on the wall, of its own accord, without 
anie man's helpe, distinctly sounded this an- 
thime :—G indent in calls anima stniclorum qui 
Ckristi veslifjiii sunt seculi ; el quia pro ems 
amore snrujmnem suum fuderunt. tdeo cum 
C/ins/o gmuient (Eternum. Whereat ail the 
companie being much astonished, turned their 
eyes from belioidnu him workini:, to looke on 
that strange accident."' ♦ * « •• Xot long after, 
manie of the conn that hitherunto had home 
a kind of fayned Iriendship towards liim. began 
now greatly to envie at his progress and risinu' 
in (loodnes. using manie crooked. biu;kbiiiiig 
meaiies to diffame his vertnes with the blacK 
maskes of hypocrisie And the better to au- 
thorize their ca.umnie, tliey brought in this 
that happened in the violi, affirming it to liave 
been done by art magick. What more? This 
wicked rumour encieased dayly, till the king 
and others of the nobilitie taking huuld there- 
of, Dunstan grew odious in their sight. There- 
fore he resolued to leaiie the court and eo to 
Elphegus. suniamed the Bauld. then Bishop 
of V\ incliester. who was his cozen. Winch 
his enemies niiderstandinir. they luyd wayt for 
him 111 the way, and hailing tliroune him oft' 
his horse, beats him. and diasired him in ihe 
durt in the most miserable manner, meaninsr 
to have sUiine him. had not a conifianie of 
mastiue dogges that came unlookt uppon them 
defended and redeemed hiai from their cniel- 
lie When with sorrow he was ashamed lo 
I see douses more humane than they. And 
! gluing thatikes to Almislilie God. he .sensibly 
! figaine perceiued that the tunes of his vioil 
had ffiuen him a warning of future accidents." 
— Flower of the Lives oj ike most renowned 
I Samrls oJ England. ScoHxind, and IretumI, by 
1 the R Father Htermne Porter. Doway, 1632, 
4to. t(nne i p 438. 

The same supernatural circumstance is al- 
luded to by the anonymous author of "Grim, 
the Collier of Croydon." 

•' [DunsCan's harp simndt on the wall ] 
"Forest. Hark, hark, my lords, the holy abbot's harp 
Sounds by ilstlf so hanging on the wall '. 
"Dunstan. UnhaUow'd man, that scorn'st the sacred 
rede. 
Hark, how the testimony nf my truth 
Sound.s heavenly mu.-iic with au angel's hand, 
To les'ify Ounslan's integrity 
And prove thy active bua.st of no effeit." 



Note 0. 

Ere Doual'issFS. to ruin driven. 

Were exiled from their native heaven — P. 167. 

The downfall of the Dousjlasses of the house 
of Angus durinff the reisn of Jumts V. is the 
event alluded to in the text. 'Im; Earl of 
Angus, it will be remembered. h;id married 
I the queen dowasrer, and availed himself of 
the right which he thus acquired, as well as 
of his extensive power, to retain the kins: in a 
sort of tutelase, which approached very near 
to captivity. Several open attempts were made 
to rescue James from this thialilom. with 
wliich he was well known to be deeply di^ 



its ^ 



A ^ 204 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



gusted ; l)Ut the v.'iloiir of the Doiii^lasses and 
their alhes s:ive I hem the violory in every 
conflict. At leusth the kins, wlnle residing at 
Falkhmd, contrived to escape by night oui of 
his own court and pahu;e, and rode full speed 
to Stirhnp Castle, where the governor, who 
was of the 0|)posite faclion, joylully received 
liini. Being tlius at liberty, James speeilily 
suinmuned around hiin such peers as he Unew 
t(j be most inimical to the doiniiialion of An- 
gus — and laid his comphnnt l)cfore them, says 
Pitscottie, '• with great lamentations ; shownisf 
to them how he was hoiilen in sulijeclion, thir 
years bygone, by tiie Earl of Angus and his 
kin and friends, wlio oppre.ssed ihe whole 
country and s|Joiled it, under the i>retence 
of justice and Ids aiilliority ; and had slam 
many of his lieyes. kin.sijien. and friends, be- 
cause they would have had it mended at their 
hands, and put him at liherly, as he ought to 
have been, at the counsel of his whole lords, 
and not have been sulijected and corrected 
with no partjitular men, by the rest of his no- 
bles. Tlierefore, said he'. 1 desire, my lords, 
that 1 may be satished of ihe .-aid earl his 
k;n, and friends; fur I avow ilmi Scotland 
shall not hold us both while [i. e. lillj I be re- 
venged on him and liis 

•• 'i'he lords, hearing the king's coniplamt 
and lamenlaiion, anil also the great rage, fury, 
and malice that he bore toward the Etirl of 
Annus, his kin and friends, tliey concluded all, 
and thought it best that be should be sum- 
nioned to underly the law; if he found no 
caution, nor yet compear hims(-lf. liiat he 
should be put to Ihe horn, with all his kin and 
friends, so many as were cont tuned in the 
letters. And farther, the lords ordnined, by 
advice of his majesty, that Ins bio! her and 
friends should be summoned to luul caution to 
underly the law within a certain day. or else 
be put to the horn. But the earl appeared 
not, iKH' none for liiin ; and so he was put to 
the horu, with all his kin and friends : so many 
as were contained in the summons tliat com- 
peared not were banished, and holden traitors 
to the king." 



Note P. 

In Holy Rood a Knight he slew. — P. 167. 

'Ibis was liy no means an uncommon occur- 
rence 111 the Court of Scotland; nay, the pre- 
sence of I lie sovereign himself scarcely re- 
strained the ferocious and inveterate feuds 
which were the perpetual source of bloodshed 
anions the Scottish nobility. The following 
instance of the murder of Sir William Siuart 
of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the cele- 
brated Francis, Earl of Bothwell, may be |iro- 

duced a ivi many; but as the offence eiven 

in the royal court will hardly bear a vernacu- 
lar iransiutioii, I shall leave the story in John- 
stone's Latin, referring for farther pmrticulars 
to the naked siniplicitv of Birrell's Diary. 30th 
luly 1588 

" Mors improhi hominis non torn ipsa immerita, 
qtmm pessimo exemplo in publicum, fade perpe- 
Irata. Guluimus Slnartus AlJtiltriiis, Aruni 
fritter, nalura ac moribus, cujus seejnns memini, 
viiU/o propter sitem soTiyuijiis sanguinarius 
dicing, a Bothvelio, in Sancta; Crucis Rnjia, ex- 



ardescente irti, inenducii prohro lacessitus, ob- 
sccenutn osadum Vberius relorqwbat ; Bothvi-I.ius 
liniic amiiantiiam tardus luUt. sed iwjeiUum, 
iiarum moietii ammo ctmapit. Utrmque postri- 
die Edmbtiuji cimvinlum. lolidem numero comi- 
tibus ra mill IS. picesidii causa, et acriUr puijna- 
lum tsl ; ciEleris aviicis et clienhbus tntlu tin— 
pinlibus, out vi abslerritis. ipse Sluarlus forlis- 
sime dimicnl ; landim txnisso ijladio a Bolhveho, 
Sryihica Jtrilale Iransjoditnr. sine nijusquiim 
ini.'iirirorilia ; habuit itiiqur quern debvit ixilum. 
Diijmcs erul Sliinrlus qui palerelur ; Bolhvelius 
qui faceret. Vulyus sanguinem sanguine praidi- 
ciibit. et hornm cruore imioruorum innnihus 
eqrtqie paientutiim." — Johns! imi Historin Rerum 
Briliinnicarum, ab anno l.'i72 ad annum 1628. 
Amslelodaaii. 1656, fol. p. 135. 



Note Q. 

The Diniqlas, like a sirickm deer. 
Disowned by every noble peer. — P. 167. 
The exile state of this powerful race is not 
exaggerated in this and subsequent passages. 
The hatred of James against Ihe race of 
Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as 
their sillies were, and disregarded as the regal 
authority had usually been in similar cases, 
their nearest friends, even m the most remote 
parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, 
unless under the strictest and closest disguise. 
Jtimes Douglas, son of the banished Earl of 
Antrus. afterwards well known bv the title of 
i:ail of .Morton, lurked, during I he exile of his 
faii.ily, in the north of Scotland, under the 
assumed njiine of James limes, otherwise 
Jinws the Giwve (t. c. l\eve or Bailiff). "And 
as he bore the name," says God.-croft, •' so did 
be also execute the office of a grieve or over- 
seer of the lands and rents, the corn and cattle 
of him with whom he lived." From the habits 
of frugality and observation which heticquired 
ill his humble situation, the hist(U-i:in traces 
that intimate acginuntance with poiiular cha- 
racter which enabled hiin lo rise so high in Ihe 
state, and that honourable economy by which 
he repaired and established llie shattered 
estates of Angus and Morton — History of the 
House of Douylns, Fdinburgh, 1743, vol. ii. p 
160 



Note R. 

Mnronnan's cell. — P. 168. 

The parish of ICilmaronock, at the eastern 
extremity of Loch Lomond, ilerives its name 
from a cell or chiifiel, dedicaieil to Stiint Ma- 
ronock,or Marnock. or Maronnan, about whose 
sanctity very little is now remembered. There 
is a fountain devoted to him in the same pa- 
rish; but its virtues, like the merits of its 
patron, have fallen into oblivion. 



Note S, 

-Brackliivi's thundering ware. 



This is a beautiful cascade nitide by amoun- 
liii stream called the Keltic, at a place called 



K 



z 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



tlie Bridge of Bracklinn, about a mile from the 
village of Callemler m Metiteitli Above a 
chasm, where the Ijrook precipitates itself 
from a height of :it least fifty feet, there is 
thrown, for the convenience of the neijjlibour- 
hood, a rustic foolbndtfe. of about three feet 
in breadth, and without ledges, winch is 
scarcely t^ be crossed by a stranger without 
awe and uppreheiision. 



Note T. 

Vnr Tnv-man forged by fairy lore.—? 168. 

Ainliibald, the third Earl of Douslas. was so 
niiforiuiiuie in all his enterprises, that he ac- 
C(mred the epithet of Tiiinnnn, because he 
Inud, or lost, his followers in every battle 
wliicii he fought. He was vanquished, as every 
re;ider must remember, in the bloody battle 
of Homildon-hill, near Wooler, where he him- 
self l(tst an eye. and wits made piisoner by 
Hotspur. He was no less iinforiMmite when 
all.ed with Percy, being wonnded and taken 
at the battle of Shrewsbury. He \\ii» so un- 
successful in an attempt to besiege Rnxtiurgh 
Castle, that it w.is called the Foul Raid, or 
disgraceful expeiiifion. His ill foitnne left 
him indeed at the battle of Beauge. in France ; 
but it was only to reliirn with double em- 
phasis at the subsequent action of Vernoil. the 
las' and most iiiiluoky of his encounters, iu 
which he fell, with the flower of the Strottish 
chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in France, 
and about two thousand common soldiers, 
A. D. 1424. 



Note U. 

Did, self unscnbhardcd. foreshow 
The footstep of a secrit foe. — P. 1G8. 

The ancient warriors, whose hope and con- 
fidence rested chiefly in their blades, were 
accustomed to deduce omens from them, espe- 
cially from such as were supposed to have 
been fabricated by enchanted skill, of which 
we have various instances in the roiiiances 
and lesendsof the time. The wonderful sword 
Siofnuntj, wielded by the celebrated Hrolf 
Kiaka, was of this tle.scripticm. It was depo- 
.sited in the tomb of the monarch at his death, 
and taKen from I hence by Skesiro, a celebrated 
pirate, who bestowed it upon his son-m-law. 
Kormak, with the followinsr curious direc- 
tions: — "'The manner of usma; it will appear 
siranse to you. A small hag is attached to it, 
which take heed not to violate. Let not the 
rays of the sun touch the upper part of the 
li.iiidle, nor unsheathe it. unless thou art ready 
for liafile. But wlien thou comesttothe [ilace 
of litihi. so aside from the rest, crasp and ex- 
tend the sword, and breathe upon it. Then a 
Sill dl worm will creep out of the handle; 
lower the handle, that tie may more easily re- 
turn in!o It * Kormak. after having received 
the sword, returned home to his mo' her. He 
s:iowed the sword, and attemi)ted to draw it. 
as iiimecessanly as ineffectualty, for he could 
not pluck It out of the sheath. His mother, 
Dalla. exclaimed, ' Do not dt-sriise the counsel 
given to thee, my sou." Kormak, however, 



repeating Ins efforts, pressed down the handle 
wiih his feet, and tore off the bus., when 
Skofnung emitted a hollow groan : but still he 
could not unsheathe the sword. Kormak then 
went out with Bessus. whom lie had chal- 
lenged to fight with him, and drew apart at 
the place of combat. He sat down upon the 
ground, and iiiuiirding the sword, which he 
bore above his vestments, did not remember 
to shield the hill from the rays of the sun In 
vain he endeavoured to draw it, till he placed 
Ills foot against the hilt; then the worm issued 
Irom it. But Kormak did not rightlv handle 
the weapon, m consequence whereof good 
fortune deserted it As he iinsheatlie.i Skof- 
nung. It eniiHed a hollow murmur "—Br/r</)o- 
Imi de Causis Conle/npla; a Dmiis ndhur Gm- 
lilihus Morlis, Libri Tres. Hofmce, l(i89, 4to, 
p. 574. 

To the history of this .sentient and prescient 
weap(m, I beg leave to add. from memorv. the 
followinsr legend, for which I cannot [uodiice 
any better authority. A younsr nobleman, of 
high hopes and fortune, chanced to lose lii.s 
way in the town which he inhabited. I lie capi- 
tal, if 1 mistake not. of a German province. 
He had accideniallv involved him.self aminig 
the narrow and winding streets of a suburb, 
inhibited hv the lowest order of the people, 
and an aiiproaching thunder-shower deter- 
iiiiiied him to ask a short refu-re in the most 
decent habitation that was near him He 
knocked at I he door, whiidi was opened by a 
tall man. of a grisly and ferocious aspect, an<i 
sordid dre.«s. The stranger was readily ushered 
to a chamber, where swords, scourges, and 
machines, which seemed to be implements of 
torture, were susjiended on the wall. One of 
these swords dropped from its scabbard, as 
the nobleman, after a inomenl's hesitation, 
crossed the threshold. His host immediately 
stared at liim with such a marked exfiression, 
that the young man could not helj) deinandinHf 
his name and business, and the meaning of 
Ins looking at him so fixedly. "I am." an- 
.swered the man, "the public executioner of 
ibis city; and the inciilent you have observed 
is a sure augury that I shall, in discharge of 
my duty, one d;iy cut off your head with ihe 
weapon which has just now spont.iiieoiisly 
unsheathed itself" The nobleman lost no 
time in leaving his place of refuge ; bur, en- 
caging 111 some of the plots of the period, was 
short ly after decapitated by that very man and 
instrument. 

Lord Lovat is said, by the author of the Let- 
ters from Scotland, to have affirmed that a 
number of swords that buns up in the hall of 
the mansion-house, leaped of themselves out 
of the scabbard at the instant he was born. 
The story passed current anions his cl;in. but. 
like that of the story I have just quoted, proved 
an unfortunate omen —Le</er5 /lOffi Scolkind, 
vol. u. p. 214. 



Note V. 

Tltosr IhrillinQ sounds that coll the mviht 
Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight.— ?. 1(38 

The connoi.sseurs in pipe- music affect to dis- 
cover in a well-composed pibroch, the imitative 
sounds of march, conflict, flight, nursuit. anil 




^ 



A 



f 206 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



:\ 



all the '• current of a heaily fi^ht." To this 
opinion Dr. Beattie lias given his suffraa;e. in 
1 he folh.wiiii; eiesfaiit passage :— • A pibroch is 
a species of tune, peciihar, I think, to the 
Highlands anil Western Isles of Scotland. It 
is perl'oriiied on a bagpipe, and difleis totally 
from all other music, its rhythm is so irregu- 
lar, and its notes, especially in the quick niove- 
nient. so mixed and huddled together, that a 
stranger finds it impossilile to reconcile his ear 
to it, so as to perceive its modulation Some 
of these pibrochs. being intended to represent 
a battle, begin with a grave motion reseiiibliiig 
a march: then gradually quukeii into the 
onset; run olf with noisy conliision, and tur- 
bulent rapidity, to imitate the conflict and pur- 
suit ; then swell into a few flourishes ot tii- 
umiihaiit joy ; and perhaps close with the wild 
and slow wailings of a funeral procession " — 
Essaij on Laughter and Ludicrous Coinposdion, 
chap iii. iNote. 

Note W, 

Rnderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! irroel—V. 169. 
Besides his ordinary name and surname, 
which were chiefly used in the intercourse 
with the Lowlands, every Highland chief had 
an epithet expressive of Ins palriaichal dignity 
as head of the clan, and which was common 
to all his predecessors and successors, as Pha- 
raoh to the kings of Egypt, or Arsaces to those 
of Parthia. This name was usually a patro- 
jivinic, expressive of his descent from the 
foinider of the family. Thus the Duke of 
Ariiyle is called Mact^'alliim M(n-e, or the son 
of Colin the Grent. Sumetinies. however, it is 
derived from armorial distinctions, or the 
memory of some great feat; thus Lord Sea- 
f(Uih. as chief of the Mackenzies, or Clan- 
Keimet. bears the epithet of Caber-fae, or 
Bulk's Head, as representative of Colin Frz- 
gerald, founder of the family, who saved the 
Scottish king when endangered by a stag 
But besides this title, wliicii belonged to his 
office and dignity, the chieftain had usually 
anoMier peculiar to himself, which distiu- 
piiislied him from the chietiaiiis <if the same 
race. This was someiimes derived frmn com- 
plexion, as dhu or roy ; sometimes fiom size. 
as betj or more; at other times from some 
peculiar exploit, or from some peculiarity of 
habit or appeanince. The line of the text 
therefore signifies, 

Bl.ick Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

The song itself is intended as an imitation 
of the jorrnms. or boat, songs, of the lligli- 
landers, which w^ere usually composed in 
honour of a favourite chief They are so 
adapted as to keep time with the sweep of the 
oars, and it is easy to distinguish between those 
intended to be sung to the oars of a galley, 
where the stroke is lengthened and doubled. 
as il were, and tho.se winch were timed to the 
rowers of an ordinary boat. 

Note X. 

The hest of Loch Lovmnd lie dead on her side. 

-P 1G9. 

The Lennox, as the district is called, which 

encircles the lowerextiemilv of Loch Lomond, 



was peculiarly exposed to the incursions of 
he mountaineers, who inhabited the inacces- 
ible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, 

lid the neighbouring district of Loch Katrine. 

hese were often marked by circumstances 
of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict 

f Glen-fruin is a celebrated instance. This 
was a clan-battle, in which the Macgregors, 

aded by Allaster Macgregor. chief of the 
clan, encountered the sept' of Colquhouns, 
commanded by Sir Humphry Colquhoun of 
Luss. It is on all hands allowed that the 
action was desperately fought, and that the 
Colquhouns were defeated with great slaugh- 
ter, leaving two hundred of their name dead 
upon the field. But popular tradition lias 
added other horrors to the tale. It is said, 
that Sir Humphry Colquhoun. who was on 
horseback, escai>ed to tlie castle of Benechra, 
or Banochar. and was next day dragged out 
and murdered by the victorious'Macgregors in 
cold blood. Buchanan of Auchmar, however, 
speaks of the slaughter as a subsequent event, 
and as perpetrated by the Macfurlanes, Again, 
it IS reported that the Macgregors mimiered a 
number of yf)Uths.whom report of the irttended 
battle had brought to be spectators, and whom 
the Colqiihciuiis, anxious lor their safety, had 
shut up in a barn to he out of danger. One 
account of the Macgregors denies the circum- 
stance entirely: another ascribes it to the 
savaire and bloodthirsty disposition of a single 
individual, the bjistard brother of tiie Laird of 
.Macgregor, who amused himself with this 
second massacre of the innocents, in express 
disobedience to the chief, by whom he was 
left their guardian during the pursuit of the 
Colquhouns. It is added, that Macgregor bit- 
terly lamented this atrocious action, and pro- 
phesied the ruin which it must bring upon 
their ancient clan. 'I'he following account of 
tlie conflict, wiiich is indeed drawn up b) a 
friend of the Clan-Giesor. is altogether silent 
on the murder of the youths, " In the spring 
(if the vear 1002. there happeneil great dissen- 
sions and troiililes between the laird of Luss, 
chief of the Colquhouns, and Alexander, laird 
of Macgregor. 'I he original of these quarrels 
proceeded from injuries and provocations mu- 
tually given and receiveil, not long before. 
Macgrei;(>r, however, wanting to have them 
ended in friendly conferences, marched at the 
head of two hundred of his clan to Leven, 
which borders on Luss, his country, with a 
view of settling matters bythi; mediation of 
friends : but Luss had no such intentions, and 
imijected his measures with a difl'erent view ; 
for he privately drew together a body of .300 
horse and 6()0 foot, composed partly of his own 
clan and their followers, and partly of the 
Buchanans, his neighbours, and resolved to 
cut off Macgregor and his party to a man, in 
case the issue of the conference did not an- 
swer his inclination. But matters fell olher- 
wise than he expected ; and though Macgregor 
had previous informal ion of his insidious de- 
sign, yet dissembling his resentment, he kept 
the appointment, and parted good friends in 
appearance, 

" No sooner was he gone, than Luss, think- 
ing to surprise him and his party in full se- 
curity, ami without aay dread or apprehension 
of his treachery, followed with all speed, and 
came up with hini at a place called Gleiifroon. 



rA 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



;^ 



Marsre^or. upon the alarm, diviiled his men 
into two p:irtjfs. the ijiea'est parr whereof he 
coojmaniieil himself, and the other he rom- ' 
niitied to the rare of liis brother John. who. 
hv his orders, led them about another way, j 
a'ud attacked the Odiqiihouiis in llank. Here | 
it was fought with erreai bravery on both sides | 
for a considerable time ; and. notwithstandiim: | 
the vast disproportion of numbers, Mac,ures;«<r, 
in the end, obtamed an absolute victory. So 
preat was the rout, that 2(X> of the Colquhoiins 
were left dead upon the spot, most of the 
leadins men were killed, and a multitude of 
prisoners taken. But what seemed most sur- 
Iirisuiff and incredible in this defeat, was, that 
hone of the .Maci;re<iors were missing, except 
Jolin, the laird's brother, and one common 
fellow, thoiuh indeed many of them were 
witnwdeA.'" — Piiifpssnr Ross's History of the 
Fiiimlu of Sulhrrland, 16.31. 

The consequences of t he battle of Glen-fruin 
were Very calamitous to the family of Mac- 
presior. who had already been considered as 
an unruly clan The widows of the slain Col- 
qiihouiis,' sixty, it is said, in number, a(ipeared 
in doleful proce.ssion before the king: at Stirlm?. 
each ridins upon a white palfrev, and bearlii? 
in her hand the bloody shirt of her husoand 
di.splayed upon a pike. James VI. vvits so 
much moved by the complaints of this "choir 
of mournins dames." that he let loose his 
veiiffeance against the .Macsreg(tis. without 
either bounds or moderation. The veiy name 
of the clan was proscribed, and those by whom 
it had been borne were given up to swonl and 
fire, and absolutely hunted down hy blood- 
hounds like wild beasts Argyle and the 
Campbells, on the one hand, Montrose, with 
the Grahames and Buchanans, on the other, 
are said to have been the cliief instruments in 
suppie.ssing this devoted clan. The Laird of 
Macgregor surrendered to the former, on con- 
dition that he would take him out of .Scottish 
ground. But. to use Birrel's expression, he 
kept "a Higlilandman's promise;" and. al- 
though he fullilled his word to the letter, by 
cariyuig him as far as Berwick, he aferwards 
hrouglit him back to Edinburgh, where he 
Was executed wiih eighteen of his clan."— 
BirrtCs Dimy. 2d Oct. 16(^3 The Clan-Giegor 
being thus driven to uUer despair, seem to 
have renounced the laws from the henelit of 
which I hey were excluded, and their depreda- 
tions produced new acts of council, coiitirmiiig 
the severity of their pro.scriptioii. which had 
only the effect of rendering them still more 
united and desperate. It is a most extraordi- 
nary proof of the ardent and invincible spirit 
of clanshii).that. notwithstanding the repeated 

firoscn prions pntvideir ly ordamed by the legis- 
atuie, *• for t'le timioiis pra'enlitw the disorders 
and oppression that may fall out by the said 
name and clan of .Macgregois. and their fol- 
lowers," they were in 1715 and 1715, a potent 
clan, and continue to subsist as a distinct and 
numerous race. 



Note Y 

- TTie Kini/s inndirtive pride 



Boasts to hnve tamed the Border-siile. — P. 170. 

In 1.523. James V. made a convenlion at 

Edinbuiyti for the purpose of cuiisidenng the 



best mode of quelling the Border robbers, who, 
during the license of his minority, and the 
troubles which followed, had committed manv 
exorbitances. Accordingly, he assembled a 
flying army of ten thousand men. consistmg 
of his principal nobilily and their followers, 
who were directed to brmg their hawks and 
dogs with them, that the monarch might re- 
fresh liimsell wi:li sport during the intervals 
of militjiry execution. With this array he 
swept through Kftrick Korest, where he hangpd 
over the gale of his own castle. Piers Cock- 
burn of Henderland. who hail prepared, ac- 
cording to tradition, a feast lor his reception. 
He caused Adam .*^;-ott of Tushielaw also to 
be executed, who was distinguished by the title 
of King of the Border. But the most noted 
victim of justice, during that expedition, was 
John Armstrong of Gilnockie,' famous in 
Scoiiish song, who. <;onliding in his own sup- 
posed innocence, tnet the King with a retinue 
ot thiity-six persons, all of wlumi were hanged 
at Carlenng. near the source of the Teviot. 
The effect of this severity was such, that, as 
the vulgar expressed it. •' the rush-bush kept 
the cow." and, "thereafter was great peace 
and rest a longtime, wherethrough the King 
had great profit; for he had ten thousand 
sheep going m the Eitrick P'orest in keeping 
by Andrew Bell, who made the King as good 
count of them as they had gone in the bounds 
of ¥\iQ."—Filscottie's History, p. 153. 



Note Z. 

What grace for Hujhiand Chiefs, judge ye 
By fate of Border chivalry — 1'. 171. 
James was in fact equally attentive to re- 
strain rapine and feudal oppression in every 
part of his dominions. " The king past to the 
Isles, and there tield justice courts, and pun- 
ished botli tliief and traitor according to their 
demerit. .And also he caused great men to 
show their holdings, wherelh rough he found 
many of the said lands in non-eiH ry ; the which 
he confiscate and brought home to his own 
use. and afierwards annexed them to the 
crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brought many 
of the great men of the Isles captive with him, 
such as Mudyart. M-Connel. M'Lovd of the 
Lewes. M'Neil, M-|.ane. M-lntosh. John iMud- 
vart, M'Kav. M Keiizie. with many others that 
1 cannot rehearse at this time. Some of them 
he put in ward and some in court, and some 
he took pleilges for good rule in time coming. 
So he brought the I.sles. both north and south, 
in good rule and peace; wherefore he had 
great profit, service, and obedience of people a 
longtime thereafter; and as long as he had 
the heads of the country in subjection, they 
lived in great peace and rest, and there was 
great riches and policy by the king's justice," 
—PUscotiit, p. 152. 



Note 2 A. 

Rfst safe lul morninij ; pity 'twere 
Such chre/t should feel the midniijht air — P. 172. 
Hardihood was in every res()ect .«o es.sential 
to the character of a High lander, that tlie 



iv 



V 



SCOTT'S rOETICAL WORKS 



208 



reproach of effeminacy was the most bitter 
which couUi be tiirown upon him Yet it was 
sometimes liazanled on what we mifjht pre- 
sume to think slJRht grounds. It is reported 
of old Sir Eweii Cameron of Locliiel, when 
upwards of seventy, that lie was surprised by 
night on a hunting Cr military expedition. He 
wrapped him in his plaid, and lay contentedly 
down upon the snow, with which the g:round 
happened to he covered. Anion? his attend- 
ants, who were i)reparini? to take their rest m 
the same manner, he observed that one of his 
grandsons, for his better accommodation, hail 
rolled a large snow-hall, and placed it below 
ills head. The wrath of the ancient chief was 
awakened by a syniptimi of what he conceived 
to he degenerate luxury — '•Out upon thee." 
s-iid he. kicking llie frozen bolster from the head 
winch it sn|i[iorte(l ; " ait thon so effeminate as 
to need a pillow ?" The officer ol eiiL-iiieers, 
whose cnnoiis letters from the Highlands have 
been iiiort^ tliiiii once quoted, tells a similar 
story oliMacdiiiiaUl of Keppoch.and snhjoinsthe 
following reiiiaiks ■ — " This and many other 
stories are rom:inti(k; but there is one thing, 
that at first thought might seem very romantick. 
of which I have been credibly assured, that 
when the Highlanders are fonstrained to lie 
among the hills, in cold dry winily weather, 
they sometimes soak the plaid in some river or 
burn {i- c. brook), and then, holding up a corner 
of it a little ;ibove their heads, they turn them- 
selves round and round, till they are enveloped 
by the whole mantle. They then lav them- 
selves down oil the heath, npini the leeward 
siile of some hill, where the wet and the 
wnrmth of their Inidies make a steam like that 
of a boiling kettle. The wet, tliey sav. keeps 
them warm by thickemng the stuflf, and keep- 
ing the wind from penetralmg. I must confess 
I should have been apt to qnesiion this fact, 
had 1 not frequently seen them wet from 
morning to night, and even at the beginning 
of the rain, not so nnicli as siir a few yards to 
shelier, but continue in it without necessity, 
till they were, as we say, wet through aiid 
through. And that is soon effected by the 
looseness and sptinginess of the piaidmg'; but 
the bonnet is Irequently taken off and wrung 
like a tlish-clout. and then put on again They 
have heen accustomed from their mfaiiov to 
he ofien wet. and to take the water like 
spaniels, and this IS become a second nature, 
and can scarcely W'. called a hardship to I hem 
insomuch thai I used to say. they seemed to 
be of the duck kind, and to love water as well. 
Though I never saw this preparation for sleep 
in wjiiily weather, yet, setting otit early in a 
morning' frrjin one of tlie huts, I have seen the 
marks of their lodging, where the ground has 
been free from rime or snow, which remained 
all niuiid ihe s(iot where they had lam "— 
LtlU rs Jrom ScoLLand, Lond. \lfti, 8vo, li. p. 108. 



Note 2 B. 

his henchman came.—?. 172. 

" Tliis officer is a sort of secretary, and is to 
he readv. npon all occasions, to ventiu'e his 
life m defence of his master; and at drinking- 
bouts he stuiids hehmd his seat, at his haunch, 



\ 



from whence his title is derived, and watches 
the conversation, to see if any one offends his 
patron. An English officer being in company 
with a certain chieftain, and several oilier 
Highland gentlemen, near Killichmen, had an 
argument with the great man ; and Ijoth being 
well warmed with usky,' at last the dispute 
grew very hot. A youth who was henchnr.m, 
not understanding one woril of English, ima- 
gined his chief was msulled, and theireuiion 
drew his pistol from his side, and snapped it 
at thg officer's head : but the pistol missed 
tire, otherwise it is more than prob.able he 
might have suffered death from Ihe hand of 
that little vermin. But it is verv disagiv^idile 
to an Englishman over a bottle, with the High- 
landers, to see every one of them have Ins 
gilly, that IS. his servant, standing behiiul linn 
all the while, let what will be the subject of 
coiiversatiou."— i/ci/ers/707/i ScoUand, ii. 169. 



Note 2 C. 

A7id while Ihe Fiery Cross tjlmiced, like a meteor, 
round. — P. 173. 
When a chieftain designed to summon his 
clan. Ufion any sudden in' important emergency, 
he slew a .goat, and making a cross of any light 
wood, seared its extremities in the fire, and 
extinguished them m the blood of the animal. 
This Was called the Fiery Cross, also Crean 
'I'ariyh. or the Cross of Shame, because diso- 
bedience to what the symhol implied, inferred 
infamy. It was delivered to a swifi ami trusty 
messenger, w ho ran full speed with it to the next 
hamlet, where he prosented it to the principal 
person, with a single word, implying the place 
of rendezvous. He who received ihe symbol 
was bound to send it forward, wnh equal dis- 
patch, to the next village ; and thus it [lassed 
with incredible celerity thutugh all the district 
which owed allegiance to the chief, and also 
among his allies and neighbours, if the danger 
was common to ihcin At sight of the Kiery 
Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to 
sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged 
instantly to repair, in Ins Pest :,rms and accou- 
Iremenls, to the place of rendezvous. He who 
tailed to appear sullered the exireiiiilles of tire 
and sword, which were emblematically tle- 
iiounced to the disobedient by I he bloody and 
burnt marks upon this warlike signal. During 
the civil war of 1745-6, the Fiery Cross ofien 
made its circuit; and upon one occasion it 
passed tlirough the whole district of Breadal- 
hane, a tract of thirty-two miles, in three 
hours. The late Alexander Stewart, Esq. of 
Invernahyle, described to me his having sent 
round the Fiery Cross III roush the district of 
Appine, during the same commotion. The 
coast was threatened by a descent from two 
English frigates, and the flower of the young 
men were with the army of PriiK^e Charles 
Edward, then in England; yet the summons 
was so effectual, that even old age and child- 
hood obeyed it ; and a force was collected in 
a few hours, so numerous and so enthusiastic, 
that all attempt at the intended diversion npoii 
the country of the absent warriors was in pru- 
dence abandoned, as desperate. 



1 Whisky. 



N 



^ 



7^ 



\\\% 



APPP^NDIX TO THE LADY OF THE L A K E . 200 

This priciicf, like some others is common i tins t()th(^m, that there were some who. hnvin^ 
to the lliuhl.itiders wj'h the; ancient Sc ■iidi- ^ cehihrated mass fur tm years, were still un;)l)le 
navians, as wj.l :it>|>ear by the lb; lowing ex- I o read the saorainental service. We have 
trai't Horn Oiaiis Magnus :— also understood there are persons aiiionj? tiiem 

'•When the enemy is iiiion the st-a-coast. or , WHO, al'liomrli not o dained. do tnke upon 
within the limits ofiiorthern kinsdo lies, iheii j them the oMfices of pi lesthood : and. in con- 
presently, by I he command of tlie principal tempt of Go 1. celebrate the divine and sacred 
{fovernoiirs. with the counsel and consent of | r tes and administer the sacraments, not onlv 
the old soldiers, who are notablv skilled in | it ^•lcred and dedicated places, but in those 
such like biisniess, a staff of three hands wlm-h are profane and interdicted, and must 
lfn\'tli, in the common slight of iliein all, is wn tchedly ruinous; they ihemsel 
carried, by the speedy rnnnins of some active j atiiied in rasjgeil. torn, and m ist ti 
yoiine: wvva unto that villasje o- city with this ments, allopether unfit, to be used in divine. 
C inimiind.— that on the third, louith. or ei,'liili or evi-n in lempo'al offices. The which said 
d.iy. onn, two. or three, or else every man in | chMplains do admin stersacraments and sacr.i- 
particnlar. from fifteen years old, s lall troriie ; mental rights to the aforesaid manifest and 
with his arms, and expen-es for ten or twenty infimous thieves. rot)hers, denreihirors. re- 
da\s. upon pain that Iik oi- their houses shall ; ceivers of stolen go ids, and pliiiKhreis. and 
be hnrnt (which is iniiin:ited by the bnrninir 1 that without restilutiun. or inteiiiion lo restore, 
of the sialf), or e'sf lhem;isterto fie hangf^d ! as evinced l)y the act; anil do also openly 
(winch is siirni tied by the cord lied to it), to I admit them to the rites of ecclesiastical sepid- 
a|iiiear speedily on such a bank, or field, or j chre, without exac iiiif secuii y for les'iliition, 
valley, to hear the cause he is called, and to allboii?h they are prohibited fVom doin^ so fiy 
hearoiders from the said provincial sovernoiirs ! tlie sacred canons, as well ;ls bv the iiisiiiule's 
what he s'lall do. Wherefore that messenger, I of the saints and fathers. All which infers 
swifierihan any post or wa'zgon. having done the heavy peril of their own sonl.s, and is a 
his cominissi<-:i, comes slowly l)ack again, ; pernicious example to the other believers in 






bringing a token with him that he hath dime 
al legally, and every moment one or another 
runs to everv village, and tells those places 
wha.tthey mu-;t do " .... " The nifS-engers. 
therefore, of the footmen, that are to give 
warning to the peoiile to meet for the h;ittail, 
run fiercely and swifily ; for no sniw, no rain. 
nor heat can stop them, nor night, hold them ; 
but they will soon run 'he raCi^ they inidertake 
The first messenger tells it to the next village, 
and that to the next; and so the hubbub runs 
ad over till they -.ill know n in that stift orter- 
r.tory, where, when ;uid wherefore they must 
meet." — OUms Maijnus' Htslory of Ihf Golhs, 
euglished by J. S. Loud. lf>5S, book iv. chap. 3, 4 



Note 2 D. 

Thnt mnnk. of savaijeform. a-ndface ■ 



-P 173. 



'["lie state of religion in the middle ages 
afforded Cotisuierable facilities for those whose 
mole of life e.xcluded them from regular wor- 
ship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghos ly as- 
sistance of conf'essors, peifectly willing to 
adapt the nature of their doctrine to the ne- 
cessities and peculiar circumstances of their 
flock. Kohin Hood. It is well known, had his 
celebrated ilo nestic chapl iiii. Friar Tuck. 
Ami that same curtal triar was |»robably 
matched m manners and appearance by the 
ghoslv fathers of the Tyiie lale robbers, who 
are tliu« described in an exco'iimunication fiil- 
iirnited against their patrons by Kichard Fnx, 
bishop of Durham, tempore Heiinci VIII 
" We have further nndersiood, Ihat there are 
many chaplains in the said territories of Tyne- 
dale and Redesdale. who are public and open 
main'ainers of concubinage, irregular, sus- 
pended, f'xcommnnicated. and interdicted per- 
sons, and wiiiial so utterly ignorant of letters, 
that It has been found by those who objected 



Christ, as well as no slight, but an aggravated 
injury, to the numbers dnspoiled and plnndeied 
of I heir goods, gear, herds, iind chattels." ! 

To this lively and uictniesiiue description of 
the confessors and clnircliaien ol' predatory 
tribes, there may be added some curious par- 
tK'.ulars respecung the priests attached to the 
several se[it.s of native Irish, during the reign 
of Queen Flizabeih These friars had indeed 
to piead, that the incursions, winch they not 
only pardoned, but even encouraged, were 
made upcm those hostile to them, as well in 
religion iis from national an'ipathy; t>ut by 
Protestant writers they are uiiiforiiily allegeil 
to be the chief instruments of Irish "insurrec- 
tion, the very vvell-spring of all rebellion to- 
wards the English government I.ithgow. the 
Scottish traveller, declares the liish wood- 
kerne, or i)redatory tribes, to be but the hounds 
of iheir hunting pries s, who directed their in- 
cursions by their pleasure, pariiy for susie- 
nance, partly to gratify animosity, partly to 
foment general division, and tdso fortiie better 
security and easier domination of the friars. 2 
Derrick, the liveliness and nunuten-ss of 
whose descriptions may frequen'ly ap'ilusize 
for his doggerel verses, after describing an 
Irish feast, and the encouragement given, by 
the songs of the barils. to its teniMiiaiion in 
an incursion ujion the parts of the country 

more immediately undei the d lion of llie 

English records I he no less powerful aiga- 
I ments used by the friar to excUe their ani- 
mosiiy : — 



1 Ttit Moint.oii aija 
R-des^ale, with whi.ti 
Buxices of Mainsfortl., 



ml the Robbers of TyueUale and 
: was rivmrt"! by my friend, Mr. 
nay be found in Uie oiigiral I.aUi>, 



" And more t' augment ttie flame. 


and ranrour nf tti 


-ir hirle. 


The frier, of his cou 


n.-^ells vil.-. 


to rebelli-s doth ii 


iparte. 


Affirm na that it is 




an almose deede t 


3«od, 


To malie the Kngls 


snbjectes taste 


the Irish rebelica' 


rodde. 


Tospnile, to kill, to 


burne. 


this frier's counsel! is; 



in the .\ppendix In the lutrodnction 
strelsv. No VII vol. i. p. •.:74. 
1 Lithgow's Travels "r-t eilitiou. p 






f 210 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



M 



And for 


he do 


ng of the same. 




he warranle 


heavenlie blisse 




He tells 


a hnlie tale; 




thew 


■ tehe 


tournes to black 




And Ihr 


Dush 1 


le paid0!:6 ii. his 


male, 


he workes a 


kiiavishe kuacke. 


' 



The wreck ful invasion of a part of the 
Ens?lisii pule is llien described with some 
spirit; the burtiingof houses, driviiis off ("ittle, 
:iiid all periainiiiif to such predaiory inroads, 
arc illustrated hy a rude cut. 'I'he defeat of 
the Irish, by a party of English soldiers fron^ 
the next grarrison. is tlieii coniiiienioraied, aiiU 
in like manner adorned witli an enslaving, in 
which the friar is exhibited mourning: over the 
slam chieftain ; or, as the rubric expresses it, 

"Tl.e frier then, that treacherous knave; wilh ough ough- 

hcne lament, 
To see his cousin Devill's-son to have so fouj event." 

The matter is handled at sreat Icnsrth in the 
text, of which the following verses are more 
tlian sufficient sample : 



' The frier 



levng this, 
that luckless 
th to the pitt. 



parte 



ilh 



Yet for lo quigh 

For all the synncs thai ere he did 

remission to obtaine. 
And therefore servis his booke, 

the eandell and the bell ; 
But thinke you that such apislie toies 

bring damned souls from hell 7 
It 'longs not to my par'.e 

inferiiall things lo knowe , 
But I beleve till later daie, 

thei rise not from belr.we. 
Yet hupe that friers give 

to this rebellious rout. 
If that their .-iouls should chance in hell, 

to bringe them quicklie out, 
Doelh make them lead suche lives, 

as neither God nor man. 
Without revenge for their desartes. 



iffer c 



ifrie 



i are i 



the fountain, and the spring. 
Of hurleburles in ihis laiide, 

of eche uiihappie thing 
Thei cause them lo rebell 

And through rebellion ofien tymes, 

their lives do vanish clene. 
So as by friers meanes, 

in whom all follie swimme, 
The Irishe karne doe often lose 

the life, with hedde and limme."! 

As the Irish tribes, and those of the Scottish 
Highlands, are miicli more intimately allied, by 
language, manners, dress, and cusioms, than 
the antiquaries of either country have been 
Willing to admit, f flatter myself I have here 
firnduced a strong warrant for the character 
sketched ill the text. The following picture. 
Ihougli of a different kind, serves to esiablish 
the existence of ascetic relioioiiists, to a com- 
paratively late period, in the Hiirhlands and 
Western Isles. There is a great deal of sim- 
plicity in the description, for which, as for 
much similar information, I am obliged to Dr. 
John Martin, who visited the Hebrides at the 
suggestion of Sir Kobert Sibbald. a Scottish 
antiquarian of eminence, and early in the 
eighteenth century published a description of 



them, which procured him admission into the 
Koyal Si ciety. He died m London about 1~19. 
His woik is a strange mixture of learning, 
observation, and gross credulity 

"I remember," says this author, "I have 
seen an old lay-capuchin here (in the islanil 
of Benbecula). called in their lansuage Brahir- 
borM, that is. Poor brother ; whit^h is literally 
true: for he answers this character, having 
nothing but what is given him : he holds him- 
self fully satisfied with food and rayment, and 
lives in as great simplicity as any of his order ; 
his diet is very mean, and he drinks only fair 
wafer; his habit is no less mortifying than 
that of his brethren elsewhere : he wears a 
short coat, which comes no farther than his 
middle, with narrow sleeves like a waistcoat: 
he wears a plad above it, girt about the middle, 
which reaches to his knee: the plad is fast- 
ened on his breast wiih a wooden pin. his neck 
hare, and his feet often so too ; he wears a hat 
for ornament, and the string about it is a bit 
of a fisher's line, made of horse-hair This 
plad he wears instead of a gown worn by 
those of his order in other countries. I told 
him he wanted the flaxen girdle that men of 
Ins order usually wear : he answered me, that 
he wore a leathern one, which was the same 
thing. Upon the matter, if he is sfioke to 
when at meat, he answers again; which is 
contrary to the custom of his order. Tins 
poor man frequently diverts himself wiih an- 
gling of trouls; he lies upon straw. ;ind has 
no bell (as others have) to call him to his de- 
votions, but only his con.science, as he told 
n\f.." — Marltii's lescriplion of ttie WesUni 
Hw'dands, p. 82. 



Note 2 E. 

Of Brian's birth strange tales were told.— P. 173. 

The legend whitth follows is not of the au- 
thor's invention. It is possible he may diflV^r 
from modern criti(;s, in supposing that the 
records of human superstition, if peculiar to, 
and characteristic of. the country in which the 
scene is laid, are a legitimate subject of po- 
etry. He gives, however, a reaiiy assent lo the 
narrower iiroposition which condemns all at- 
tempts of an irregular and tlisordered fancy to 
excite terror, by accumulating a train of fan- 
tastic and incoherent horrors, whether bor- 
rowed from all countries, and patched upxm a 
narrative belonging to one which knew them 
not, or derived from the author's own imagi- 
natitm Tn the present case, therefore. I ap- 
peal to the record which I have transciibed, 
wilh the variation of a very few words, from 
I he geograpJiical collections m;ide hy the l.tiird 
of Macfarlane. 1 know not whether it be ne- 
cessary to remark, that the miscellaneous con- 
(■ourse of youths and maidens on the night and 
on the spot where the miracle is said to have 
taken p^ice. might, even in a credulous age, 
h;ive somewhat diminished the wontler which 
accompanied the conception of GiUi-Uoir- 
Magrevollich. 

•' There is bot two myles from Inverloghie, 



:^ 



I This curious picture of Ireland was inserted by the impressions known to exist, belonging to the copy in the 
uthor in the repulilication of Soriiers' Tracl.s, vol. i., m Adv.cates' Library. See Somers' Tracts, Tol. i. pp. G'Jl 
► uUh the pi J tea have been also uiserted, from the only 694. 



z 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE 




the church of Kilmalee, in Loc.liyeld. In an- 
cient tynies there wna ane church builded 
iii>i>n ane hill, which was above this (;hurch, 
wh ch ddetli now stand in this tonne ; and an- 
cient men doeth say. that there was a butKdl 
funsh'eii on ane lille hill not the tenth part of 
a iiiyle from tiiis church, lie certaine men 
which they did not know what they were. 
And long lynie thereafter, certaine herds of 
that tonne, and of the next toinie, called Un- 
natt.both wenches and yoiilhes, did on a tyine 
conveen with others on'thal hill : and tlie'day 
l)eini; somewhat cold, did gather tlie hones of 
the dead men tliat were slayne Ion;; tyine be- 
f lie in that place, and did make a tire to warm 
them At last they did all remove from the 
tire, except one niaid or wench, which was 
verie cold, and she iliil remaine there for a 
S[)ace She beins quyetlie her alone, without 
anie other companie, took up her cloatlis 
aliove her knees, or thereby, to warm iier; a 
wind did come and casle the ashes upon her. 
and .she was conceived of ane nian-chyld. 
Seveiall tymes therealter she was verie sick, 
and at last she was knowiie to be with chyld. 
Anil then her parents did ask at her the mat- 
ter heirolf, which the wench couM not weel 
answer which way to satistie them. At last 
she resolved them with ane answer. As for- 
tune fell upon her concerniiis tins marvellous 
miracle, the chyld l)eins: borne, his name was 
called Gili-Doir-MauhrevuUirh.t\iiit is to sav, 
the Black Child, Son to tlw Bones. So called, 
his grandfather sent him to school, and so he 
was a good schollar, and godlie. He did build 
this church which doeth now stand in Loch- 
yeld. called Kilmalie." — Macfarlane, ut supra, 
ii 188. 



Note 2 F. 

Yft ne'er again to braid her hair 

The viryin snood did Alice wear.— P. 173. 

The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish 
lass braided her hair, had an emblematical 
signification, and applied to her maiden cha- 
racter. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or 
Coif, when she parsed, by marriage, into the 
matron state. But if the damsel was so unfor- 
tunate as to lose pretensions to the name of 
maiden, without sainniir a right to that of ma- 
tron, she was neither pernii ted to use the 
snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of 
the curch In old Scottish songs there occur 

many sly alius s to such misfortune; as in 

the old words to the popular tune of "Ower 
the muir amang the lieather." 



Thai gard her greet till she was wearie." 



Note 2 G. 

The desert gave him visions wild. 

Such as miyhl suit the spectre's child— P. 174. 

In adopting the legend concerning the birth 
of the Founder of the Church of Kilmalie. the 
author has endeavoured to trace the effects 
which such a belief wa.s likely to produce, in 



a barbarous age, on t he persons to whom it 
related. It seems likely that he must have 
become a fanatic or an impostor, or that mix- 
ture of both which forms a more frequent cha- 
racter than either of thein, as existing sefia- 
rately. In truth, mad persons are frequently 
more anxious to impress upon others a faith in 
their visions, than they are themselves con- 
firmed in their reality; as. on tlie other hand, 
it IS difficult for the most cool-headed impostor 
long to personate an enthusiast, without in 
some degree believing what he is so eager to 
have believed. It was a natural attribute of 
such a character as the supposed hermit, that 
he should credit the numerous superstitions 
with which the minds of ordinary Highlanders 
are almost always imbued A few of theie 
are slightly alluded to in this stanza. The 
River Demon, or River-horse, for it is that 
form which he commonly assumes, is the 
Kelpy of the i.ovvlands, an evil and malicious 
spirit, delighting to forbode and to witness ca- 
lami'y. He frequents most Highland lakes 
and rivers ; and one of his most memorable 
exploits was performed upon the banks of Loch 
Vennachar, in the very ili.strict winch forms 
the scene of our action': it consis'ed in the de- 
struction of a funeral [irocessiou with all its 
attendants. The " ii.iontide hag," called in 
Gaelic Glns-lich, a tall, einacialt^d. gigautu: fe- 
male figure. IS supposed in [lariicilar to haunt 
the district of Knoid.irt. A gol)liii, dressed in 
antique armour, and having one hand covered 
with blood, called Ironi that circumstance, 
Lham-dearij, or Red-hand, is a tenant ol the 
forests of Glenmore ami HoMiieinuicus. Other 
spirits of the desert, all iViglitful in shape and 
malignant in disposition, are believed to fre- 
quent different mountains and glens of the 
Highlands, where any unusual ai>pearance, 
produced hy mist, or the strange lights that 
are sometimes thrown upon particular objects, 
never tails to present an apparition to the 
imagination of the solitary and melancholy 
mountaineer. 



Note 2 H. 

The fatal Ben- Sine's boding scream. — P. 174. 

Most great families in the Highlands were 
supposed to have a tutelar, or rather a do- 
mestic spirit, attached to them, who look an 
interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by 
its wailings. any ap[)roaching disaster. That 
of Grant of Grant was called May Moullach, 
and appeared m the form of a girl, who had 
her arm covered with hair Grant of Rothie- 
murcus had an iittendant called Bodo'-h-an- 
diut, or the Ghost of the Hill ; and many other 
exam()les might be meniioned The Ban- 
Scliie implies a female Fairy, whose lamenta- 
tions were often supposed to precede the 
death of a chieftain of particular families. 
When she is visible, it is in the form of an oUl 
woman, with a blue mantle and streaming 
hair. A snpei-stition of the same kind is, I be- 
lieve, universtilly received by the inferior 
ranks ()f the native Irish. 

The death of the head of a Highland familv 
is also sometimes supposed to be announced 
by a chain of lights of different colours, called 
Dr'eug, or death of the Druid. The direction 



^ 



T 



z 



y^ 212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



which it takes, marits the place of the funeral 
[See tiie Essay on Fairy Superstitions in the 
Border Minstrelsy ] 



Note 2 I. 

Sounds, too, had rome in nwlniijht blast, 
Of chargtng stieds. careerhia fast 
Alniuj Biimarrow's sMni]ly side. 
Where mortal horsemen ne'er might ride. 

P. 174. 

A presase of the kind ailudeS to in the text. 
is still believed to announce death to the an- 
cient Hi'-'hland lamily of M'Lean of Loclihuy. 
The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is 
heard to pallop alona: a stony bank, and then 
to ride ihrice aroinid the family residence, 
jiii^'in!,' Ins fairy bridle, and thus intimating the 
apiiroaciiiu? calamity. How easily the eye, as 
well as I he ear, may be deceived upon such 
occasions, is evident from the stones of armies 
in the air, and other spectral pheiiomeiia with 
which history abounds. Such ;iii apparition is 
said to have been witnessed upon the side of 
Soiithlell iiiountain, between Penrith and Kes- 
wick, upon the 2:3d June 1744. by two persons, 
William Lancaster of Blakehilis, and Daniel 
Strieket. his servant, whose attestation to the 
fact, with a full account of the app;irilioii, 
dated the 21st July 1745. is printed in Clarke's 
Survey of the Lakes. The apparition con- 
sisted of several troops of horse moving: in 
regular order, with a steady rapid motion, 
making a curved- sweep around the fell, and 
seeming to the spectators to disappear over 
the ridse of the mountain. Many persons 
witnessed this phenomenon, and observed the 
last, or last but one. of the supposed troop, 
occasionally leave his rank, and pass iit a gal- 
lop to the front, when he resumed the same 
steady pace. This curious appearance, mak- 
ing the necessary allowance for imagination, 
may be perhaps sufficiently accounted for by 
OfHical deception —Survey of the Lakes, p. 25. 

Supernatural miiiiialions ofapproachiiiK fate 
are not. 1 believe, cinfined to Highland fami- 
lies Howel mentions having seen, at a lapi- 
dary's, in 1632. a monumental stone. pie[>ared 
for four persons of the name of Oxenham. be- 
fore the death of each of whom, the in.scrip- 
tioii st.ited a while bird to have appeared and 
tluitered around the bed while the [latient was 
ill the la^t ivximy.— Familiar L' tiers, edit. 1726, 
217 Glaiiville mentions one family, the mem- 
bers of which received this solemn sign by 
niiisic. the sound of which floated fnun the 
family resilience, and seemed to die in a 
neigiibdiiriiig wood ; another, that of (Captain 
V\ ood of liampton. to wliom the siirnal was 
given by kiiockmu. liut the most remarkable 
instance of the kind oc^cins in the MS. Me- 
moirs of Lady l'\iiishaw, so ext;mplarv for her 
conjusal affection Her husband. Sir Kioliard, 
and cii.- chanced during their abode in Ire- 
land, to visit a friend the head of a sept, who 
resided in his ancient baronial castle, sur- 
rounded with a moat At miduisilit she was 
awakened by a ghastly and siipeiiiatural 
scream, and, looking out of bed, beheld, by the 
moonlight, a female face and part of the form, 
liovenng at the window. The distance from 



the ground, as well as the circumstance of the 
moat, excluded the possibility that what slie 
beheld was of this world. The face was Ih.at 
of a young and rather handsome woman, but 
pale; and the hair, which was reddish. w;is 
loose and dishevelled. The dress, which Lady 
Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her remark- 
ing accurately, was that of the ancient Irish. 
This apparition continued to exhibit itself for 
some time, and then vanished with two 
shrieks, similar to that which had first e.tcited 
Lady Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, 
with infinite terror, she communicated to her 
host what she had witnessed, and found hini 
prepared not only to credit but to account for 
the apparition. " A near relation of my fami- 
ly," said he, "expired last n ght in this castle. 
V\ e disguised our certain expectation of the 
event from you, lest it should throw a cloud 
over the cheerful reception which was due 
you. Now, before siicli an event happens in 
this family and castle, the female spectre 
v\honi you have .seen always is visible She 
is believed to be the spirit of a woman of in- 
ferior rank, whom one of my ancestors de- 
graded himself by marrying, and whom after- 
wards, to expiate the dishonour done his 
family, he cau.seU to be drowned in the castle 
moat." 



Note 2 K. 

Whose parents in Inch- Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Oan-Alpint's grave. 

P. 174. 

Inch- Cailliach. the Isle of Nuns, or of Old 
Women, is a most beautiful island at the lower 
extremity of Loch Lomond. The church he- 
longing to the former nunnery was long used 
as the place of worship for the parish of Bu- 
chanan, but scarce any vestiges of it now re- 
main. The burial-ground continues to lie 
used, and contains the family places of sepul- 
ture of several neighbounns clans. 'I'lie 
moniimen's of the lairds of Macgreijor, and of 
other families, claiming a descent from the old 
Scottish King Alpine, are most remarkable. 
I'he Highlanders are :is zealous of their rmhts 
of sepulture, as may be expected from a people 
whose whole laws and government, ifclaiiship 
can be called so, turned upon the single prin- 
ciple of family desctnt. "May his ashes lie 
scattered on the water," was one of the deepest 
and most solemn imprecations which they 
used against an enemy. [See a detailed de- 
scription of the funeral ceremonies of a High- 
land chieftain in the Fair Maid of Perth. 
Wa verify Novels, vol. 43, cfwps. x. <uid xl. 
Edit. 1834.] 



Note 2 L. 

the dim deer's hide 

On fleeter foot was luver tied.— P. 175. 

The present brogue of the Highlanders is 
made of half-dried leather, wilii holes to ad- 
mit and let out the water; for walkiiis; the 
moors dry shod is a matter altogether out of 
the quest ion The ancient buskin was still 
ruder, being made of undressed deer's hide, 



yA 



7" 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 213 



^^ltll ilie lioir out wards ; ar,irciiinslaiK;<; winch 
pKicureil the Higlilandeis the wt^ll-kiiowii 
epithet of Rid-shanks The process is vtny 
accurately descrilied by one Elder (himself a 
l!ii;hi.inder) in the project Airaiiiiioii between 
Kii'^laiid and Scoiland, addressed to Henry 
^ in. •■ We i;o a hunting, and alter Ihai we 
have slam ie>l-deer, we flay off the skin hy- 
aiiil-by. and betting of oiir bare-foot on the in- 
side thereof, for vvant of runiiim; slioemakeis. 
by your grace's pardon, we play the cobblers, 
rompassina: and nieasurius so much thereof as 
shall reach np l<> our ankles, pricking the 
upper part thereof with holes, thai the water 
may repass where it enieis, and slretchins it 
up with a strong thong of the same aliove our 
said ankles. J<o. and please your noble grace, 
we make our shoes. 'I'herefore, we using 
such manner of shoes, the rough hairy side 
outwards, in your grace's dominions of Eng- 
land, we be called Roughjooled Sculs"~Pm- 
ktrton's History, vol. li. p 397. 



Note 2 M. 

The dismal cororwrh—P. 175. 
The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the 
Ui'alatiis i>f the Komaiis, and the UttUno of Uw. 
Irish, was a wild e.xpression of lameiitaiioti. 
poured forth by the mourners over the body 
of a departed friend. VVhen the words <if it 
Were articulate, they expressed the praises of 
the deceased, and the loss the clan would 
sustain by his death The following is a la- 
mentation of this kind, literally translated 
from the Gaelic, to some of the ideas of which 
the text stands indebted The tune is so popu- 
lar, that it has since become the war-march, 
or Gathering of the clan. 
Coronach on Sir Lnuchlan, Chirf of Mackan. 

" Whi< h of all llie Senachies 

Can trace thy line from tile ronf up to Paradise, 

But Macvuirili, the son of Fergus / 

No soontT had thine an<'ient stately tree 

Taken firm root in Albion, 

Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. — 

•Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name. 
•* 'Tis no base weed— no planted tree, 

Nor a seedling of last Autumn ; 

Nor a sapling planted at Beltain; I 

Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branches— 

But the topmost bough is lowly laid i 

Thou ha.st forsaken us befnre Sawaine. 3 
"Thy dwelling is the winter house;— 

Loud, sad, sad, and mighty is thy death-song 

Oh ! courteous champion of Montrose ! 

Oh : stately warrior of the Celtic Isles ! 

Thou shairbuckle thy harness on no more !" 

The coronach has for some years past been 
superseded at funerals by the'use of the bag- 
pipe; and that also is, like many other High- 
land peculiarities, fulling into disuse, unless in 
remote districts. 



Note 2 N. 

B' nle<li saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced liJee Iwhtning up Strath- Ire. ~ P. 176. 
Inspection of the provincial map of Perth- 
shire, or any laree map of Scotland, will trace 



I Bell's are, or Whitsunday 



the progress of the signal thiough the small 
district ot lakes and mountains, which, in 
exercise of my poetural privilege, I have sub 
.iected to the authority of my imaijiiiary chief- 
tain, and which, at the period of mv romance 
was really occntiied bv a clan whti claimed a 
descent from Alpine; a dan the most unfor- 
tunate, and most persecuted, but neither the 
least disiinmuslied. least powerful, nor least 
brave, of the tribes of the Gael. 

" Sllnch non rioghridh duchaisach 
Bha-ehios an Dun-Staiobhinish 
Ajg an roubh crun na llahi.i othua 
'Stag a cheil duchas fast lis." 

The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Dun- 
crairgan. a place near the Bring of Turk, where 
a shoit si ream divides Loch Achrav from Loch 
Veimachar. From thence, it psisses towards 
ralleiider. and then, turning to the left up the 
p.iss of I.eny. is consigned to Norman at the 
chapel of Saint Bride, which stood on a small 
anil romantic knoll in the mitldleof lite vallev, 
called Strath Ire. Toiiibea and .Arnandave, 
or Ardmaiidave, are names of places in the 
vicinity. The alarm is then suppo.sed to pass 
along the lake of Lybnaig. and through the 
various jrlens m the iJisirict of Balquidder, in- 
cluding the neighbouring tracts of GlenJinlas 
and Strathgartnev. 



Note 2 0. 

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balqwdder, speeds the tmdnujht blaze.— P. 177. 

It may be necessary to inform the southern 
reader, I hat the heath on the Scottish moor- 
lands is often set fire to, that the sheep may 
have the advantage of the young herbage 
produced, in room of the tough oltl heather 
plants. This custom (execrated by soortsmen ) 
produces occasionally the most beautiful noc- 
turnal appearances, similar almost to the dis- 
charge of a volcano. This similie is not new 
to poetry. The charge of a warrior, in the 
fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to be "like 
fire to heather set." 



Note 2 P. 

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand 

No Uiw, but Roderic Dhu's comniaiul.—P. 177. 

The deep and implicit respect paid by the 
Highland clansmen to their chief, rendered 
this both a common and a solemn oath In 
other respects they were like most savage 
nations, capricious in their ideas concernitig 
the obligatory power of oaths. One solemn 
mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, 
imprecating upon themselves death by that, 
or a similar weapon, if they broke their vow. 
But for oaths in the usual form, they are said 
to have had little respect. As for the reve- 
rence due to the chief, it mav be guessed from 
the following odd example of a Highland point 
of honour :— 

" The clan whereto the above-mentioned 
tribe belongs, is the only one 1 have heard of. 



ill N 



V 



A 



^ 214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



which is without a cliief ; that is, being divided 
into I'limiUes. under several chlefiams, without 
any purlicular pal much of the whole ii:iiTie. 
Aiid this IS a (freat reproach, as may appear 
from an affair that fell out at my table, in the 
HiSlilands, between one of that name and a 
Cameron. 'I'he provocation given by the latter 
was—' Name your chief.'— The return of it at 
once was,—' You are a fool.' They went out 
next nunniuK, but having early notice of it, 1 
sent a small party of soldiers after them, 
which, in all probabdily. preveiite<l some bar- 
barous mischief that miRlit have ensued : for 
the chiefless Highlander, who is himself a 
petty chieftain, was going to the place ap- 
pointed with a small sword and pistol, where- 
as the Cameron (an old man) took with hini 
onlv his b.'-oadsword, accordins; to the agree- 
ineiit. 

■• When all was over, and I had, at least 
seemingly, reconciled them, I was told the 
words, of which I seemed to think but slight- 
ly, were, to one of the clan, the greatest of all 
provocations." — Zei^ers/roOT Scotland, vol. ii. 
p. 221. 



Note 2 Q. 

— ■ a low and lonely cell. 

By many a bard, m Celtic loytgue, 

Has Coir-nan-Unskin been sung.— ?. 117. 

This is a very steep and most romantic 
hollow in the mountain of Benvenue, over- 
hanging the south-eastern extremity of Loch 
Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous 
rocks, and overshadowed with Itircli-tiees, 
mingled with oaks, the spontaneous produc- 
tion of the mountain, even where its cliffs 
appear denuded of soil. A dale in so wdd a 
situation, and amid a people whose genius 
bordered on the romaniic, did not remain with- 
out appropriate deities. The name literally 
implies the Corri, or Den, of the Wild or Shaguy 
tneri Perhaps tins, as conjectured liy Mr Alex- 
ander Campbell. 1 may have originally only 
implied its being the haunt of a ferocious ban- 
ditti. But tradition has ascribed to the [/ris/(, 
who gives name to the cavern, a figure be 
tween a goat and a man ; in short, however 
much the classical reader iiiay be startled, 
precisely that of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk 
seems not to have inherited, with the form, the 
petulance of the sylvan deity of the classics : 
his occupation, on the contrary, resembled 
those of Milton's Lubbar Fiend, or of the 
Scottish Brownie, though he differed from 
both in name and appearance. " The Urisks," 
says Dr. Graham, '" were a set of lubberly su- 
pernaturals, who, like the Brownies, could be 
gained over by kind attention, to perform the 
drudgery of the farm, and it was believed 
that many of the families in the Highlands 
had one of the order attached to jt. They 
were supposed to be dispersed over the Higii- 
lands, each in his own wild recess, but the 
solemn stated meetings of the order were re- 
gularly held in this Cave of Benvenue. This 
current superstition, no doubt, alludes to some 
nrcumstance in the ancient history of this 
M\m\Yy. ^'—Scenery on tke Southern Confines of 
Perlhshire, p. 19, 1806— It must be owned that 



. Journey from Edinlniigli, Iboa, p. 109. 



the Coir, or Den, does not. in its present state, 
meet our ideas of a subterraneous grotto, or 
cave, being only a small and narrow cavity, 
among huge fragments of rocks rudely piled 
together. But such u scene is liable to con- 
vulsions of nature, wliich a Lowlander cannot 
estimate, and which may have choked up 
vvhai was originally a cavern. At least the 
name and tradition warrant the author of a 
fictitious tale to assert its having been such at 
the remote period m which this scene is laid. 



Note 2 R. 

The wild pass of Beal-nam-ho.—P. 178. 
Bealach-nam-bo, or the pass of cattle, is a 
most magnificent glade, overhung with aged 
birch-trees, a little higher up the mountain 
than the Coir-nan-Criskin, treated of in a 
former note. The whole composes the most 
sublime piece of scenery that imagination can 
conceive. 



Note 2 S. 

A gmgk page, to hear his sword. 
Alone attended on his lord — P. 178 

A Highland chief, being as absolute in his 
patriarchal authoiity as any prince, had a 
corresponding number of officers attached to 
his person. He had his body-guards, called 
Liurhttach.\)\ckfx\ from his clan for strength, 
activity, and entire devntion to his person. 
Tliese. according to their deserts, were sure 
to share abundiintly in the rude profusion of 
his hospitality. It is recorded, for example, by 
tradition, that Allan MacLean. chief of that 
clan, happened upon a time to hear one of 
these favourite re'aiuers observe to his com- 
rade, that their chiel' grew old — " \Mienredo 
you infer that?" replied the other —■' Wlien 
wiis It," rejoined the first, •' that a soldier of 
Allan's was obliged, as I am now, not only to 
eat the flesh from the bone, but even to tear 
off the inner skin, or filament]" The hint 
was quite sufficient, and .Maclean next morn- 
ing, to relieve his followers from such dire 
necessity, undertook an inroad on the main- 
land, the ravage of which altogether effaced 
the memory of his former expeditions for the 
like purpose. 

Our officer of Engineers, so often quoted, 
has given us a distinct list of the domestic 
oflScers who, independent of Litichltach. or 
gardes de corps, belonged to the establishment 
of a Highland Chief These are, 1. The Hejich- 
man. ^>ee these Notes, p. 208 2. The Bard. 
See p. 202. 3. Btod^er, or spokesman. 4. Gillie- 
wore, or sword-bearer, alluded to in the text. 
5 Gillie-casjlue, who carried the chief, if on 
foot, over the fords. 6. GiUie-conistraine, who 
leads the chief's horse. 7. Gillie-Tntshana- 
n«s/i. the baggage man. 8. The p/pei: 9 The 
piper's gillie or attendant, who carries the 
bagpipe. 2 Although this appeared, naturally 
enough, very ridiculous to an English officer, 
who considered the master of such a retinue 
as no more than an English gentleman of 
600^ a-year, yet in the circumstances of the 

2 Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 15. 



z 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 215 



chief, whose strenulh anJ itnportaiice con- 
si>t,e(] in the numher and atlachtTieiii of his 
fiillowers. it was of Uie hisi. riiTiseqiitiice, in 
point of pohcy, to have in his yitt sulioidiiiate 
offices, whicli called iniiiiediatcly round his 
person those who were most devoted to him. 
and, beinjr of value in their estimation, were 
also the means of rewarding them. 



Note 2 T. 

The Tmjhairm caWd ; by which, afar, 

ihiT sires fori saw the events of wir.—P 179. 

The Highliinders, like all rude people, had 
various superstitious modes of iiiquiriii!? into 
futuniy One of the most noted was the 
Ttit/inirm, mentioned in the text. A person 
was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-shnn 
bullock, and deposited beside a waferiall. or 
at the bottom of a precipice, or in some o her 
sti;iiijr(!, wild, and "imusiial situation, where 
llif- scfiieiy around liim siipeested nothiiiiT liut 
oljeds of liormr. In thissi: uat.on. he revolved 
in Ills mind the question proposed ; and what- 
ever was impressed upon hiin by his exaled 
iinaginatidii, pa.ssed for the inspiration of the 
di-embodied spirits, who haunt the desolate 
recesses In some of these Hebrides, they at- 
trit)uted the same oracuhir power to a lar^e 
black stone by the sea-shore, which they ap- 
proached with certain soiemnilies. and consi- 
dered the first fancy which came into their 
own minds, after tliey did so. to be the iin- 
doiihted dictate of llie tutelar deity of the 
.stone, and, as such, to be, if possible, punc- 
tually complied with. Martin has recorded 
the follovving curious modes of Highland au- 
gury, in wliich the 'I'ati^hairni. and its effects 
upon the person who was subjected to it, may 
seive to illustraie the text 

•' It was an ordinary thin? anions; the over- 
cm loiis lo eonsult an invisible oiacle. concern- 
iMs the fMie of taiiides and batiles, <fcc. This 
was pertoniieil iliree different ways: the first 
was by a company of men, one of whom, being: 
detached by lot, was afterwards carried to a 
river, whicli was the boundary between two 
villajjes; four of the company laid hold on 
him. and. haviii!? shut Ins eyes,' they took him 
by the lea:s and arms, and then, toss'jng him to 
and again, struck his hips with force against 
the bank. One of them cried out. What is it 
you have got here ? another answers, A log of 
i)irch wood I he other cries again. Let his 
invisible Irieiids appear from all quarters, and 
let them relieve him by giving an answer to 
our present demands: and in a few minutes 
alter, a number of little creatures came from 
the sea, who answered the question, and dis- 
apiieared suildenly. The man was then set at 
liberty, and they all returned home, to take 
their measures according lo the prediction of 
their false prophets; but the poor deluded 
fools were abused, for their answer w;i.s still 
ambiguous. This Was always prartised in the 
nisht, and may literally be called the works 
of darknes,« 

•'I had an account from the most intelligent 
and juduMous men in the Isle of Skie, that 
about sixty-two years ago. the oracle w;is thus 
consulted only once, and that was in the pa- 



rish of Kilmartin. on I he east side, by a wick- 
ed and mischievous race of people, wlio are 
now extinguished, both root and branch. 

'•The second way of consulting the oracle 
was by a party of men. who first retired to so- 
litary places, remote iVom any house, and there 
they singled out one of their number, and 
wrapt him in a biif cow's hide, which they 
folded about him ; his whole body was covered 
with it, except his head, and so left in this pos- 
ture ail night, until his invisible friends re- 
lieved him, by giving a proper answer to the 
qiiesiion in hand; which he received, as he 
fancied, from several persons that he found 
about him all that time. His consorts returned 
to him at the break of day, and then he coin- 
niunic:ated his news to tbein ; which ofen 
proved fatal to those concerned in such un- 
rtarraniable enquiries. 

'• I here was a t turd way of consultins:. which 
was a conhrmaiioii of the second above men- 
tioned. The same company vvho put the man 
into the hide, took a live cat, and put him on 
a spit; one of the number was employed to 
turn the spit, and one of Ins consorts enquired 
of linn. V\'hat are you doing? he answered. I 
roast this cat, unt 1 his fiiends answer the 
question; which must be the same thai was 
proposed by the man shut up in the hide. And 
afterwards, a very big cai ' comes, attended 
by a number of lesser cats, desiring to n lieve 
the cat turned upon ilie spit, and then answers 
the question. If this answer proved the same 
that was yiven to the man in the hide, then it 
was taken as a confirmation oft he other, which, 
in this case, w.is believed inialuhle. 

•"Mr. Alexander Cooper, present minister of 
North-Vist, lold me, that one John Erach, la 
the Isle of Lewis, assured him, it was his faie 
to have been led liy his curiosity with some 
who consulted this oracle, and ihat he vvas a 
night within the hide, as above mentioned ; 
tiuriiig which time he felt and heard such ter- 
rible things, that he could not express them; 
the impression it made on him was such as 
could never go off, and he said, for a thousand 
wo Ids he would never again be concerned in 
tiie like performance, for this had discndeied 
him to a high degree. He co ifessed it inge- 
nuously, and with' an air of great remorse, and 
seemed to be very penitent under a just sense 
of so great a crime: he declared ihis about 
five years since, and is still living in the Lewis 
lor anv thing I know."— D'ScrtplKm of tht 
Westtrn IsUs. p. 110. See also Ftnnant's ScoL- 
tis'i Tour, vol. u. p. 3bL 



Note 2 U. 

The choicest of the prey we had, 

When swept our mtiry men Gallangad — P. 180. 

1 know not if it be worth observing, that 
this passage is taken almost literally from the 
mouth of an old Highland Kern or Keiteran, 
as they were called. He used to narrate the 
merry doings of the good old tiihe when he 
was follower of Kob Roy MacGregor. This 



1 The reader may have met with the story ( 
of the Cats," in I^rd LitU>-ton'a Letleis It h 
\u the Highlauds as a nursery lale. 



V 



f 21G 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



leader, on one (ir.cusion, Ihonsjlit proper to 
make a desceul upon ihe lower part of the 
Liicli I.oiiioiiil (lislric.t, and summoned all llie 
heritors and farmers to meet at the Kirk of 
Drvnien, to pav ium hiack-mail. !. c. tribute tor 
forbearance and protection As this invitation 
was siipfiorted by a l)and of thirty or forty stout 
fellows, otilv one (fentleman, an ancestor, if I 
inisiake not, of the present Mr Urahame of 
Gaitmore, ventiiied to decline compliance. 
Kol) Kov iiislantly swefit Ins hind of all he 
could drive away, and amoMf the spoil was a 
bull of the old Scoliish wild breed, whose fe- 
rocity occasioned great plague to the Kette- 
rans. " Hut ere we had reached the Row of 
Dfiinan," said the old man. '• a child misht 
have scratched his ears." > l"he circumstance 
is a minute one. but it paints the times when 
tlie poor beeve was compelled 

•• To tioof it o'er as mai.y weary miles, 
Willi goading iiikemen hollowing at his lieels, 
As '-■'ur the bravest antlor of the woods." 

Efhwali. 



Note 2 V. 

That hvge cliff, whose mnpk vprgp. 

Trathtton calls the Hero's Targe —P. 180. 

There is a rock so named in the Forest of 
Glenfinlas, by which a tumubuary cataract 
takes its course Tins vvild place is said in 
former times to have afforded refujie to an 
outlaw, who was supplied with provisions by 
a v.'oman. who lowered them down from the 
brink of the precipice above. His water he 
procured for himself, by lettms down a flason 
tied to a string, into the black pool beneath 
the fall. 



Note 2 W. 



Thai,, watchiutj while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with sullen croak ? — P. 180. 

Broke — Quartered. — Every tliin<r belonging 
to the chase was matter of solemnity among 
our ancestors ; but nothing was more so than 
the mode of cutting up, or, as it was techiii- 
nally called, breaking, the slausjhiered stag. 
The forester had his allotted portion; the 
hounds had a certain allowance ; and, to 
make the division as general as possible, the 
very birds had their share also. -There is a 
little gristle," says Tuberville. " which is upon 
Vhe spoone of the brisket, which we call the 
raven's bone ' and 1 have seen in some places 
a raven so wont and accustomed to it, that she 
would never fail to croak and cry for it all the 
time you were in breaking up of the deer, and 
would not depart till she liad it." In the very 
ancient metrical romance of SirTristrein.that 
peerless knight, who is said to have been the 
very deviser of all rules of chase, did not omit 
the ceremony : — 



•' The I 



luen he yaue his yittes 
the fourehed tre." 

Sir TrisiTcm. 



The raven might also challenge his rishts 
by the Book of St. Albans ; for thus says Uame 
Juliana Berners :— 

"Sllttelhanon 
The nely to the side, from the corhyti bone ; 
That is corbyuV fee, at the death he will be." 

Jonson, in "The Sad Shepherd," gives a 
more poetical account of the same cere- 
mony : — 

" Mtirian — He thiit undoes him, 

D'th (leave the brisket bone, upon the spoon 

Of which a little gristle grows -you call it— 

Roiiin Hood —The raven's bone. 

Murian —Now o'er head sat a raven 
On a .sere hough, a grown, great bird, and hoarso, 
Who, all Ihe while the deer was bri-aking up. 
So croak'd and cried for't, .is all the ImnlBinen, 
Especially old Scall.lock, thought it ominous." 



Note 2 X. 

Which spills the foremost forma n s life, 
T'lal party conquers in the strife.—?. 180. 

Though this be in the text described as a 
response of the Taghairm. or Oracle of the 
Hide, it WaS of itself an augury frequently at- 
tended to The fate of the battle was often 
anticipated in the imagination of the combat- 
an's, by observing which party first shed blood. 
It is said that the Highlanders under Montrose 
were so deeply imbued with this notion, that, 
on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, 
tliey murdered a defenceless herdsman, whom 
they found in the fields, merely to secure an 
advantage of so much consequence to their 
party. 



Note 2 Y. 

Alice Brand.—?. 181. 

This little fairy tale is founded upon a very 
curious Danish ballad, which occurs in the 
Kcempe Viser, a collection of heroic soiiss. first 
published in 1591. ami reprinted in 1695. in- 
scribed by Anders Sofrensen. the (collector and 
editor, to Sophia Queen of Denmark. I have 
been favoured with a literal translation of the 
original, by my learned friend Mr Robert Ja- 
mieson, whose deep knowledge of Scandina- 
vian antiquities will, 1 hope, one day be dis- 
played in illustration of the history of Scottish 
I3allad and Song, for which no man po.ssesses 
more ample materials. The story will remind 
the readers of the Border Minstrelsy of the 
tale of Young Tandane. But this is only a so- 
litary and not very marked instance of coinci- 
dence, whereas several of the other ballads in 
the same collection find exact counterparts in 
the Kampe Viser. Which may have been the 
originals, will be a question for future anti- 
quaries. Mr. Jamieson, to secure the power 
of literal translation, has adopted the old Scot- 
tish idiom, which approaches so near to that 
of the Danish, as almost to give word for word, 
as well as line for line, and indeed in many 
verses the orthography alone is altered. As 



\ 



1 This anecdote was. in former editions, inaccurately been assured, not addicted to his predator exctaaea.- 
Greeor Maigregor of Glengvle, called Ohlune Note tu Third Edil-vm. 
or Black-knee, a relation of Rob Koj, but, as 1 have 



Z 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE 



Wrslrr H'lf, mentioiietl in llie first stanzns (if 
llie b:illad. means tlie West Sea, in opposition 
lo the Baltic, or East Sea, Mr. Janiieson in- 
.•^lines to he of opinion, that the scene of the 
disenrlianlment is laid in one of the Orl<ney. 
or Hebnde Islands. 'I'o each verse in the ori- 
Kiiial IS added a hurdeii, haviiis a kind of 
nieatiins of its own. but not ajiplioable, at least 
not uniformly applicable, to the sense of the 
saiiza to wllich it is subjoined: tins is very 
couiinon iKilli at Danish and Scottish song. 



THE ELFIN GRAY. 

TRA.NSLATED KROM THK U.WISH K^EMPE VISER, 
p. M3., AND FIRST PURUSHED IN 1691. 

Der linger en void i Vfster Haf, 
Dtr aoter en bonde at byg'ie : 
Hand forer did baadf hog og hund, 
Oq ngter der om vinferen at ligge. 
(De vilde diur og dinrene udi skofven ) 



1. 
There li??s a wold in Wester Haf. 

There a husbande means to h\sz. 
And thither he carries bairh hawk and hound, 

There meaning the winter to liggj- 
( The wild dter and does V the shaw out.) 

2, 

He taks \vi' him haith hound and cock, 

The laneer he means to stay. 
The wild deer in the shaws that are 

May sairly rue the day. 
{The wild deer, 4c.) 

3. 
He's hew'd the beech, and he's fell'd the aik, 

Sae has he the poplar erray; 
And srim in moncl was the ^rewsome elf, 

That be sae bald he may 



He hew'd him kipples. he hew'd him bawks, 

\V|' mirkle moil and haste ; 
Syne speer'd the Elf i' the knock that bade, 
"•' VVha'.s hacking here sae fast!" 

5. 
Syne up and spak the weiest Elf, 

Crean'd as an immert sma : 
" It's here is come a Christian man ; — 

I'll fley hira or he go." 

6. 
It's up syne started the firsten Elf, 

And giower'd about sae srim : 
"It's we'll awa' to the husbande's house, 

And haid a court on him. 



" Here hews he down baith skug? and shaw. 
And works us skaith and scorn : 

His huswife he sail gie to me ; — 
They's rue the day they were horn !" 

1 TAiJ tintular quatrain Hands thus in the original : — 
•* Hunfien hand gior i eaarden ; 
Hiorden lude i fii( horu ; 
Oenien skrigpr. og hanen galer. 
Som l»ond>-n hafde gifvet sit korn " 




The Elfen a' i' the knock that were 

Gaed dancing in a string ; 
They nii;hed near the husbande's liou.se ; 

Sae lang their tails did hiug. 

9. 
The hound he yowls i' the yard, 

The herd toots in his horn ; 
The earn scraighs. ami the cock craws. 

As the husbande has gi'en him his corn.l 
10. 
The Elfen were five score and seven, 

Sae laidly and sa<j grim ; 
And they tiie husbande's guests maun be, 

To eat and drink wi' him. 
11. 
The husbande, out o' Villenshaw, 

At his winnock tlie Elves can see , 
" Help me, now, Jesu. Mary's son ; 

Thir Elves they mint at me !" 
12. 
In every nook a cross he coost. 

In his chaliiier maist ava ; 
The Elfen a' were fley'd thereat, 

And flew to the wild-wood shaw. 
13. 
And some flew east, and some flew west, 

And some to the norwart flew; 
And some they flew to the deep dale down, 

There still they are, I trow.a 
14. 
rt was then the weiest Elf, 

In at the door braids he ; 
Agast was the husbande. for that Elf 

For cross nor sign wad flee. 
15. 
The huswife she was a cannv wife. 

She set the Elf at the board ; 
She set before him bailh ale and meat, 

Wi' mony a weel-waled word. 
16. 
" Hear thou, Gudeman o' Villenshaw, 

What now I say to thee ; 
Wha bade thee bigg wiihiii our bounds. 

Without the leave o' me 1 

17. 
"But an thou in our bounds will bigg. 

And bide, as well as may be. 
Then thou thy dearest huswife maun 

To me for a lemnian gie." 
18. 
Up spak the luckless husbande then, 

As God the srrace him srae ; 
" Eline she is to me sae dear. 

Her thou may nae-gate hae." 
19. 
Till the Elf he answer'd as he coutt: 

" Let but my huswife be, 
And tak whate'er, o' gude or gear. 

Is mine, awa wi' thee." — 

i In the Danish :— 

•'Somme flnye osier, og gomrne floye vegter, 
Nogle floye nor paa ; 
Nogle floye ned i dybene dale, 
Jeg troff de ne der eodnu." 



f 218 



COTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



20. 
'•Then I'll thy Eline tiik and thee, 

Aueath mv feet to trend ; 
And hide thy ?()ud and white monie 

Aueath my dwalling stead." 

21. 
The hiisbande and his househald a' 

In sary rede they join: 
" Far belter that she be now forfairn, 

Nor that we a' should tyne." 

22. 
Up, will of rede, the husbande stood, 

wr heart fu' sad and sair ; 
Ami he has pien his huswife Eline 

Wi' the young Elfe to fare. 

23. 
Then blyth grew he, and sprang about : 

He took her in his arm : 
The rud it left her comely i^heek ; 

Her heart was cleni'd wi' harm. 

24. 
A waefu' woman then siie was ane, 

And the moody te;irs loot fa' : 
"God rew on me, nnseely wife, 

How liard a weird I fa' ! 

25. 
" My fay 1 plight to the fairest wight 

That man on mold mat see ; — 
Waun I now mell wi' a laidly El, 

His light lemman to be ]"' 

^. 
He minted anre— he minted twice, 

Wae wa.ii'd her lieart that syth : 
Syne the laidliest fiend he grew that e'er 

To mortal ee did kytli. 

27. 
When he the thirden time ran mint 

To Mary's son she pray'd, 
And the laidly Elf was dean awa. 

And a fair knight in his stead. 



This fell under a linden green. 
That again his shape he found ; 

O' wae and care wa.« the word nae mair, 
A' were sae glad that slound. 



" O dearest Eline, hear thou this. 
And thou my wife sail he, 

Antl a' the goud in merry England 
Sae freely I'll gi'e thee ! 

30. 
" Whan I was but a little wee bairn. 

My mither died me fra ; 
My stepmither sent me awa' fra her; 

I tum'd till an Elfin Gra:}, 

31. 
" To thy husbande I a gift will gie, 

Wi' mickle state and gear, 
As mends for Eline his huswife ; — 

Thou'a be my he artis dear." — 



32. 
"Thou nobil knyght. we thank now God 

That has freed us frae skaith ; 
Sae wed thou thee a maiden free, 

And joy attend ye baith ! 

33. 
" Sin' I to thee nae maik can be 

Mv dochter may be thine ; 
And' thy gud will right to fulfill, 

Lat this be our propine."— 

34. 
" I thank thee, Eline, thou wise vvoman , 

My praise thy worth sail ha'e ; 
And thy love gin I fail to win, 

Thou here at hame sail stay." 

3.'i. 
The husbande biggit now on his oe, 

And nae ane wrought him wrung ; 
His dochter wore crown in Engeland, 

And happy lived and lang. 

36. 
Now Eline, the husbande's huswife, has 

Cour'd a' her grief and harms; 
She's mither to a noble queen 

I'hat sleeps in a kingis arms 

OLOSSARY. 

St. 1. Wold, a woody fastness. 

Husbande, from the Dan. hos, with, and 
bonde, a villain, or Ixmdsman, wiio was 
a cultivator of the ground, and rould 
not quit the estate to which he was 
attached, without the permission of 
his lord. This is the sense of the 
word, in the old Scottish records. In 
the Scottish "Burghe Laws," trans- 
lated from the Reg. Majcst. (Auchm- 
leck MS. in the Adv. Lib.) it is used 
indiscriminately with the Dan. and 
Swed. bonde. 

Bigg, build. 

Liijg. lie. 

Dnes, does. 
2. Shaw, wood. 

Snirly, sorely. 
.3. Aili. oak. 

Grewsome, terrilile. 

Bald. bold. 
4. Hippies (couples), beams joined at thff 
top, for supporting a roof, in bnilding. 

Bnwhs, balks ; cross beams. 

Moil, laborious industry. 

Spcer'd, asked. 

K?ioclc, hillock. 
6. Weirst. smallest. 

Crean'd, shrunk, diminish *d; from tlie 
Gaelic, crian, very small. 

Immeit. emmet ; ant 

Christian, used in the Danish ballads, 
<kc. in contradistinction to demoniac, as 
it is in England in contradistinction to 
brute; in which sense, a person of the 
lower class in England, would call a 
Jew or a Turk a Christian. 

Flry, frighten. 

6. Glower'd. stared. 
Hald, hold 

7. Skngg, shade. 
Skaith, harm. 



^ 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 219 



8. Niuhed. approached. 

9. Yowls, howls. 

Toots— Ui the Dan tude is applied both 
to the howling of a dog, and the sound 
of a liorii. 

Scraighs. screams. 

10. Laidiy, loathly ; disgustingly ugly. 
Grim, fierce. 

11. Winnock, window. 
Mint, aim at. 

12 Coast, cast. 

Chabner, chamber. 

Mnist. most. 

^m, of all. 
13. Norw'irt, northward. 

Trow, believe. 
U. Braids, strides quickly forward. 

Wad, would. 
15. Canny, adroit. 

Mony. many. 

Weel waled, well chosen. 

17. An. if. 
Bute, abide. 
L^mman. mistress. 

18. N'teoale. iiovvi.se. 

19. Cinilh. could, knew how to. 
Lilt be. let alone 

Gwie, siinds ; property. 

20. Aneath, beneath. 
BwaUiiifj-s/ead, dwelling-place. 

21. Sary. sorrowful. 

Rfide, ciiunsei ; consultation. 
J'brra/Vn, f irioni ; lost; ijone. 
Tyne, (verii neut.) be lost; perish. 

22. Will of rede, bewildered in tliousht. in 

the Danish original " v/ldraiulaije ;" 
Lat. " mops oinsilii ;" Gr. uTropwv. 
This expression is left among the dfsi- 
de.rala in the Glossary to Kilsoii's 
Romances, and has never been ex- 
plained, ft is obscilete in the Danish 
as well as in English. 
Fare. go. 

23. Rtul, red of the cheek. 

Ctem'd, in the Danish klemt ; (which in 
the north of England is still in u.«e. as 
the word starved is with us; brought 
to a dying state. It is used by our old 
comedians. 

Harm, grief: as in the oriffinal. and in 
the old Teutonic, English, and Scot- 
tish poeiry 
ai. Waefu\ woeful 

Moody, strongly and wilfully possionate. 

Rew. take ruth ; pity. 

f/zispciy. unhappy ; nnhlest. 

Weird, fate. 

Fa, (Isl Dan. and Swed ) taKe ; get; 
acquire ; procure ; have for my lot — 
This Gothic verb answers, in its direct 
and secondary significations, exactly 
to the Latin capio ; and Allan Ramsay 
was riKht in Ins definition of it. It is 
quite adiffer,-!iit word from /a', an ab- 
breviai ion of 'Jail, or befall ; and is the 
principal root in fangen, to fang, take, 
or lay hold of 



1 •" Under oe."— The original expression has been pre- 
•erve<l here and fl.sewhere, because no other couM be 
found to supply its place. There is just as much meaning 
ill it in the translation as in the original; but it is a 
standard nani!<h ballad phrase; and as such, it is hoped, 
will bK allowed to pass. 



25. Fny, faith. 

Mold, mould ; earth. 

Mat, .^ll>te ; might. 

Mnun. must. 

Metl, mix. 

El., an elf This term, in the Welsh, 
signifies what has in ilsdf the power of 
motion ; a movino principle ; an inlelli- 
gmce ; a spirit ; an unjel. In the He- 
lirew it bears the same import. 

26. Af/.'i/trf, attempted ; meant; showed a 

mind, or intention to. The original 
is: — 
' Hand mindte hende forst — os anden gang ; — 

llun siordis i hiorlet sa vee : 

End blef hand den 'ledisle deif-ve] 

.Maud kunde med oyeii see. 

Der hand vilde minde den tredie gang," &c. 
Sylh. tide; time. 
Kyth, appear. 

23. SloHud, \w\i\i : time; moment. 

29. Merry (old Teut. mere), famous; re- 
nowned ; answerins, in its etymolo- 
gical meaning, exactly to the Latin 
ttuictus. Hence merry-men, as the ad- 
dress of a chief to his ftillowers; 
meaning, not men of ninth, liut of re- 
Ri.wn. The term is found in its oii- 
ginal sense in the Gael, mara, and the 
Welsh 7nawr, great ; and in the oldest 
Teut. Romances, mar. mer, ami mere, 
have sometimes l he same .signification. 

31. Mends, amends; recompense. 

33. Mdik. match; peer; equal. 
Tropine, pledge ; gift. 

35. oe, an island of the second magnitude ; 

an island of the first magnitude Ijeiiig 
called a iand, and one of tlie third 
magnilude a holm. 

36. Coui'd, recover'd. 



THE GIIAIST'S WARNING. 

TR.\NSL.VTED FROM THE D.^^SISH K-EMPK VISER, 
p. 721. 

By the permission of Mr. Jamieson. this hdlnd 
IS added frvm the same curious Collection. It 
contains some passaijes of great pathos. 



Svend Dyrimj hand rider sig op under oe, 

( Vaipjea selver una) 
Der faste hand sia saa ven rn moe. 

{Miy lyster luli lunden at ride,) JfC. 



Child Dyrin? has ridden him up under oe,l 

(Aiid O ijin I were youiuj !) 
There wedded he him sae fair^ a may. 

( r the greenwood it lists me to ride.) 

Thegither they lived for seven lang vear, 

(And 0,SrC.) 
And they seven bairns hae gotten in fere. 

( /' the greenwood, <f c. ) 



2 "Fair "—The Dan. and Swell ven, vaen, or vmne, and 
the O.iel, ban, in the oblique case« hhan, (van), is the ori- 
gin of ihe Scottish ftonn" which has so mu^h puJzled all 
the etymologists. 



^: 



^ 



y4 



220 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Sae Deatti's come there iiitill that stead, 
And that winsome lily flower is dead. 

Thai swain he has ridden him up iinde oe, 
And syne lie has married anilher may. 

He's married a may. and iie's fessen her hame ; 
But she was a grim and a laidly dame. 

When into the casteil court drave she. 

The seven bairns stood wi' the tear in their ee. 

The bairns they stood wi' dule and doubt ;— 
She up wi' her foot, and she kick'd them out. 

Nor ale nor mead to the bairiiies she gave : 
" But hunser and iiate frae me ye's have." 

She took fr<ie tiiem the bowster blae, 
And said, " Ye sail Ijgg i' the bare strae 1" 

She took frae them the grnff wax-li?lit : 
Say, '• Now ye sail hgg i' the mirk a' night !" 

'Twas lang i' the ni^lit, and the bainiies grat: 
Their mither she under the mools heard that ; 

That heard the wife under the eard that lay; 
'• Fur sooth maun I to my bairnies gae !" 

That wife can stan up at our Lord's knee, 
And " May I gang and my bairnies see V 

She prigged sae sair, and she prigged sae 

lang, 
That he at the last ga'e her leave to gang. 

*' And thou sail come back when the cock does 

craw. 
For thou nae langer sail bide awa." 

Wr her banes sae stark a bowt she gae ; 
She's riven baith wa' and marble gray.i 

Whan near to the dwalling she can gang, 
I'he dogs they wow'd till the lift it rang. 

When she came till the casteil yett. 
Her eldest dochter stood thereat. 

" Why stand ye here, dear dochter mine? 
How are sm' brithers and sisiers thine ?" — 

'■ For sooth ye're a woman baith fair and fine ; 
But ye are nae dear niiilier of mine." — 

'■ Och ! how should I be fine or fair ? 

My cheek it is pale, and tiie ground's my 

lair."— 
" My mither was white, wi' cheek sae red ; 
But thou art wan, and likcr ane dead." — 

•'Och ! how should I be white and red, 
Sae lang as I've been cauld and dead ?" 

When she cam till the chalmer in, 
Down the bairns' cheeks the tears did rin. 

She buskit the tane, and she brusli'd it there; 
She keni'd and plaited the tither's hair. 
The thirden she (ioodl'd upon her knee. 
And the fouithen she diclited sae cannilie. 

She's ta'eii the fifthen upon her lap, 
And sweetly suckled it at her pap. 

Till her eldest dochter syne said she, 
*• Ye bid Child Dyring come here to me." 



:^ 



1 The original of this 
Eiie. 

" Hun skod op j 



Jiid the foi 
ine modige 



Wlian he cam till the chalmer in, 
Wi' angry mood she said to him ; 

" I left you roulh o' ale and bread : 
My bairnies quail for hunger and need. 

"I left ahind me braw bowsters blae : 
My bairnies are liggin' i' the bare strae. 

" I left ye sae niony a grofl" wax-light ; 
My bairnies ligg i' the mirk a' night. 

" Gin aft I come back to visit thee, 

Wae, dowy, and weary thy luck shall be." 

Up spak little Kirstm in bed that lay: 
"To thy bairnies I'll do the best I may." 

Aye when they heard the dog nirr and bell, 
Sae ga'e they the bairnies bread and ale. 

Aye whan the dog did wow. in haste 
I'hey cross'd and sain'd thenisells frae the 
ghaist. 

Aye whan the little dog yowl'd, with fear 

{And O (jin 1 were youwj !) 
They shook ar the thousht the dead was near 

(i' the greenwood it lists me to ride. ) 
or, 

{Fair words sae moiiy a heart they chter.) 

GLOSS.\RY. 

St. 1. May, maid. 

Lists, pleases. 

2. Stead, place. 

3. Bairns, children. 
In fere, together. 

Winsome, engaging; giving joy, (old 
Tent ) 

4. Syne, then. 

5. Fe.wcM, fetched; brought. 

6. Drnve. drove. 

7. Dule, sorrow. 
Dout, fear. 

8 Bf»*s/er, bolster; cushion; bed. 
Blae. blue. 
Strae. straw. 

10. Grqff. great ; large in girt. 
Mark, mirk ; dark. 

11. Lutuj i' the niyht, late. 
Grat, wept. 

il'/oote, mould; earth. 

12. Eard, earth. 
Gae, go. 

14 Prigged, entreated earnestly and oerse- 
verinarly. 
Gang, go. 
l.'i. Craw, crow. 

16. Banes, bones. 
Stark, strong. 

Bowt, bolt : elastic spring, like that of a 

bolt or arrow from a bow. 
Riven, split asunder. 
Wa\ wall. 

17. Wow'd. howled. 

Lift, sky, firmament ; air. 

18. ye?/, gate. 

19. Sma\ small. 

22. Lire, complexion. 
2.'3. Cald. cold. 
24. Till, to. 
Rin, run. 



Der revenede inuur og graa marmorBteen, 
l>t!r hun glk iE**nnem den by. 
Dc hundc tie tude sua htijt i sky." 



T 



A 



7" 



N. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 221 

beauty. The seemingly hnppy inliiibitnnts pass 
their linic in festivity, and in dancins to notes 
of the softest music. But unhajipy is the 
mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to 
partal^e of their dainties. By this indulgenre, 
1ie foifeits for ever tl»e society of men. and is 
bound down irrevocalily to tlie condition of 
Sfit'ich, or Man of Peace. 

•' A woman, as is reported in the Hishland 
tradition, was conveyed, in davs of yore, mio 
tiie secret recesses of the Men of Peace. 
I here she was recognised by one who had 
formerly been an ordinary mortal, but who 
had. by some fatality, become associated vvith 
the Shi'iclis. Tins acquaintance, still retain- 
iu? some portion of human benevolence, 
warned her of her danser, and rounselled 
her, as she valued her liberty, to abstain from 
eaims? and drinkins with them for a certain 
«ipace of tune. She complied with the coun.sel 
of her friend; and when the period assigned 
was elapsed, she found herself ai:ain upon 
earth, rt-stoied to the society of morliils. It is 
added, that when she examined the vi.inds 
whicli had been pie.sented to her. and which 
had aftpeared so teiiiptinK: to the eve. they 
were found, now that the ennhantmeiit was 
removed, to consist only of the refuse of the 
earth."— P. 107-111. 



^ 



25. Bnshil, dressed. 

Ktm'd. Combed. 

Tilhcr, the otlier. 
23. Kouth, plenty. 

Quad, are qiielled ; die 

Need, rt'aiii. 
29. Ahirid, heiiind. 

Biaw. brave ; tine. 
31. DoMjy. sorrowful. 

33. Ntrr. snarl. 
Edl.h-.irk. 

34. Sained, blessed ; literally, signed vvith 

the sign of the cross. Before the in- 
troduction of Chri.stianity. Runes were 
used in sinning, as a spell against the 
power of enchantment and evil genii. 
Ghaist. ghost. 



Note 2 Z. 



the moody Elfin King.—?. 206. 



In a Ion? dissertation upon the Fairy Super- 
stitions, published in the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border, the most valutible part of 
which was supplied by my learned and indefa- 
tigable friend. Dr. John Leyden, most of the 
circumstances are collected which can throw 
liffht upon the popular belief which even yet 
prevails respectm? them in Scotland. Dr. 
Grahame. auhor<if an entertaining work upon 
the Scenery of the Perthshire Higlilands. al- 
ready frequently quoted, has recorded, with 
preat accuracy, the peculiar tenets held by t'le 
Highlanders ou this topic, m the vicinity of 
Loch Katrine. The learned author is inclined 
to deduce the whole mytholo?y from the Dru- 
idical .system. — an opinion to which there are 
many oiijections. 

•• 'f'he Daoine Shi\ or Men of Peace of the 
Highlanders, ihoush not absolutely malevo- 
lent, are believed to be a (leevish, repinin? 
race of beinsrs, who. iio.ssessin^ themselves Itul 
a scanty portion of happiness, are sup[Mised to 
envv mankind their iimre complete and sub- 
stantial enjoyments. They are supposed lo 
enjoy in their subterraneous recesses a sort of 
shadowy happiness,— a tinsel srandeur; which, 
however, they would willmsly exchange for 
the more solid joys of mortality. 

"They are believed to inhabit certain round 
grassy eminences, where they celebrate their 
nocturnal festivities by the lisiht of the moon. 
About a mile beyond the source of the Forth 
above Lochcon, there is a place called Coir- 
shi'an.m the Cove of the Men of Peace, which 
is still supposed to be a favourite place of their 
residence. In the neighbourhood are to be 
seen many round conical eminences ; ptirticu- 
larly one, near the head of the lake, by the 
skirls of which many are still afiai<l to pass 
after sunset. Ii is believed, that if. on Hallow- 
eve, any person, alone, goes nmnd one of these 
liills nine times, towards the left hand (sinis- 
trorstim). a door shall open, by which he will 
be admitted into their subterraneous abodes. 
Many, it is said, of mortal race, have been en- 
tertained in their secret recesses. There they 
have been received info the most splendid 
apartments, and regaled with the most sump- 
tuous banquets, and delicious wmes. 'i'heir 
females surpass the daughters of men in 



Note 3 A. 

Why smiiuls yon stroke on bicch and oak. 

Our moonliyhl circle's screen 1 
Or who conns here to chnse llu: deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen .?— P. 181. 

It has been already observed, that fairies, if 
not positively malevolent, are capricious, and 
easily otfended. They are. like other pro- 
prietors of forests, peculiarly jealous of their 
rights of veri and venison, as appears from the 
cause of offence taken, in the original Danish 
ballad. This jealousy was also an attribute 
ol the northern Duergnr. or dwarfs; to many 
of whose distinctions the fairies seem to have 
succeeded, if, indeed, they ;ire not the same 
class of beuiirs. In the liuire metrical recmd 
of German Chivalry, entitled the llelden-Huch, 
Sir Hildebrand. and the other heroes of whi>m 
It treats, are engaged in one of their mn.st des- 
perate adventures, from a r:ish violation of 
the rose-gaideii of an tliin. or Dwarf King. 

There are yet traces of a belief m this worst 
and most imdicions order of Fairies, among 
the Border wiids Dr. Leyden Ins introduced 
such a dwarf into his b:illail entrled the Cout 
of KeeUiar, and has not forgot his character- 
istic detestation of the chase. 

"The third blist Ih.it young Keeldar blew, 
Slill stood Ihe limber fern, 
And a wee m.in, of swarlhy hue. 
Upstarted by a cairu. 



' His russet weeds were brown a 
Thai ilothew the upland fell ; 
And tlie hair of his head wa 
As the purple heather-bell, 



heath 
frizzly re<J 



The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled 
A8 6trui'k by fairy ebann. 



\ 



19^ 



'T 



^ 



■ ' Why rises high tht? stag-hound's cry, 
\^■h^•^e cjtag-houiid ne'er should be 7 
Why wakes Ihiit horn the silent morn, 
Without the leave of me 7' 

'• Brown dwarf, that o'er the moorland strays. 

Thy name lo Keeldar tell :•— 
' The Brown man of the Moors, who jtayi 

Uenealh the heuther-bell. 

"Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 



Tlie poetical picture hereeiven of the Duer- 
gnr coirespotids ex;ictlv with the followms; 
Norflinmhn:in lejceml. wii h which I was hitely 
favimred t)y my learned tiiid kind friend, Mr. 
Surtees of Mtiiiisforth, who has bestowed in- 
defatiirahle hiboiir upon the antiquities of the 
English Border counties 'I'he snhject is in 
iiseir so rtiiidus, that the leiig^th of the note 
will. I hope, he pardoned. 

'• I iiave only one record to offer of the ap- 
pearance of Diir .Vorihiinibrian Duerg::ir. Mv 
nairatrix is Elizabeth Cockburii. an old wife 
of Orteiton. in this county, whose credit, in a 
case of this kind, will not. I hope, be much 
iinpeticlied, when [ add, that she is, by her 
(lull neiirhbours, supposed to be occasionally 
insane, but. by herself, to be at those times 
endowed with a faculty of seems: visions, and 
spectral appearanties. which shun the common 
ken. 

•• In the year before the sjreat rebellion, two 
youiia: men from .Newcastle were sportins on 
the lush moors above Elsdoii. and after pur- 
sums Ilieir uauie severttl hours, sat down to 
diiio in as'cen slen, near one of the mountain 
streams. After their repast, the vounser lad 
ran to the lirook for w;iler, and iifter stoopin? 
to drink, was surpri.sed. on liftms his head 
asaiii, by the appeanuice of a brown dwarf, 
who stood on a cms: cover /d wih biackens, 
across the burn 'I'lus exiraoidmarv person- 
use did not appear to be above half the stature 
of a Common man. hut was iincoinmoiiiv stout 
and bmad-built, havins the appeanuice of vaNt 
streiisth. His dre.ss was entirely brown, the 
colour of the brackens, ami his head covered 
with frizzled red hair Flis Cduii'enance was 
expressive of the most savase ferocity, tinil his 
eyes slared li^e a bull It ,-eeiiis he addies.'-ed 
the youns man hi>t, ihreiiteiiiiis IiIjii witli his 
vengeance, for havins trespassed on his de- 
mesnes, and asknis hini if he knew in who-e 
presence he s:ood? 'I'lie youth replied, that 
he now su|. posed him to he the lord of the 
moors; tnat he oHended throush isnorance; 
and offered to bring him the game he had 
killed The dwarf was a little mollified by 
this submission, but remarked, that nothing 
could be more offensive to him than such 
an offer, as he considered the wild animals 
as Ins subjects, and never faded to avenge 
their destruction He coiidescemled further 
to inform him, that he was, like himself, 
mortal, though of years far exceeding the lot 
of common humanity; and (what 1 should not 
have hail an idea of) thai he hoped for salva- 
lle never, he added, fed on any thing 
lliat h.(d life, but lived in the summer on 



wortle-berries, and in winter on nuts and 
apples, of which he liad great store in the 
woods. Finally, he invited his new acquaint- 
ance to accompany him home and partake liis 
hospitality ; an offer which the youth was on 
the point of accepting, and was just going to 
spring across the brook (which, if he had done, 
says Elizabeth, the dwarf would certainly 
have torn him in pieces), when his foot was 
arrested by the voice of his companion, who 
thought he had tarried long: and on looking 
rounii again, "the wee brown man w;is fled.' 
The story adds, 1 hat he was imprudent enoush 
to slight the admonition, and to sport over the 
moors on his way homewards; l)ut soon after 
his return, he fell into a lingering disorder, 
and died within the year." 



Note 3 B. 

Who viay dare on wold to wfar 

The fairies' fatal (jreen ? — P. 181 
As the Daoi?ie Shi', or Men of Peace, wore 
green habits, they were supposed to take 
offence when any mortals ventured to assume 
their favourite colour. Indeed, from some 
reason which has been, perhaps, originally a 
general superstition, gree7i is held in Scotland 
to be unlucky to particular tribes and counties. 
The Caithness men. who hold this belief, 
allege as a reason, that Iheir bands wore lliat 
colour when they were cut off at the battle of 
Flodden ; and tVtr the same reason they avoid 
crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day 
of the week on which the ill-omened array 
set forth. Green is also disliked by those of 
the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is it 
held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It 
is remembered of an aged gentleuMn of that 
name, that, when his horse leli la a fox-chase, 
he accounted for ii at once by observing, that 
the whipcord attached lo his lush was of this 
unlucky colour. 



Note 3 C. 

For thou wert chrisleii'd man — P. 181. 
The elves were supposed greatly to envy the 
privileges acgiiired by Christian •.iiitiation, ;iiid 
they gave to those 'mortals who had fallen 
into tlieir power acerttiin precedence, founded 
upon this advaniageoiis distinction. Tamlane, 
in the old ballad, describes his own rank lu 
the fairy procession :— 

" For I ride on a millt-white steed, 

And aye nearest the town ; 

Because 1 was a chrislei/d knight. 

They give me that renown." 

1 presume that, in the Danish ballad of the 
Elfin Gray (see Appendix. Note 3 A), the ob- 
siiiiacy of Mie " Weiest Elf." who would not 
flee foi cross or sign, is to be derived from the 
circumstance of his having been "christen'd 
man " 

How eager the Elves were to obtain for their 
offspring the preioga'ives of Christianity will 
be proved by the following story:— "In the 
district called Haga, in Iceland, dwelt a noble- 
man called Sigwaid Forster, who had an in- 
trigue with one of tlie liubterranoan females. 



A 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



The elf becume presnanr. ami exacted from 
her lover a firm piomise th:it he would pro- 
cure the baptism of the infant. At ttie ap- 
pointed time, the mother came to the church- 
yard, on the wall of which she phired ajcoldeii 
cup, and a stole for the priest. agree;ihle to 
the custom of mukmsf hu otfenna: at baptism 
She tiien stood a li'tle apart. Wiien the priest 
left the church, he enquired the uKjauiiia: of 
what he saw, and demanded of Sigrwurd if he 
avowed himself tlie father of the child. But 
Si^ward, ashamed of the connection, denied 
the piiternity. He was then interroija ed if he 
desired that the child should be baptized ; but 
this also he answered m the negative, lest, by 
such request, he should admit himself to be 
the lather. On which the child vv;ls left un- 
touched and unbaptized. Whereupon the 
mother, in extreme wTath. snatched up the 
infant and the cup. and retired, leaving: the 
priestly cope, of which fragments are in pre- 
servation. But this female deaoniiced and 
imposed upon Sigward and his posterity, to the 
nnilli fjeneration. a siiia^uiar di.sease. with 
which many of his descendants are afflicted 
at this day." Thus wrote Linar Dud.nond, 
pastor of the parish of Garpsdale, in Iceland. 
a man profoundly versed in learmns;. from 
vvho.-;e manuscript it was extracted by the 
learned Torfaeus.— ffw^oria Hrolfi Krakii, HaJ- 
niCB, n 15, pre/atw. 



Note 8 D. 

And gaily shines the Fairy-land — 
Bui ail IS glislewmj show. — P. 181. 

No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be 
belter iiscertained than the fantastic and illu- 
sory nature of their apparent pleasure and 
splendour. It has been already noticed in the 
former quotations from Dr Gialiame's enter- 
taining: volume, and tnay he contirmed by the 
following Highland tradition :—" A wonia'n. 
whose new-born child had been conveyed by 
them into their secret abodes, was also carried 
tluther hersell'. to remain, however, only until 
she should suckle her infant. She one day, 
during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily 
employed in mixing various ingredients in a 
boiling cauldron ; and. as soon as the compo- 
sition was prepared, she remarked that they 
all carefully anointed their eyes with it, laying: 
the remainder aside for future use In a mo- 
ment when they were all absent, she also 
attempted to anoint her eyes with the precious 
druij, but iiad time to apply it to one eye only, 
when the Daoine Shi' returned Biit with 
that eye she was henceforth enabled to see 
everything as it really passed in their secret 
abodes. She saw every object, not as she 
hitherto had done, in deceptive splendour and 
elegance, but in its genuine colours and form. 
The gaudy ornaments of the apartment were 
reduced to the walls of a gloomy cavern. Soon 
after, having discharged her office, she was 
dismissed to her own home. Still, however, 
she retained the faculty of seeing, with her 
medicated eye, every thing that was done, any 
where in her presence, by the deceptive art of 
the order. One day. amidst a throng of people, 
she chanced to observe the S'li'irk. or man of 
peace, in whose pos-scssiop. she had left her 



child ; though to every other eye invisible. 
Prompted by maternal affection, she inadver- 
tently accosted him. and began to enquire after 
the welfare of her child. The man of peace, 
astonished at being thus recognized by one of 
mortal race, demanded liow she had been 
enabled to discover him Awed by Hie terrible 
frown of his countenance, she acknowledged 
what she had done. He spat in her eye, and 
extinguished it forever " — Grahamn's Sketches. 
p 116-118 It is very remarkable, that this 
story, transla'ed by Dr Grahame from popular 
Gaelic tradition, is to be found in the Otia 
periaiia of Gervase of Tilbnrv. A work of 
great interest might be compiled upon the 
origin of popular fiction, and the transmission 
f similar tales from age to age. and from 
country to country. The mythology of one 
period would then appear to pass into the 
romance of the next century, and that into 
the nursery tale of the subsequent ages. 
Such an investigation, while it went greatly 
to diminish our ideas of the richness of human 
invention, would also show, that these fictions, 
however wild and childish, possess such 
charms for the populace, as enable them to 
penetrate into countries unconnected by man- 
ners and language, and having no apparent 
intercourse to afford the means of transmis- 
sion. It would carry me far beyond n:y 
bounds, to produce instances of this cominu- 
niiy of fable among nations who never bor- 
rowed from each other any thing intrinsically 
worth learning. Indeed, tlie wide diffusion of 
popular fictions may be compared to the 
ficility with which straws and feathers are 
dispersed abroad by the wind, while valuable 
metals cannot l)e transported without trouble 
and labour. Tiiere lives. I believe, only one 
gentleman, whose unlimited acquaintance with 
this subject might enable him lo do it justice ; 
1 mean my friend, Mr. Francis Douce, of the 
British Museum, whose usual kindness will, 1 
hope, pardon my mentioning his name, while 
on a subject so closely connected with his ex- 
tensive and curious researclies. 



Note 3 E. 

/ sunk down in a sinful fray. 

And, Uwixl life and death, was snalch'd away 
To the joyless Elfin bowtr —P. 181. 

The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited 
from the regions of humanity by a sort of 
crimping system, which extended to adults as 
well as to infants. Many of those who were 
ill this world supposed to have discharged the 
debt of nature, had only become denizens of 
the " Londe of Faery." In the beauiiful Fairy 
Romance of Orfee and Heurodiis (Orpheus and 
Eurydice) in the Auchinleck .MS. is the fol- 
lowing striking enumeration of persons thus 
abstracted from middle earth. Mr. Ritson un- 
fortunately published this romance from a 
copy in which the following, and many other 
highly poetical passages, do not occur : — 

"Ttien he gan biholae about al, 
And seighe ful liggrand with in the wal, 
Of folk that were thidder y-brought, 
And thought dede and uere nought; 
Some stode withouten hadde; 
And sum non arines naUe; 




^ 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



And some thurch the bodi hadde wouude ; 
And some lay wode y-bounde; 
And s\im armed on hors sele : 
And sum astrangled as thai ele ; 
And sum war in water adn-ynt; 
And sum with fire al forschreyiit 
Wives ther lay on thilde bedde; 
Sum dede, and sum awedde ; 
And wonder fele ther lay besides, 
Bight as thai slepe her undertides 
Eche was thus in the warl y-nom% 
With fairi tbider y-come." 



Note 3 F. 

Who ever rrcVd, where, hoto, or when. 

The prowling fox was tropp'd or slain? — P. l&t. 

St. John actually used this illustration wiien 
eiisased in confuting the plea of law proposed 
for the unfortunate Earl of Strafford : " It was 
true, we pave laws to hares and deer, because 
they are beasts of chase ; but it was never ac- 
counted either cruelty or foul play to i<nonk 
fttxes or wolves on tiie head as they can be 
found, because tiiey are beasts of prey. In a 
word, the law and humanity were alike; the 
one being more fallacious, and the other more 
barbarous, than in any a?e had been vented in 
such an authority."— Ctojwjdow's Hislory of the 
Ikbellion. Oxford, 1702, fol. vol. p. 183. 



Note 3 G. 

his Highland cheer. 



The hardened flesh of 7nountain-deer.—'P. 185. 

The Scottish Highlanders in former times, 
had a concise mode of cooking their venison, 
or ratlier of dispensing with cooking it, which 
appears greatly to have surprised the French 
whom chance made acquainted with it. 'I'lie 
Vid;mie of Charters, when a hostage in Eng- 
land, (luring the reign of Edward VI., was per- 
muted to travel into Scotland, and penetrated 
as far as to the remote Highlands (a.u Jin fond 
des Sativages). After a great hunting party, at 
which a most wonderful quantity of game was 
destroyed, he saw these Scottish Snvaoes de- 
vour a part of their venison raw, without any 
farther preparation than compres.sing it be- 
tween two batons of w(<od, so as to force out 
the blood, and render it extremely hard Tins 
they reckoned a great delicacy ; and when tlie 
Vidame partook of it. his compliance with 
their taste rendered him extremely popular. 
This curious trait of manners was romniuni- 
cated by Mons. de Montmorency, a great fneiul 
of the Vidame, to Braiitoine, by vvliom it is 
recorded iixVies d'S Hummes lUuslres, Disrours, 
Ixxxix., art. 14. The process by which the raw 
venison was rendered eatable is (le.^cribed very 
minutely in the romance of Perceforest, where 
Estonne, a Scottish knight-errant, having slam 
a deer, says to his companion Claudius : '• Sire. 
or mangerez vous et moi aussi. Voire si nous 
auions de feu. dit Claudius. Par I'ame de 
mon pere. dist Estonne. ie vous atounierav et 
cuiray a la maniere de nostre pays comnie 
pour cheualier errant. Lors tira son espee. et 
sen Vint a la branche dung arbre, et y fait vug 
grant trou, et puis fend la branche bien dieux 
piedx, et boute la cuisse du serf entredeux, et 



puis prent le licol de son cheval, et en lye la 
branche, et destraint si fort, que le sang et les 
humeurs de la chair saillent hors. et demeure 
la chair doulce et seiche. Lors prent la chair, 
et oste lus le cuir, et l.a chaiie demeure aussi 
blanche comme si 'ce feust dung chappon. 
Dont dist a Claudius. Sire, ie la vous ay cuiste 
a la guise de mon pays, vous en pouez manger 
hardyement, car ie mangeray prenuer Lors 
met sa mam a sa selle en vng lieu quil y auoit, 
et tire hors sel et poudre de poiure et gingem- 
bre, mesle ensemble, et le iecte de.ssus. et le 
frote sus bien fort, puis le couppe a inoytie. et 
en doniie a Claudius I'une des pieces, et, pui.s 
mort en I'autre aussi sauoureussement quil 
est aduis que il en feist la pouldre voller. 
Quant Claudius veic quil le mangeoit de tel 
goust, il en print grant faim, et commence a 
manger tres voulentjers, et dist a Estonne: 
Par I'ame de moy, ie ne mangeay oncquesmais 
de chair atournee de telle guise": mais dorese- 
nauant ie ne me retourneroye pas hors de 
mon chemin par auoir la cuite Sue, dist 
Estonne, quant is suis en desers d'Ecosse.doiit 
ie suis seigneur, ie cheuaucheray liuit iours ou 
quinze que le n'entreray en chastel ne en nini- 
son.et si ne verray feu ne personne viuiint fors 
que bestes saunages. et de celles mangemy 
atournees en ceste maniere, et mieulx me 
plaira que laviande de I'empereur. Ainsi .sen 
vont mangeant et cheuauchanl lusques adonc 
quilz arriuereiit snr une moult belle fontaine 
que estoit en vne valee. Quant Estonne la vit 
il dist a Claudius, alloiis hoire a ceste fontaine. 
Orbeuuons, dist Estonne, du boir que le grairt 
dieu a pourueu a loutes gens, ei que me nlaist 
niieulx que les ceruoises d'Angleterre.' — La 
Tresfieynnle Hysloire du tresnoble Roy Ptrce- 
Jorest. Paris, 1531. fol tome i, fol Iv vers. 

After all. it may be doubted wheilier la 
chnire nostree, for so the French called the 
venison thus summarily prepared, was any 
thing more than a mere rude kind of deer- 
ham. 



Note 3 H. 

Not then ciaini'd snvrreianty his due 

While Albany, with feeble hand. 

Held borrowed truncheon oj command. — P. 186. 

There is scarcely a more disorderly period in 
Scottish history than that wliich succeeded the 
batile of Flodden, and occupied the minority 
of James V. Feuds of ancient standing broke 
out like old wounds, and everv qii;irrel amimg 
the independent nobility, which (iccnrred dal- 
ly, and almost hourly, gave rise to fresh iilood- 
slied. "There arose," says Pitscot tie. " great 
trouble and deadly feuds in many parl.s of 
Scotland, both in the north and west parts. 
The Master of Forbes, in the north, slew the 
Laud of Meldrum, under tryst:" (i. e. at an 
agreed and secure meeting.) ' *• Likewise, the 
Laird of Drummelzier slew the Lord Fleming 
at the hawking; and likewise iliere was 
slaughter among many other great lords. — P. 
121. .Nor was the matter much mended un- 
der the government of the Earl of Angus : for 
though he caused the King to ride through all 
Scotland, "under the pretence and colour of 
jus' ice, to punish thief and traitor, none were 
found greater than were in tneir own c-om- 



y 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Tl 




pany. Anil aone at tliat time durst s 
a Duiislas, iior yet a Duuiilass ni; 
ttiey wijulil, lliey got tiie wdrst. 'I'lierel' 
iKiii'e ilur.'-t [daiuzie of no extorluin. theft, reirt', 
nor slaupliler.done to lliein by I lie Douglasses, 
or their nicn ; m that cause they were not 
heard, so long as the Uouglas hud the cuurt la 
guiding."— 7^, p 133. 



Note 3L 

n\p. Gael., of plain and river heir, 
Shall, Willi strong hand, tedeem his share. 

P. 186. 
The ancient Highlanders verified in tlieir 
prnctice the lines of Gray : — 



us o( th^ pla 



With side loiiK plough to iju.ll Ihe llu.ty trouiid; 

'1 o turn the lOireiit's swifi (Um ei.iliiii; tlooa ; 

'lo Ijine the savag'; rushing from tin- wood ; 

Wh:.! wonder if, to pali.-iit v.iloiir traiiiVI, 

They giiiiri with spirit what l.y firt-ngth th.-y gaiud 

.Vii.l wh K' their ro ky rampart'- roui.d tliey nee 

The rough abode of want and l.berty, 

(\i lawless forte from roiitideme will grow), 

luHUlt the plenty of Ihe vales below ."■ 

Fragment un the .Alliance of Educatv 
and Government. 



So far. Indeed, was a Creagh. or foray, from 
belli!? held dis°:iai:eful, that a youii:? cli.ef was 
always expected '.o show Ins taleiiis fircom- 
niaiid as .soon as he assumed it, l>y leading: his 
clan un a successful eiilerprize of I his nature, 
either ascainst a neishbounn:; sept, for which 
conslaiit feuds usually fuinished an apology, 
or against the Sfisstnarh, t^axons, or Low- 
jaiiders, for which no apology was necessary. 
The Gael, great tradi loiial historians, never 
forgot that Ihe Lowlands had, at so:ii.; remote 
period, been the (iroperty of their Celtic fore- 
fathers, which furiiislied an ample vindication 
of all the ravasjes thai they coiud make on 
the unforlunale districts which lay within 
their reach. Sir James Grant of Grant is in 
pi>ssessioii of a letter of ajiology from Cameron 
of Lo hiel, whose men had comniiiled some 
depredation upon a farm called .Monies, occu- 
(iied by one of the Grants. Lochiel assures 
Grant, I hat, however the mistake had hap- 
pened, his instructions were precise, that the 
party should foray the province of Moray (a 
Lowland district,,', where, as he coolly ob- 
serves, "all men take their prey." 



Note 3 K. 

I only meant 

To show Ihe reed on which you Uanl, 
Ditnum this pnlh you miijhl pursue 
Wulwut a jiiissjrom Roderick Dhu. — P. 187. 



ve with ! dition, but with such an assurance from tlio.se 
"ir if ; by whom it was coiiimunicaled, as i)ei nuts me 
little doubt of its authenticity. Early in the 
last century. John Guiin. a noted Cateran. or 
Highland robber, infested Inverness shire, and 
levied hlack-mail up to the wal's (»f the pr"- 
vinrial cap.tal. A garrison was then iiiain- 
taiiied in the castle of that town, and their 
pay (country banks beins unknown) was 
usually transmitted in sjiecie, under the suard 
of a small escort. It chanced that the otticer 
who commanded this little ptirty was unex- 
pectedly obliged to halt, about Ihuty miles 
from Inverness, at a miseralile iiiii. About 
night-lall. a stranger, in the Highland dress, 
and of very prepossessing a[)pearaiife, eiiieied 
the same house. Separate afcoiiiinodalion 
beina impossible, the Englishman offered the 
newly-arnveil guest a part of his supper, vvjucli 
was accepted "with reluctance. By the con- 
versation he found his new afgiiamiaiice knew 
well all the passes of the country, wliich in- 
duced him eagerly to request his company on 
the ensuing inornins. He neither disguis'id 
his business and charge, nor his a|iprelieiisious 
of that celebrated freebooter, John Guiin. — 
The Highlander hesitated a moment, and then 
frankly consent ed to he his guide. Forth 
they set in the morning; and, in travelliiis 
through a solitary and ijreaiy glen, the di.x- 
course aitain turned on John Gunn. " V\(>uld 
you like to see him.'" said the guide; and, 
without waiting an answer to this alariiuiig 
question, he whistled, vuid the Eiwlish oitii-cr, 
with his small party, were surrounded by a 
body of Highlanders, whose numbers put re- 
sistaii.'^e out of ijnestion. and who were all 
well ariia'd. ••Stranger," resumed the irnidf, 
"1 am liiat very John Gunn by whom you 
feared to lie uiten-epted. and not without 
cause: for 1 came to the inn last night with 
the expre.-is purpose of learning your route, 
that 1 and my followers misjht ease you of 
your Charlie by Ihe road. But 1 am incapable 
of betraying the trust you reposed in me. and 
having convinced you that you were in my 
power. I can only dismiss you unplundered 
and iiimi.iured." He then gave the ottiier 
directions lor his journey, ami disappeared 
with his party as suddenly as they had pre- 
sented llieuiselves. 



^ 



This incident, like some other passages in 
tlif poem, illusrraiive of the character of the 
ancii-nt G.iel. is not imas:inary. but borrowed 
from fact. The Hiirhlanders.wilh the iiicoii- 
sis'eiicy of must nations in the same state. 

were alternaii ly caiiableof s^reai exertions of; titled the Human Camp, 
grnerosiiy. ami of cruel reveiiire ami periidy [ [-One of the most entire and beautiful 
'1 he lolK. wing story 1 can only q JO e irom Ira- 1 mains of a Komaii encampment now U) 



Note 3 L. 

On Bochnslle the mouldering lines. 
Where Rome, the Em/ness of the world. 
Of yore her tagk-wings unfurl'd. — i' . 187. 

The torrent which discharges itself fro 
Loch Vennachar, the lowest and eastinost i 
tlie three lakes which form the scenery ad.iui 
ing to the Trosachs. sweeps through a flat ai 
extensive moor, called Bochastle Upon 
small eminence, calied the Dun of BocliastI 
and indeed on the plain itself, are some ii 
Irenchmeiiis. which have been ihounht K 
man. 'I'here is. adjacem to Callemlor. a swe- 
villa, the resklence of Captain Fairfoul. ei 



"T 



N 



found in Scdtland, is to be seen at Ardoch, 
near Greeiiloaiiiii^. about ^ix miles to tlie east- 
ward of Duiihlaiie. 'I'liis enciiiiipinent is sup- 
posed, oil fcood ;;rouiids, to liave lieeu con- 
structed durins tlie fourth (•aiiipaigrn of Auri- 
cula 111 lintani; it is lOtK) feet in leiii;tli, and 
900 in lireailMi; it could contain 2ii,(M) men, 
accordma; to ttie ordinary distril)Ulion of tlie 
Koniaii soldiers in tlieir encainpnieiits. There 
appears to liave tieen tliree or four ditches, 
stroiifily fornfied, surrounding: the camp. 'I'lie 
four entries orossiiiK the lines are still to be 
seen distinctly. The </inerai''s quarler rises 
above the level of the cani(), but is not exactly 
in the centre, it is a regular stjuare of twenty 
yards, enclo.sed with a sioiie wall, and coii- 
tainiiis the foundations of a bouse, 30 feet by 
20. 'I here is a miIiIci raneous communication, 
with a .smalltr encaiiiimif nt at a little dis- 
tance, 111 winch several l\oman helmets, 
spears, ikc, have been found, from this camp 
at Ardoch, the great llouian tiishway runs 
east to Bertha, about 11 miles distant, "where 
the Roman army is believed to have passed 
over tke Tay into Stiatlimoie."— Gra^awe.J 



Note 3 M. 

See. here, all vantageless I stand, 

Arni'd, like tkyselj, with single braiul.—P. 18"?. 

The duellists of former times did not always 
stand upon those punctilios respecting equaliiy 
of arms, which are now judged essential to 
fair combat. It is true, thai m loriner coinbais 
in the lists, the ptirties were, by the judges of 
the held, put as nearly as [los.sible in I lie same 
ciicumslances But in private duel it was 
often otherwise. In that c|i-.--iielate combat 
wlii(;h was loufjlit befwenn Lucius, a luinion 
of Henry Hi of France, and Anln-o.-t, wjih 
two sec<nids on each side, from vvlnc.li only 
two persons escaped alive, (.Voeiiis toinplained 
that Ins antagonist had over bun the aJvanlase 
of a poniard which he used in pari} iiiK, while 
his left hand, which he was forced to emphjy 
for the same purpose, was ci uelly mangled. 
When be charged AntraRuet with this odds, 
'■'J'hou hast done wrona:," answered he. "to 
forget iliy dasger at home. We are here to 
fight, and not to settle punctilios of arms." 
In a similar duel, however, a younger brother 
of the bouse ot Aubanye. in Anaoulesme. be- 
haved more generously on tlie like occasum, 
and at once threw away hi.s dagger when Ins 
enemy cballeiiged it as an undue advantage 
But at tins lime hardly any thing can be con- 
ceived more horribly iiruial and savage than 
the mode in which private quarrels were con- 
ducted in France. 'J'hose who were most 
jealous of the point of honour, and acquired 
the title of Knffines, did not scruple to take 
every advantage of strength, numbers, sur- 
urise. and arms, to accoiniilish their revenge, 
i'he Sieur de Brantome, to whose discoiii.se 
on duels 1 am obliged for these particulars, 
gives the following accitunt of the death and 
princifdes of his friend, the Baron de Vi- 
tau.x : — 

-J'ayoui conter a iin Tirrur d'armes, qui 
appilt a Milla.d a en tuer, lequtl s'appelloitl 



Seigneur le Jacques Ferron, de la ville d'Ast, 
qui avoit este a nioy, il fut despuis tue a 
yaincie-Basille en Gascogne. lors que Mon- 
sieur du Mayne I'assiegea lui servant d'liige- 
nieur; et de nialheur, je I'avois addresse audit 
Baron quelques trois niois auparavanl, pour 
I'exercer a tirer, bien qu'il en sceust prou ; 
inais il ne'en tit compte ; et le laissant. Millaud 
s'en servit, et le rendit fort adroit Ge Seigneur 
Jacques done me raconta, qu'il s'estoit monle 
sur un noyer, assez loing. pour en voir le c(»m- 
bat, et qu'il ne visl jamais hoinme y alter plus 
bravement, iiy plus resoluinent, ny de grace 
plus asseuree ny determmee. li csntrnenca 
de marcher de cinquante pas vers son ennemy. 
relevant sou vent ses moustaches en liaut d'une 
mam; et estant a viiigt fias de son ennemy, 
(non plustost.) il nnt la mam a I'espee qu'il 
lenoit en la main, non qu'il I'eust tiree encore ; 
mais en niarchant, il tit voUer le fouireau en 
Fair, en le secouant, ce qui est le beau de cela, 
et qui monstroit bien uiie grace de combat 
bien asseuree et froide, et nuUenient t6in6- 
laire, comine il y en a qui tirent leurs espees 
de cinq cents pas de I'ennemy, voire de niiUe, 
comme i'en ay veu aucuns. Aiiisi niourut ce 
brave Baron, le parogon de France, qu on 
nomnioit tel, a bien venger ses qnerelles. par 
grandes et deteniiinees resolutions. 11 n'estoit 
pas senlement estime en France, mais en 
lialie, Espaimie, Allemaigne. en Boulogne et 
Angleteire; et deslroient fort les Etrangers, 
venant en France, le voir; car je I'ay veu, taut 
sa renommee volloit 11 esioit fort petit de 
corps, mais fort grand de courage. Ses enne- 
nns disoient qu'il ne tuoit pas bien ses gens, 
que par advantages et superclieries Cerles. je 
tiens de grands capitames. et niesnie d'lta- 
liens, qui out estez d'autres fois les premiers 
vengeurs du nionde, in oyni modo, disoieniils, 
qui out tenu cette iiiaxinie, qu'une supeicliene 
lie se devoit payer que par semblable monnoye, 
et n'y alloit point la de deshonneur."— 3eM<;?>s 
de Brantome, Paris, 1787-8. I'oine viii. p. 90- 
92. It may be necessary to inform the reader, 
that this paragon of France was the most foul 
assassin of his time, and had committed many 
desperate murders, chiefly by the assistance 
of Ins hired banditti; from winch it may be 
conceived how little the point of honour of 
the period deserved its name. I have clKJsen 
to give my heroes, who are indeed of an 
earlier period, a stronger tincture of the spirit 
of chivalry. 



Note 3 N 

III fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
I'liat on Ikejitld las Urnje lie llircw. 
For tram'd abroad his arms to witid 
Ftlz-James's blade was sword and sUiild. 

1'. 188. 
A round target of light wood, covered whli 
strong leather, and studded vviih brass or iron, 
was a necessary part of a lligblaiider's i -quip- 
nient. In chargmg regular Hoops. IIihv le- 
ceived the thrust of the l.a>onet iii Ibis 
buckler, twisted it aside, and u.sed ilie broad- 
sword against the encumbered soldier. In be 
civil war of 1745. ni.ist of the front rank of the 
clans were thus armeil , and (apia.n Giose 



z 



7 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 227 



M 



infiirrns us, that, in 1747, the privates of the 
42d leKiinenr.. then in FI;in(h;rs, were, fi>r the 
most pari, permitted to carry tar^;t;ts —Military 
Aniiqmliis. vol i. p, Ifrl A person thus armed 
had a consiilerahie advaiitage in private fray. 
Anions verses between Swift and Sheridan, 
lately pubhshed by L)r, Barret, there is an ac- 
count ot such an encounter, in which the 
circuiiis aiices, and consequently the relative 
superiority of tlie combatants, are precisely 
the reverse of those in the text : — 

" A iligliluiKler oiicf foiight a Frencliimn at Margate, 
The weapons, a rapier, a backsword, and target ; 
Brisk Mo'iSieur ailvanced as fast as he could, 
Ilul all h.s line (lUshes were raui;hi in the wood, 
And Saw acy, with bacKsword, did slash him and nick 

him. 
While I'oiher, enraged that he could not once prick him, 
Ciiril, • iiirrah, you ra>cal, you son of a whore. 
Me will hghl you, be gar! if you'U come from your 

door.' " 

The use of defensive armour, and particu- 
larly of the hucUler, or turret, was general in 
Wiieeii Elizabeth's time, although that of the 
si.ii-'le rapier seems to have been occasionally 
(.ractjsed much ear.ier i Ruwland Yorke, 
however, who hetraycil the fort of Ziitphen lo 
the Spaiiianls. for which STood service he was 
afierwards poisoned by them, is said to have 
been the first who broua;ht the rapier ti^ht into 
eeneial use. Fuller, speaUiii!? of the swash- 
bucklers, or bullies, of Queen Elizabeth's 
time, says — " West Smithtield was formerly 
Cidied Kuftian's Hall, where such men usually 
met. casually or otherwise, to try masUrus 
with sword and buckler. More were fright- 
ened than hurt, more hurt than killed there- 
with, it bein« accounted unmanly to strike 
beneath the knee. But since that desperate 
traitor Rowland Yorke first introduced thrust- 
ing with rapiers, sword and buckler are dis- 
used." In " riie 'I'wo Angry Women of 
Abiiiydon," a comedy, printed in 1599. we have 
a pathetic complaint:— "Swoid and buckler 
tight begins to grow out of use. I am sorry 
for It: 1 shall never see good manhood again. 
If It he once gone, this poking fight of rapier 
and dagger will come up; tlieu a tall man. 
and a good sword-and-buckler man. will be 
Slutted like a cat or rabbit." But the lapier 
liad upon the coiilineiit long superseded, in 
private duel, the use of sword and shield. 
'I'lie masters of the noble science of defence 
were chietlv Italians 'I'liey made great mys- 
terv of then" art and mode of instruction, never 
siif'teied any person to be pre.-ent but the scho- 
lar WHO was lo be taught, and even examined 
Closets, beds, and other places of possible con- 
cealinent,. Their lessons often gave the most 
treacherous advantages; for the challenger, 
haviiiK the right to choose his weapons, Ire- 
quenlly selected some strange, unusual, and 
inconvenient kind of arms, the use of which 
he practised under these instructors, and thus 
killed at Ins ea.se his antagonist, to whom it 
was presented lor the first time on the field 
of battle. See BranLome's Discourse on Duels, 
and the work on the same subject, "sigenlt- 
vient ecrit" by the venerable Dr. Pans de 
Puteo Ihe Highlanders coiiiiiiued to use 
broadsword and target until disarmed after 
the aflair of 174^-6 



;c LiouLu's lUublratioiui of Shakspeare, vol u. 



CI. 



Note 3 0. 

ITiy threats, thy mercy 1 defy ! 

Lei recreant yield, who fears to die —P. 188. 

I have not ventured to render this duel .so 
savagely desperate as that of the celebrated 
Sir Ewan of Lochiel, chief of the clan Came- 
ron, called, from his sable complexion. Kwan 
Dhu. He was the last man in Scotland who 
maintained the royal cause during the great 
Civil War, and his constant incursions ren- 
dered him a very unpleasant neighbour to the 
republican garrison at luverlr.chy. now Fort- 
William. The governor of the fort detached 
a party of three hundred men to lay waste 
Locliiel's possessions, and cut down his trees; 
but. in a sudden and desperate attack made 
upim them by the chieftain with very inferior 
numbers, thev vvere almost all cut to jieces. 
The skirmish is detailed in a curious memoir 
of Sir Ewan's life, printed in the Appendix of 
Pennant's Scottisii Tour. 

" in this engagement, Lochiel himself had 
several wonderful escapes. In the reireat of 
the English, one of the strongest and biave.st 
ot the officers retired behind a bush, when he 
observed Lochiel pursuing, and seeing hiin 
unaccompanied with any. he leapt out, and 
thought him h s prey. They met one another 
with equal fury. The combat was Ion:; and 
doubtful : the English gentleman had by far 
the advanlai>e in strength and size; but Lo- 
chiel, exceeding him in nimbleness and agility, 
in the end iript the swoid out of Ins hand : 
they closed and wrestled, till both fell to the 
ground in each other's arms The English 
officer got above Lochiel, and pressed him 
hard, but stretching forth his neck, by at- 
tempting to disengage himself, Lochiel, who 
by this time had bis hands at liberty, with his 
left hand seized him by the collar, and jump- 
ing at his extended throat, he bit it with his 
teeth quite through, and kept such a hold of 
his grasi), that he brought away his mouthful : 
this, he said, was ihe sweetest bit lie ever /lad in 
his Lifetime.'"— "Vol. i. p. 375. 



Note 3 P. 

Ye lowers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign Med ; 

And thou, O sad and faiuL mound ! 

That otl hasl heard the dealh-axe sound. 

P. 189. 

An eminence on the north-east of the Cast le. 
where stale ciiminuls were executed. Stirling 
was often polluted with noble blood, it is 
thus apostrophized by J. Johnston:— 

" Discordia tristis 
Heu quoties procerum sanguine linxit humum ! 
Hoc uno iufelix, el felix cetera; nusquam 
Laetior aut cocli frons geniusve soli." 

The fate of William, eight h Earl of Douglas, 
whom James II. stabbed m Stirling Castle 
with his own hand, and while under his royal 
safe-conduct, is f miiliar to all who read Scot- 
tish history. Murdack Duke of Albany, Dun- 
can Earl of Lennox, his father-in-law, and his 
two sons, Walter and Alexander Stuart, were 
executed at Stirling, in 142.5. They were he 
headed upon an eminence without tli 



He ^ 



J28 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



M 



walls, but making part of tlie same hill, from 
whence they oould behold their strong castle 
of Doiine, and then' extensive possessions. 
This '• headmg hdl," as it was sometimes 
termed, bears commonly the less terrible 
name of Hurly-hacket, from its havinsr been 
the scene of a courtly amusemeiii alluded to 
bv Sir David Lindsay, who says of the pastimes 
in which the young king was engaged, 



'Some harled hi; 



to the Hurly-ha 



cor 
^ an. 

\ hai 



which consisted in sliding, in some sort of 
chair it mav be supposed, from top lo bottom 
of a smooth bank. The hoys of Ediiibursh. 
about twenty years ago. used to play at the 
hurly-hacket, on the Calton-Hill, using for 
tiieir seat a horse's skull. 



Note 3 Q. 

The burghers hold their sports to-day.— "P. 189. 

F>ery burgh of Scotland, of the least note, 
but more especially the considerable towns, 
had their solemn plni/, or festival, when feats 
of archery were exhibited. ;ind prizes distri- 
buted to those who e.xcelled in wrestling, 
hurling the bar. and the other gymnastic exer- 
cises of the period. Stirling, a usual place of 
roy;il residence, was not likely to lie deficient 
in pomp upon such occasions, especially since 
James V. was very partial to them. His reiuly 
participation in these popular amusements 
was one cause of his acquiring the title of 
King of the Cmnnions, or Rex Pkbeuirum, as 
Lesley has latinized it. The usual prize to 
the best shooter was a silv(!r arrow. Such a 
one is preserved at Selkirk and at Peebles. 
At Dumfries, a si'ver gun was substituted, and 
the contention transferred to fire-arms The 
ceremony, as there performed, is the subject 
of an excellent Scottish poem, by Mr. John 
Mayne, entitled the Siller Gun, 1808, which 
surpasses the efforts of Feigussou, and comes 
near to those of Burns. 

Of James's attachment to archery, Pitscottie, 
the faithful, though rude reconier'of the man- 
ners of that period, has eiven us evidence : — 

■• In this year there came an ambassador out 
of Enslanii, named l.oril William Howard, 
with a bishop with him, with many other iren- 
tlemen. to the number of threescore horse, 
which were all able men and waled [picked] 
men for all kinds of games and pastimes, 
shooting, louping, running, wrestling, and cast- 
ing of the stone, but they were well 'sayed 
[essayed or tried] ere they passed out of Scot- 
land, and that by their own (irovocatiou ; hut 
ever they tint : till at last the Queen of Scot- 
land, the king's mother, favoured the English- 
men, because she was the King of England's 
sister ; and therefore she took an enterprise 
of archery upon the Eiiglish-meu's hands, con- 
trary her son the king, and any six in Scotland 
that he would wale, either gentlemen or 
yeomen, that the Englishmen should shoot 
airaiiist them, either at pricks, revers, or buts, 
as the Scots pleased. 

"The king, hearing this of his mother, was 
content, and gart her pawn a hundred crownt 
tun of wine, upon the Enslish-men 
hands; and he incontinent laid down us much 



for the Scottish-men. The field and ground 
was chosen in St. Andrews, and three landed 
men and three yeomen chosen to shoot against 
the English men,— lo wit. David Wemys.« of 
that ilk. David Arnot of that ilk, and Mr John 
Wedderhurn, vicar of Dundee; the yeomen, 
John Thomson, in Leith, Steven Taburiier, 
with a piper, called Alexander Bailie; they 
shot very near, and warred [worsted] the 
Eiiglishmen of the enterprise, and wan the 
hundred crowns and the luii of wine, which 
made the king very merry that liis men wau 
the victory."— P. 147. 

Note 3 R. 

Robin Hood.—i\ 190. 
The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and 
his band was a favourite frolic at such festivals 
as we are describinsr. This sporting, in which 
kings did not disdain to be actors, was pro- 
hibited in Scotland upon the Reformation, Viy 
a statute of the 6tli Parliament of Queen 
Mary, c. 61. A D , 1555, which ordered, under 
heavy penalties, that " na manner of person \>e 
chosen Robert Hude, nor Little John, Abbot of 
Uuieason, Queen of .May, nor otherwise.'' 
But in 1.561, the "rascal multitude." says John 
Knox, "were stirred up to make a Kohiii 
Hiidn, wliilk euonnity was of many years left 
and damned by statute and act of Parliament ; 
yet would they not be forbidden." Accoril- 
iiisly. they raised a very serious tumult, and at 
length made prisoners the magistrates who 
endeavoured to suppress it, and would not re- 
lease them till they extorted a formal promise 
that no one should be punished for Ins share 
of the disturbance. It would seem, from the 
complaints of llie General Assemldy of the 
Kirk, that these prolane test i.'ities were con- 
tinued down to 1.592. ' Bold Robin was, to s;iy 
tlie least, equally successful in maintaining his 
Kround aijainstthe reformed clergy of England: 
lor the simple and evangelical Latiner com- 
plains of coming to a country church, where 
the [teople refused to hear him, because it was 
Robin Hood's day; and his niitre and rochet 
were fain to give way to tlie village pastime. 
.Much curious information on this subject may 
be found in the Preliminary Disseriation to 
I he late Mr. Ritson's edition of the sonsrs re- 
spetttmg this niemorable outlaw. 'I'he game 
of Robiii Hood was usually acted in May; and 
he was associated with the morrice-dunceis, 
on whom so much illustration has been be- 
stowed by the commentators on Sliakspeare. 
A very lively picture of these festivities, con- 
taining a great deal of curious iuformarion on 
the subject of the private lite and amu.sements 
of our ancestors, was thrown, l)y the lale 
ingenious Mr. Strutt, into his romance entitled 
Queenhoo Hall, published after his death, in 
1808. 



Note 3 S. 

Indifferent as to archer wiyht. 
The monarch gave the arrouo bright.— P. 190. 
The Douglas of the poem is an im.niriiiary 
person, a supposed uncle of the Earl of Aiuus. 



1 Book of the Un 



y4 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 229 



But the Kiiiff's behaviour during an unexpected 
interview with the I.aird of Kilspnulie, one of 
tne i anished Dou^^lnsises, under circninstaiices 
similar lo those in the tex:, is imitated froiii a 
real story told by Hume of Godscioft. I woulii 
have availed myself more fully of the siiii[)le 
and affecting ciicumstan{'es of the old history. 
had I hey not been already woven iii'o a 
p.iiheti-; balliid by my friend. Mr. Fiiday ' 

•' His (the kins;'s) implacability (towards the 
famdy of L)oU:.!las) did also appear in his rar- 
li.iSe towards Archibald of Klispindie. whom 
he. when he was a child, loved snmularly well 
for his ability of body, and was wont to (;all 
him Ins Grey-Steill2 Arch. bald, beiiis ban- 
ished into tn^laiid. could not well comport 
With the humour of ihat nati ii, which he 
thon^'ht to he too proud, and tliat they had 
loo high a i-onceit ot themselves, johied wiih 
acoateiiipta id despisii!gof all o hers. Where i 
fore, beiiis; wearied of Ihat life, and remeni- ' 
benng the kmij's favour of old towards hiiii, 
he dee mined to try tiie kin^^'s niercituhiess 
and cleneiioy 60 he comes into Scitlaiid. 
and taking occasion of the kind's hunting in 
tiie park at .Stirling, he casts himself to be iu 
his way, as he was comiiiir home to the ciUJtIe 
bo soon as the kiiii saw him afar olf, ere lie 
ca lie near, he giiessL^il it was he, and said to 
one of Ills courtiers, yonder is my Gray-bteiU, 
Archibald of Kilspinjie. if he be ahve. 'I'he 
otiier answered, iliat it could not be he. and 
that he durst not i:ome in o the kins's pre- 
sence. 'I'ue king approaching, he fell upon 
Ins knees and craved pardon, and proinscd 
from thenceforward lo absiain from meddling 
IU public atfairs, and to lead a quiet and (iri- 
Vale life. Tlie king went by withoii: giving 
him any answer, and trotted a good rouml pace 
up Che hdl. Ivilspindie followed, and thouuli 
he wore on him a secret, or shirt of mail, for 
his particular enemies, wits a-s soon at the 
castle Kate as the kin?. 1 here he sat him 
down upon a stone without, and entreated 
some or tiie king's servanis for a cup 01 drink, j 
being weary aiul tliiisiy ; but ihey. fearing the i 
king's displeasure, durst give liim none. When ' 
tlie king was set at his dinner, he asked what 
he had done, wnat he had said, and wluiher 
lie had gone ? It was told him 1 hat lie had de- 1 
sired a < up of drink, and had sotten none. [ 
'I lie king 16; roved them very sharply lor their ! 
discourtesy, and lojd them. That if lie had not j 
taken an oath that no Dougla.s should ever; 
serve hiiii, he would have received liini into 
his service, for he had seen twin sometime a I 
man of g eat ability. Iheii tie sent him word 
to go to Leith. and expect his further pleasure. I 
Then some kinsman of David falconer, the ! 
cannonier, that was siain at lantallon. began' 
lo quarrel with Archibald about the matter. I 
wherewith the kins showed himself not well ; 
pleased when he heard of it. 'I'lien he com- 1 
niaiuled liim to gii to France for a certain | 
space, tilt he heard farther iVoni him. And so 
he did. and died shortly alter. I'his gave 
occasion lo the King of Eu^lalld, (Henry Vlll.) 
lo lilame his nephew, alleging the old saying. 
That a king's face should give grace. For 
this Archibald (whalsoever were Angus's or 
S>ir Georges fault) had not been principal actor 



\ 



1 S*e Scotliah Historic 
gow, iBOfe, vol. ii. 11. 117. 

20 



aiiJ Re 



of anything, nor no counsellor nor stirrer up, 
but only a Ibllower of his friends, and that 110- 
wavs cruelly disposed."— /;fu/>ic oj Godscro/t, 
li. 107. 



Note 3 T. 

Ptize of thfi wrestliiu} match, thfi Kina 
To Bijuy/as gave a yoLden rimj.—l'. 190. 

The usual prize of a wrestlin? was a ram 
and a ring, but the animal would have embar- 
rassed my story. T hiis. in the Cokes Tale of 
Gamelyn, ascribed tf) Chaucer: 

"Tlnre happed lo bf thtre b.-8ide 
Tryeil a wre«tling : 
Aii.l Iheffore lh.Te was y-sellen 
A ram and als a riii^." 

Again the Liiil Geste of Robin Hood : 

... •' By a br dge was a wrrstling, 

. And there taryed wa.-; he, 

An 1 ihere v.n» all ihe best yemen 

Of ;ill ihe west couiitr. y 
A full fayre t;a ne Il:ere was net up, 

A whiie bull up y pitht. 
A e-K ii cnujser wiih saddle and brvdle. 

With soil burnished full bryght; 
A payre of gloves, a red golde ringe, 

A pipe of w.n •. good f ly : 
Wh It in in beieth hini b.st, I wis, 

The prise sh-ll bear away " 

Rilson's' Robin Hood, vol i. 



NOTK 3 U. 

These drew not for their fit-Ids the sword. 
Like tuinnis of a feudal I'trd, 
Nor owu'd the pntriarrhnL clnim 
Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; 
Adventurers tkey P. 192 

The Scottish armies consisted chieflv of tho 
nobility and barons, with their vassals, who 
heUI lands under thein. fir military .service 
by themselves and iheir tenaii's. The patri- 
archal influence exercsed by the heads of 
clans in the Highlands and Borders was of a 
ditierent nature, and sonietiines at variance 
wiih feudal principles. It flowed from the 
Patrin Poleitas, tixercisei] by the chiefiain as 
representins the original father of the whole 
name, anil vvas often obeyed in coniradicijon 
to the feudal superior. James V. seems first 
to have introduced, in addition to the mil.tia 
furnished from these sources, the service of a 
small number of mercenaries, who formed a 
body-guard, called Ihe F'oot-Band. The sati- 
rical poet. Sir David Lindsay (or the person 
who wrote the prologue to' his play of the 
'•Three Estaites." litis introduced Fmlay of the 
Fool-Band, who, after much swauseriiis upon 
the stage, is at leneth put lo flislit by the Fool, 
who terrifies him by means of a sheep's skull 
upon a pole. 1 htive rather chosen to sive 
them the htirsh features of the mercenary 
.soldiers of Ihe period, than of this Scoiiish 
Thraso. These partook of the charac'er of 
ine Adventurous Companions of Froissart or 
the Condottieri of Italy. 

One of the best and liveliest traits of such 



^t 







nianiieis is the last will of a leader, called 
Geffroy 'I'ete Noir. who having l)eeu slightly 
wouinleil in a skinnish. his intemperance 
hroiisht on a triortal disease. VVlieii he found 
hnnself dying, he snninioned to his bedside 
the adventurers whom he commanded, and 
thus addressed them : — 

" Fayre sirs, quod Geffray, I knowe well ye 
have aivvayes served and honoured me as men 
ought to serve their soveraygne and capitayne. 
and I shal be the gladder if ye wyli agre to 
have to your capitayne one that isdescendeii 
of my blode. Beholde here Aleyne Roux, my 
cosyn, and Peter his brother, who are men of 
amies and of my blode. I lequire you to niiilie 
Aleyne your CMpiiayne. and to sw'ere to hym 
faythe. obeysaiince, love, and loyalie, here in 
my presence, and also to his bro'tiier: how be 
it, 1 wyll that Aleyne have the soverayne 
charge. Sir, quod tiiey, we are well con'ent, 
for ye hauve ryght well chosen. 'I'lieie all tlie 
couipanyons made them hreke no poynt of 
that ye have ordayiied and commaunded."— 
Lord Bernefs Froissarl. 



Note 3 V. 

Thou now hast glee-mmden and harp ! 
G'l thee nu ape, and trudue the Inmt, 
The leader of aju<jgler bond.—?. 193. 

The jonsleurs, or jugglers, as we learn Irom 
the elaborate work of the late Mr Strutt. on 
the sports and pastimes of the people of fn?- 
land. used to call in the aid of various assi.st- 
ants, to render these iierformances as capli- 
vatinir as possible. The glee-maiden was a 
necessary attendant. Her duty was tumbling 
and daiK^insi ; and therefore the Anglo-Sa.\on 
version of Saint Mark's Gospel states Herodias 
to liMve vaulted or tumbled before Kiiia: Herod, 
in Scotland, these poor creatures seem, even 
at a late period, to have been bondswdmen to 
tlieir masters, as appears from a case reported 
Ijy Fouritamtiall : — '• Reid the mountebank 
pursues Sett of Harden and his lady, for 
s ealiiig away from htm a little eiil. Ciiled the 
tiiMibiiiis-lassie. that danced upon his stage : 
iind he claimed dainaeres. and produced a con- 
tract, whereby he bought lier from her mother 
for 30/. Scots. But we have no slaves in Scot- 
land, and motheis cannot sell their bairns; 
and physicians attested the emplovment of 
tumbling would kill her; and her joints were 
now grown stiff, and she declined to return: 
though she was at least a 'prentice, ami 
so could not run away from her master: yet 
some cited Moses's law, that if a servant 
shelter himself with thee, against his master's 
cruelty, thou shall surely not deliver him up 
The Lords, rpw>«/eco77ceZMno, assoilzied Har- 
den, on the 27th of Januaiy (1687)."— .Fow«- 
ianthalfs Decisions, vol. i p. <139. 

The facetious qualities of the ape soon ren- 
dered him an acceptalile addition to the stroll- 
ing' band of the joiij;leur. Ben Jcnsini. in his 
splenetic introduction to the comedy of ' Bar- 
tholomew Fair." is at panis to mform the au- 
dience "that he hasne'eriiswoid and buckler 
in his Fair, nor a juggler, with a well- 
educated ape, to come over the chaiiie for the 



Kin? of England, and hack again for th^ 
Prince, and sit still on his haunches for the 
Pope and the King of Spaine." 



Note 3 W. 

Thnt stirrwg air that peats on high, 
O'er Dermid's race, our victory. — 
Strike it!— P. 195. 
There are several instances, at least in tra- 
dition, of persons so mucli attached to particu- 
lar tunes, as to require to hear them on their 
deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by 
the late Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel. in his col- 
lection of Border tunes, respecting an air 
called the •' Dandling of the Bairns." for which 
a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have 
evinced this strona: mark of partiali'y It is 
popularly told of it famous freebooter, that be 
composed the tune known liy the name of 
Macpherson's Rant, while under sentence of 
death, and played it at the gallows-tree. Some 
spirited words have 'oeen adapted to it by 
Burns. A similar story is recounted of a 
Welsh hard, who composed and played on bis 
deathbed the air called Datyddy Guriegg Wen. 
But the most curious example is given by 
Braiitome, of a maid of honour at the court 
of France, entitled. Mademoiselle de Limeuil. 
'• Duranl sa nialadie, dont elle tre.spassa. ja- 
mais elle lie cessa. aiiis causa lousjours ; car 
elle esioit fort grande parleuse, brocardeuse, 
et tres-hien et fort a propos. et tr^ s-belle avec 
cela. Quand I'heure de sa fin fut venue, elle 
tit venir a soy son valet (ainsi que le filles de 
la cour en ont chacune un), qui s'a|)(>elloit 
.lulien, et scavoit tres-bien jouer du violon. 
• Julien.' luy dit elle. "prenez vostre violon. et 
soiiim:z nioy tousjours jusques a ce que vous 
me voyez morte (car je m'y en vais) la ilefaite 
des Siiisses. et le mieux que vous pourrez. et. 
quand vousseiezsurle mot, " Tout est perdu.'' 
sonuez le par quatre ou cing fois le iiliis pi- 
teiisement que vous pourrez.' cequi fit I'autre, 
et elle mesme luy aidoit de la voix, et quand 
ce vint ' tout est perdu. 'elle le reitera pardeux 
fois ; et se touniant de i'autre coste du clievet. 
elle dit a ses compagnes: 'Tout est fierdii a 
ce coup, et a bon escient;' et ainsi ileceda. 
Voila une morte joyeuse et plaisante Je tiens 
(!e C(mte de deux de ses conijiacnes- diirnes de 
foi, qui vireiit jouer ce niystere,"— Oiirres de 
Brnntonic. iii. 507. The tune to which this fair 
lady clio-e to make her final exit, was com- 
po.s'ed oil the defeat of the Swiss at .Marign.ino. 
The burden is quoted by Panurge, in Rabelais, 
and consists of these words, imitatins: the jar- 
gon of the Swiss, which is a mixture of French 
and German : 

" ToBt est verlore. 
La Tiiitelon-, 
Toul €31 verlore, bi Got '" 



Note 3 X. 

Battle of Beat' an Dame.—?. 95. 
A skirmish actually took place at a i>ass 
thus called m the Trosachs. and closed wiin 
the remarkable incident mentioned in the text. 



A 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 



231 



It was greutly posterior in diite to the reign 
of James V. 

'• In this rouslily-wooded island.' the coun- 
try [leople secieied their wives and children, 
and their most valuable effects, from the rapa- 
city of Cromwell's s>>ldiers. during their in- 
road into this country, in the time of the 
repuhhc. The.se invader.s, not venlurhis: to 
iuscend by the ladders, alon? the side of the 
lake, ioi)k H mure ciiruitdUs roud.throush the 
iieart of the 'I'rosaclis, the most frequented 
pulli lit that tiiTie. which penetrates the wilder- 
iie.ss aliout half way between Biiiean and the 
I ike, hv a iract called Vea-chilleach, or the 
Uld Wife's Boff. 

In one of ihe defiles of this by-road, the 
men of the c.nuntiy at that time huiis upnn 
the rear of the invading enemy, anil shot one 
of Cromwell's men. whose grave marks the 
scene of action, and gives name lo that pass. 2 
In revenge of this insult, the soldiers lesiilved 
to plunder llie island, to violate the women, 
and put the children to deaili. With ihis 
liruial intention, one of the party, more expert 
than the rest, swam towards tiie island, to 
fetch the boat to his connades, which had 
carried the women to their asylum, and lay 
moored m one of tiie creeks. His conipanions 
sIoihI on the shore of the mamlainl. in full 
view of all that was to pass, wai'in^' anxiously 
for his return with the boat. But just as the 
swimmer had got to the nearest point of the 
island, and was laying hold of a bla<-k rock, to 
get on shore, a heroine, wiio stood on the very 
point where he meant to land, hastily snatcli- 
ing a dagger from below her apmn, with one 
stroke severed his head from the txxiy. His 
party seeim; this disaster, and reliiKpiishins 
all t'liture hope of revenge or conquest, made 
the best of their way out of tiieir perilous 
situation. This amazoii's great-granilson lives 
at Bridge of Turk, who, besides 01 hers attests 
the ■,Hieciiolii.''—Skelch 0/ tfie Scenery mar Cul- 
Umlar. Stirling, 1806. p 2i) I have only to add 
to this account, that the heroine's namu was 
Helen Stuart. 



Note 3 Y. 

And Snowdoun's Knighl is Scotland's Kinrj. 
P. 197. 

Tins dis(;overy will piobablv remind the 
reader of the beauiiful Arabian tale of U 
liondocam. Yet the incident is not borrowed 
from thai elegant stoiy, but from Scroiiish lia- 
dilioii James V., of whom we are treating, 
\\as a monarch whose good and benevolent 
in entioiis often rendered his romaiiUc Ireaks 
veiiiai, if not respectable, since, Iroiii his 
an.vious attention to the inieresis of the lower 
and most oppressed dass of his subjects, he 
was, as we have seen, popularly termed Ihe 
KiHij of the Contmuns. For the purpose of 
seeiii!< that justice was regularly administered, 
and frequently from the less justitiable motive 
of gallantry, he used to traverse the vicjiiage 
of Ins several palaces in various disguises 
The two excellent comic songs, entitled, •"the 
Gaberlunzie man.'' aiui " V\e'll sae nae inaira 
roving," are said to have been founded upon 



the success of his amorous adventures when 
iravellmg in the disguise of a beggar. The 
latter is perhaps the best comic ballad in any 
laii^uase. 

Alio her adventure, which had nearly cost 
James his hfe. is said to have taken place at 
the village of Cramond, near Edinburgh, 
where he had rendered his addresses accept- 
able to a pretty girl of the lower rank. Four 
or five persons, whether relations or lovirs 
of his misiress is uncertain, beset the d.s- 
gnised n.onarch as lie returned from Ins ren- 
dezvous Na:unilly gallant, and an adniiiabie 
ma-ster of his weanoii, the king took post on 
the high and narrow bridge over the Almond 
nver, and defended himself bravely with h s 
sword. A peasant, who was threshing m a 
neighbouring barn, came out upon the noise, 
and whether moved by couipa^siou or by na- 
tural gallantry, took the weaker side, and l..id 
about with his flail so eflfectually. as to dis- 
pense the assailants, well threshed, even ac- 
cording to the letter. He then conducted ilie 
king into his barn, where his guest reque,-.ted 
a oasin and a towel, to remove the siaiiis of 
the broil. This being procuied with difficulty, 
James employed himself in learning what was 
the summit of his del.veier's earthly wi,shes, 
and found that they were tiounded by the de- 
sire of possessing, in property, the farm of 
Braehead, upon which he laboured as a bonds- 
man The lands chanced to belong to the 
crown; and James directed him to come to 
the palace of Holvrood, and enquire for the 
(iui.iman (/. e. farmer) of Balleiigiech, a name 
by which he was known in his excursions, and 
w hich answered to the It Bondocani of Harouu 
.Miaschid. He presented himself accordingly, 
and found, with due astonishment, that lie 
had ^aved his monarch's lite, and that he was 
to be gia ihed with a crown charter of the 
lands of Br.ieliead, under the service of pre- 
senting a ewer, hasiii and towel, lor the kins: 
to wash his hands when he shall happen to 
pass the Bridge of Cramond. This person was 
ancestor of the Howisons of Braehead. in 
Alid Loihian. a respectalile family, who con- 
tinue to hold the lands (now passed into the 
female hue) under the s;une tenure. 

Another of James's frolics js thus narrated 
by .Mr. Campbell from the Statistical Account : 
— •• Being once benighted when out a-huntmif, 
and separated from his atleudaiits, he hap- 
pened lo enter a cottage in the midst of a 
moor at the foot of the Uchil lulls, near Alloa, 
where, unknown, he was kindly received. In 
order to regale their unexpected guest, the 
guaeinan (z. e. landlord, farmer) desired the 
yitdewije to fetch the hen thai roosted nearest 
the cock, which is always the plumpest, for 
Ihe stranger's supper. The king, highly pleased 
with his night's lodsing and hospitat)le enter- 
tainment, told mine host at parting, that he 
should t>e glad to return his civihiy. and re- 
quested I hat the first time he came to Siirlmg, 
he would cull at the castle, and enquire for 
the Gudmum oj Balhwjmck. 

Uonaldson. the landlord, did not fail to call 
on the Guileman of Batltiujuich. when his 
astonishment at finding that ihe king had lieeii 
lus guest artbrded no small amusement to ilie 



^: 



7 



X 



232 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



merry monarch and his courtiers; and. to 
carry on the pleasuulry. lie was tlietioetorth 
desitfiiuled by James with tiie title of Kin^ of 
the Moors, which name and designation liave 
descended from fattier to son ever since, and 
ihey liave continued in possession of tlie iden- 
tical spot, the pro[)erty of Mr Kiskine of Mar, 
till very lately, wiien tliis genileiiiaii, wiili re- 
luctance, turned out tiie descendant and re- 
presentative of tlie King of tlie Moo/s. on 
account of his majesty's invmcible indolence, 
and great dislike to reform or innovation of 
any kind, alilic)Ui?h. from the spirited example 
(it Ins neiglihour tenants on the same estate, 
he IS convinced similar exertion would pio- 
moie his advanlajje." 

The ;iuilior requests permission yet farther 
t(i verity I lie sutiject of his poem, hy an extract 
from the Kenealotjicid work of Buchanan of 
Aiic.hniar, ujion Scottish surnames : — 

•'I'liis John Buchanan of Auchinar and 
Aiiipiyor w;is afierwjirds termed Kin^' of 
Kippen, 1 Upon the following account: Kin? 
James V., a very sociable, delxinair prince, 
residing at Stirlme:, m Buclian:in of Arnpryor's 
time, carriers were very iVequeiiMy [lassnig 
along the common road, beiiis near Arii|)iyor's 
house, with necessaries lor the use of the 
king's family; and he, having some extraordi- 
nary occasion, ordered one "of these carriers 
to leave his load at Ins house, and he would 
pay him for It; which the carrier refused to 
do, telling him he was the king's carrier, and 
Ins load for Ins majesty's use; to which Arn- 
pryor seemed to have small regard, compelling 
the ciriier, in the end, to leave his load ; telf- 
ing him, if Kins James wus King of Scotland, 
he wus Kinj of Kippen, so that it was reason- 
able he should share with his neighbour king 
in some of these loads, so frequently carried 
that road. The carrier representing' tins usa^e, 
and lei, ins the story, as Arnpryor spoke i:, to 
some of the king's servants, it came at leusth 
to his majesty's ears, who, shortly thereafter, 
with a few attendants, came to visit his neigh- 
bour kmi;. who was in the meaiiiiine at dinner. 
Kins; James, having sent a servant to demand 
access, was denied the same by a tall fellow 
wall a battle-axe, who stood |)orter at the 
gale, telling, there could be no access till 
dinner was over. This answer not satisfying' 
the king, he sent to demand access a second 
time; upon which he wa> desired by the por- 
ter to des.st, otherwise he would hnd cause 
to repent his rudeness. His majesiy lindiiii; 
this method would not do, desired the porter 
to tell Ins master that the Goodman of Balla- 
geich desired to speak vvilh the Kiiiu; of Kip- 



Df I'ertlishu 



pen. The porter telling Arnpryor so much, 
he, in all humble manner, came and received 
the king, and having entertained him with 
much sumptuousness and jollity, became so 
agreeable to King James, that he' allowed him 
to take so much of any provision he found 
carrying that road as he had oitcasion for; 
and seeing he made the first visit, desired 
Arnpryor in a few days to return him a second 
to Si irliiig, winch he performed, and com inued 
in very much favour with the kinsf, always 
there.ifter lieini; termed Kine: of Kippen while 
he lived " — Buchnnan's Essay iijKm the Family 
oj Buchanan. Edin. 177.'), 8vo. p 74. 

The readers of Ariosto must t;ive credit for 
the amiable features with which he is repre- 
sented, since he is generally considered as the 
prototype of Zerbino, the most mteresiing 
hero of the Orlando Furioso. 



Note 3 Z. 

Sttrliny's tower 

OJ yore the name of Snowdoun claims — P. 196. 
William of Worcester, who wro'e about the 
middle of the fifteenth ciiitnry. cmIIs Stirling 
Castle Snowdoun. Sir David I. iiulsay bestows 
the same epithet upon it in his coiiiplamt of 
the Papingo : 

" Adieu, fair Siiawdoun, with thy towers high. 
Thy ihiiple-royal, park, ami tabi, round ; 
IMav, Jiiiie, and July, would 1 d ■ ell in Ihee, 
■W.Te I aman, to hear the birdi- so\iiid, 
VVhilk doth againe thy royal loik rebound " 

Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of 
Sir David Lindvay's works, has refuted the 
chimerical derivaiion of Snawdoun from S7ied- 
duKj. or cutting. It was pmliably derived from 
the romantic legend which connected Stirling 
with Kinjf Arthur, to which the mention of 
the Round Table trives countenance The ruig 
within which justs were formerlv practiseil, 
in the castle park, is still called'ihe Kouiid 
'J'able. Snawdoun is the official tn le of one 
of the Scottish lieralds, whose epithets seem 
in all C()untries to have been fantastically 
adopted from ancient history or romance. 

It atipears (See Note .3Y. ) thtit the real 
name by which James was actually distin- 
suished in Ins private excursions, was the 
Goodman of Balkmiuich ; derived from a steep 
pass leading up to the Castle of Stirling, s() 
called. But the epithet would nirt have suited 
poetry, and would besides at once, and pre- 
mtiturely, have announced the plot to many 
of my countrymen, among whom the traili- 
tionai stories above mentioned ar<: still cur- 
rent 



tv 



■A 



y 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 




The Vision of Box Roderick} 



Quid dignum memorare tuis. Bispania, terris, 
Vox humana valet! Clauoian. 



PKEFACE. 

The following Poem is foiindptl i:pon a Spnn- 
isli 'I'railitiiui, parUrularly detailed in tlie 
Notes; Inn heaiiiis:. m s:eiier;il. tliat Don Rode- 
rick. I lie last Gotliic Kia:?of Spam, when the In- 
vasion of tiie Moors was inipendiiisr, had the 
tenien'y iti descend into an ancient vaull, near 
Toledo, tlie openiiia- of wliicli had been de- 
nouticed as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. 
'I'lie lewnd adds, that his rash curiosity was 
mortified by an emhleniatical representation 
of those Saracens who, in ihe year 71 i, de- 
feated liini In battle, and reduced Spain under 
their doniiiiKin. I have presumed to prolong 
the Vision of the RfVcilutinns of Spain down 
to the prespiii eventful crisis of the Peninsula; 
and to divide it. by a supposed chalice of scene, 
into Three Periods. The First of these repre- 
sents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat 
and Death of Roderick, and closes wi'h the 
peaceful occupation of the country by the 
Victors. The Second Period embraces the 
state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of 
the Spaniards and Portuguese ia the Kast and 
West Indies had raised lu the highest pitch 
the renown of their arms ; sullied, however, 
by superstrion and cruelty. An allusion to 
tlie inhumanities of the Inijuisi'ion terminates 
this picture. The Lnsl Part of the Poem 
<ipens with the state of Spain previous to the 
unparalleled treachery of Buonaparte ; gives 
a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon 

1 The Vision of Don Rmlerick appeared in 4to, in July 
15, lull ; and in the course of the same year was also in- 
serted ill the second volume of the Kdiiitiurgh Annua] Re- 
gister— wh.ch work was the property of Sir Walter Scott's 
then publishers, Messrs. John Ballantyne and Co. 

a The Right Hon. Robert BL.ir of Avon ton n. President 
of the Court of Session, was the son of the Rev Robert 
BJair, aulhnr of "The Grave." .\fter l-^iig lil iiig the of. 
(ice of Solicitor-General in Scotland with high dis:infilion, 
he was elevated to the Presidency in IN)"*. He died very 
•uddenly on the 20th May JUll, in the 70th year of h s 
BEe; and his intimate friend. Henry Dundas, first Viscount 
Melville, having gone into Edinburgh on purpose to attend 
his rem lins to the grave, was Uken ill not less suddenly, 
and died there Ihe very hour that Ihe funeral took place, 
on Ihe '.'Hlh of the same month. 

S 111 a letter to J B. S. Morritt, Esi)., Eilinburah, July 
1. IBll, Scott says—" 1 have (his momeol got your kiod 



that unsiispici'ius and friendly kingdom, and 
terminates with the arrival of the British suc- 
cours. It may be farther proper to mention, 
that the object of the Poem is less to comme- 
morate or detail particular incidents, than to 
e.vliibit a general and impressive picture of the 
several periods brought upon the stau;e. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the 
Public, especially by one who has already ex- 
perienced more than ordinary indulsjence, to 
otTer any apology for the inferiority of the 
poetry to the subject It is chiefly designed to 
commemorate. Yet I think it proper to men- 
tion, that while T was hasi ily executing a work, 
written for a temporary purpose, and on pjuss- 
iiig events, the task was most cruelly inter- 
rupted by the successive deaths of Lord Pre- 
sident Blair.2 and Lord Viscount .Melville. In 
those distinguished characters. I had not oii.y 
to regret persons whose lives were most im- 
portant to Scotland, but also whose notice and 
patronage honoured my entjaiioe upon active 
life; and. I may add, with melanclioly pride, 
who permitted my more advanced aice to 
claim no common share in their fneiulship. 
Under such interruptions, the followm? verses, 
which my best and happiest efforts must have 
left far unworthy of their theme, have. 1 am 
myself sensible, an appearance of negli:feiice 
and incoherence, wliich. in other circum- 
stances, I might have been able to remove. 3 

Edinburgh, June 24. 1811. 

letter, just as I was packing up Don Roderick for you. 
This patriotic puppet-show has been finished under 
wretched auspices; poor Lord MelvilleV death so quickly 
succeeding that of President Blair, one of the best :iiid 
wisest judges that ever distributed justice, broke my spirit 
sadly My otflcial s lualion [laced ine in daily contai t 
with the President, and his ability and candour w.re the 
source of ray daily admiration. As for poor dear Lord 
Melville, "tis vain to name him whom we mourn in 
vain ■ Almost the last time I saw him, he vias talking of 
you in the highest terms of regard, and expressing ureat 
hopes of again .seeing you at Dunira Ihi.s summer, where I 
proposed lo attend you. Hei mihi ! quid hei mihi .' humo' 
na perpasi sumut. His loss will be long and severely felt 
here, and Knvy is already paying her cold tribute of ap- 
pi.- ise to the worth which she maligned while ii walked 
upon earth." 



20* 



A 



^ 234 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



The Vision of Don Roderick. 



TO 

JOHN WHITMORE, Esq. 

AND TO THE 

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 

IN AVHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

(THE VISION OF DOM RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OP THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT, 
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mount- 
ins fire 
May rise distinsuish'd o'er the din of war? 
Or died it with yon Mastei of the Lyre. 

Who suii^ beleag;uer'd ilion's evilstarT 
Such, Weliinston. niiffht reach thee from afar. 
Wafting: its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could 
mar. 
Ail as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet- 
change. 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal re- 
venge ! 

n. 

Yes ! such a strain, with all e'er-pouring mea- 
sure, 
Might melodize with each tumultuous 
sound, 
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or plea- 
sure. 
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores 
around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest 
crown'd. 
The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's 
moan. 
The shout of captives from their chains un- 
bound. 
The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
k Nation's choral hynm fur tyranny o'er- 
throwii. 

III. 
But we. weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

SkilI'd but to imitate an ekier page. 
Timid an<l raptureless. can we repay 
The debt thou clann'st in this exhausted 



"Ihou 



rhou givest our lyres a theme, that might en- 
gage 



Those that could send thy name o'er sea and 
land, 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's 
rage 
A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty 
hand — 
How nincli unmeet for us, a faint degenerate 
band ! 

IV. 

Ye mountains stern! within whose rugged 
breast 
The friends of Scottish freedom found re- 
pose ; 
Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have 
soothed their rest, 
Keturnin? from the field of vaiiquish'd foes; 
Say have ve lost each wild majestic (-lose. 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 
What time their hymn of victory arose. 
And Cattraelh's glens with voice of triumph 
rung, 
And mystic Merlin harp'd,andgrey-hair"d Lly- 
warch sung 1 1 



O! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, 
As sure your changeful gales seem oft to 
say. 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again. 
Like trumpet jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can eclio such triumphant lay. 
Then lend the note to him has loved you 
Ions! 
Who pious gather'd each tradition grey, 
That floats your solitary wastes along. 
And with affection vain gave them new voice 
in song. 

Nl. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver cnre, 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 
I In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 



2 See Appendix, Note A. 



A 



7 



^ 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



^- 



Careless lie Kave Ins iiUMil)ei-s to the air, 

Tliev came iiiisoiiiihl lor, if applauses came ; 
iVi)r itir limist^Ii prefers lie now the prayer; 

Lei lull Ins verse helit a hero's fame. 
Imim.rtai be ilie verse ! — forgot the poet's 
iiuiiie. 

VII. 
Hark, from yon misty ca'in iheir answer tost : 
" .Miii:;lrel! the fame of whose romantic 
lyre, 
Cai rit-ioiis-swelling: now. may soon be lost. 
Like the Imlil nioKermj? ot a ootia.'e fire; 
If lo siicli task presumpliioiis Iliini aspire. 

Se.-k not friiiii us ilie mif, i lo warrior due: 
Aw aller aw lias irallierM son lo sire. 

>in(e iiiir-rev (litis the dm of '-ontliCt knew. 
Or, pealiii:? lliroiigli our vales, viciorious bug;les 
blew. 

VUI. 

" Decav'd our old traditionary lore, 
Save' where the Ini^eriiis; fays renew their 
rin-.r. 
By niilk-maidseen beneath thehawlhorn hoar. 
Or round llie marge of Aliiicnmores haunted 
sprma:; ' 
Save where their legends grey-hair'd shep- 
herds sin?. 
Thai now scarce win a listening ear but 
thine. 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravasins. 

And rui^ged deeds recount in rugged line. 
Of iiioonriglit foray made on Teviot, Tweed, 
or Tyne. 

IX. 

"No! search romantic lands, where the near 
Sun 
Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his labour done. 
In verse spontaneous'-' chants som«j favour'd 
name. 
Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, 

Her eve of diamond, and her locks of jet; 
Or whether, kmdlins at the deeds of Graeme, 3 

He sins, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albm's red claymore, green Erin's bayo- 
net! 

X. 

" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of vvild Nevada ever uleams with snows. 
Where ni the proud Alhambra's ruiii'd breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 
I'liaii the tierce .Moor, float o'er 'I'oledo's 
fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the p.triot 
throws 
An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
Tlie blended ranks of England, Portugal, and 
Spain. 

XL 

There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 
Still lishlens in the sun-burnt native's eye; 

The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 
Still mark endiirin? pride and constancy. 

And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 
Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 

Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 



^ 



See Appendix, Nole 



Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their 
side. 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst for- 
tune fought and died. 
XII. 
"And cherish'd stili by that unchanging race. 
Are themes for minstrel.sy more high than 
tinne ; 
Of straiiiie traditiim many a mystic trace. 
Legend and vision, prsipliecy and sisn ; 
Where wo'iders wild of Arr.hesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of drirker shade, 
Forming a modt-l meet for iniiisirel line. 
Go, seek such theme! ' — The iMomilain 
S;,lnt said : 
With filial awe I heard— 1 heard, and I obey"d. 



^\)z Uisioii of 23oii 3^o"Dericfe:. 
I. 

Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies. 
And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy lowers and spires arise. 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their nim!J:led sl::idows intercept the sislit 
Of the broad bunal-gn)und outslreicird be- 
low. 
And nought disturbs the silence of the night; 

All sleeps m sullen shade, or silver ghiw. 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless 
flow. 

II. 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 
Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or 
tramp; 
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen 
ride. 
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's iiigiit-fog rolling damp. 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen. 
Which glim'mer'd back, against the moon's fair 
lamp. 
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen. 
And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders 
arm'd between. 

IIL 
But of their Monarch's person keeping ward. 
Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers 
lolld, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

The post beneaih the proud Cathednil hold : 
A bund Uiilike their Gothic sires of old. 

Who. lor tlie cap of steel and iron mace, 
Bt.ar slender darts, and casques bedeck'<l with 
gold, 
While silver-studded belts their shoulders 



ring in the broad fal- 



grace. 
Where ivory quivers 
chion's place. 

IV. 
In the lisht language of an idle court. 

They murmur'd at their masters long delay. 
And held his lenjjihen'd (umsohs in sport:— 
"What! will Don Roderick here till morn- 
iiig stay, 



2 See Appendix, Nole C. 



8 IbW, Nole D. 



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To wear in slirifr. anil prayer the nisht away ? 
And are liis hours in such dull penanoe past, 
For fair Flonnda's plunder'd charms to 
pay ?"— 1 
Tlien lo the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wisli'd *;\e lingering; dawn would glimmer 
forth a^ last. 

V, 
But, fJHr within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful v,'onder to the Kinj; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre seat. 

So loii^ that sad confession witnessing : 
For Koderick tdkl of many a hidden thing, 

Such as are loMily uiter"d to tlie air. 
When Fear. Keinorse, and Shame, the bosom 
wriii^, 
And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear. 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from 
Despair 

VI. 

Fij?' on the Prelate's face, and silver hair. 

The stream of failins lig:ht was feebly roH'd : 
But Roderick's visage, tliough his liead was 
bare. 
Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook. 
That mortal man his bearing should behold. 
Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience 
shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a war- 
rior's look. 

VII. 
The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale. 

As many a secret sad the Kmg bewray'd ; 
As sign and glance eked out the untinish'd tale. 
When in the nndst his faltering whisper 
sf-.;d.- 
"Thus royal Witiza2 was .slain," he said; 
"Yet. holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to 
shade.— 
'• Oh ! rather deem 'twas siern necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. 

VIII. 
" And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air. 

If she invoked her absent sire iii vain. 
And on her knees implored that I would spare, 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash re- 
frain !— 
All is not as it seems— the female train 
Know by their bearing to di.sguise their 

But Conscience here, as if in lii'_'h di.sdain. 
Sent lo I he Monarch's cheek the burning 
blood — 

Hest:iy"d his speech abrupt— and up the Pre- 
late stood. 

IX. 

"0 harden'd offspring of an iron race ! 
What of ttiy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I 
say? 
Wliat alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 
Murder's dark spot, Wiish treason's stain 
away ! 

1 See Appendix, Note K 

2 The predecesanr of Roilerick upon the Spuiiiah throne. 



For the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 
Who. scanre repentant, makes his crime his 
boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay. 

Unless in mercy to yon Christian liost, 
He spare the shepherd, le.st the guiltless sheep 
be losi I" 

X. 
Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood. 

And to his brow return'd its dauntless gloom , 
"And welcome then." he cried, "be blood for 
blood. 
For treason treachery, for dishonour doom ! 
Yet will I know whence come they, or by 
whom. 
Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated 
key. 
And Kunie me. Priest, to that mysterious room. 

Where, if auiiht true in old iradition be. 
His nation's future fates a Soanish King shall 
see." — s 

XI. 
"Ill-fated Prince ! recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey I 
Bethink, yon sp'r'l-bound portal would afl'ord 

Never to lor:!ier Moiiarcii entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say. 

Save to a Kin^. the liist of all his 1 ne, 
What time Ins empire totters to decav. 

And treason dig-, beneath, her fata'l mine. 
And, hiuh above, impends avenging wrath 
divine." 

XII. 

•' Prel.ate ! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay : 

Lead on I" — The ponderous key the old man 

took. 

And held the winkinsr lamp, and led the wav. 

By winding stair, dark isle, and secret nook, 

Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate Kini; essav'd. 
Low muitei'd thunders the Catliedral shi>ok. 
And twice he stopp'd, and twice new elfort 
made. 
Till the huge bolts roU'd back, and the loud 
hinges bray'd. 

XIll. 
Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 
Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble 
stone. 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall, 
Carved o'er with signs and characters un- 
known. 
A paly light, as of the davvnin? shone, 
Through the sad bounds, but whence they 
Could not spy ; 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light. Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by 
mortal eye. 

XIV. 
Grim sentinels, against the upper wall. 
Of molten bronze, two statues held their 
place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall. 
Their frowning foreheads golden circles 
grace. 



l.<In, the faihe 



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THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



237 



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Monldeil Ihey set^iiiM fur kiii2:s of m;int nice. 
'I'liiii lived and siiiii'd before tlie uveiigiiig 
flood ; 
This Rrasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace; 
Tills spread his wiiig:s for flight, Ihiit poiider- 
iiii; stiiod. 
Each siubborii seem'd and stern, immutable 
of mood. 

XV. 
Fix'd was the ri?ht-haiid Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of sliiftins? sand, 
As if Its ebb he measured by a book, 

Whose iron volume loaded his hiisie hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a fdlen land. 

Of empires lost, and knits' to exile driven : 
And o'er that, pair their names in scroll ex- 
pand— 
"Lo. DKSTINY and TIME! to whom by 
Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season 
given." — 

XVI. 

Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes 
away ; 

Ami, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
The right-hand Giant 's:an his club upsway, 

As one that startles from a heavy sleep 
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder. 
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, 

The marble boundary was rent asunder. 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of 
"fear and wonder. 

XVII. 

For they might spy, bey(md that mighty breach. 

Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, m due proportion each. 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray'd : 
Here, crnss'd by many a wild Sierra's shade. 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's 
eye: 
There, rich with vineyard ami with olive glade, 

Ordeep-embrown'd by forests h use and high. 
Or wash'd by mighty streams, that slowly 
Diurmur'd by. 

XMII. 

And here, as erst upon the antique stage, 

Pitss'd forth the band of masquers trimly led, 
In various forms, and various equipage. 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene. 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled. 

And issue of events that had not been ; 
And, ever and anon, strange sounds were 
heard between. 

XIX. 

First shrill'd an unrepeated female shriek ! — 
It seeiii'd as if Don Roderick knew the call, 

For the bold blood was blanching in his 
cheek. — 
Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal. 

Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal. 
The Tecbir war cry, and the Lelie's yell,' 

Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 



I Needs not to Roderick their dread import 

tell— 
"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor !— ring out 
the Tocsin bell ! 

XX. 

'• They come ! they come ! I see the groaning 

White with the turbans of each Arab horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bunds. 

Alia and Mahomet their battle-word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran or the 
Sword- 
See how the Christians rush to arms 
amain! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict ronr'd. 

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain — 
Now, God and Saint l.igo strike, for the good 
cause of Spain ! 

XXI. 

" By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Chris- 
tians yield ! 
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelio ?— Yes, 'tis mine ! 2 
But never was she turn'd from battle-line : 
Lo ! where the recreant spuis o'er stock and 
stone ! 
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine ! 
Rivers ingulph him !"—" Hush," in shudder- 
ing tone. 
The Prelate said ;— " rash Prince, yon vision'd 
form's thine own." 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course ; 

'i'he dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness 

tried; 

But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and 

hoise. 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide; 

And the proud Moslemali spread far and wide, 

As numerous as their iiativp locust hand ; 
Berber and Isiiiael's sons the spoils divide. 
With naked scimitars meie out the land. 
And for the bondsmen base the freeborn 
natives brand. 

XXIII. 

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes. 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign. 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echo'd, for holy hymn and organ-tone. 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibber- 
ing moaa. 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick ?- 
spies 



1 Bee Appendix, Note Q. 



3 Ibid, Note H. 



■E'en as one who 



Flames dart theirglare o'er midnight's sable 
woof, 
And hears around his children's piercing cries. 

And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 

While cruel Conscience brings him bitter 

proof. 

His tolly or his crime have caused his grief 

And while above him nods the crumbling roof, 



T 



wf, ^ 



r or; 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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^ 



He curses earth and Heaven — himself in 
cluef— 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven s 
relief! 

XXV. 
Thatscythe-arni'd Giant tum'd his fatal glass, 
And twiliKht on the landscape closed her 
winss ; 
Far to Asiunan hills the war-sonnds pass. 

And in tlieir stead rehecii or timbrel rinss: 
And to the soinid tlie heil-deck'd dancer 
springs. 
Bazaars resound as when their marts are 
met, 
fn tourney light the Moor hisjerrid flings, 

And on the land as evening seeni'd to set. 
TiielniHum's chant was lieard from mosque 
or minaret. 

XXVI. 
So pass'd that paseant. Kre another came, 

Tlie visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke. 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by 
sheets of flame; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Hoderick deem'd the fiends had burst 
their yoke. 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gon- 
fah)ne ! 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke, 
.Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and tliunder 
was her lone. 

XXVII. 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away— 

The Christians have resaiird their heritage ; 

Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray. 

And many a monastery decks liie stiige, 
And lofty cliurch. and low-brow'd hermitage. 

The la'nd obeys a Hermit and a Knight.— 
The Genii those of Spiiin for many an age; 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright. 
And that was VaLOUK named, this BIGOT IvY 
was liight. 

XXVIII. 
VALOUR wns harness'd like a Chief of old, 
Arm'd at all points, and prompt for kniglitly 
gest; 
His sword was temper'd in the Ehro cold, 
Morena's eagle plump adorn'd Ins crest. 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound iiis breast. 
Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down 
his gage ; 
As if of mortal kind to brave the besl. 

Him foilow'd iiis Companion, dark and sage. 
As lie, my Master, sung the dangerous Archi- 
mage. 

XXIX. 
Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 
In look and language proud as proud miglit 
be, 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and 
fame : 
Yet was that barefoot monk more protid 
than he : 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest free. 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and 
free, 
Till ermined Age and Youth in arms re- 
nown'd. 
Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly 
kiss'd llie ground. 



XXX. 

And thus it chanced that VALOUR, peerless 
knight. 
Who ne"er to King or Kaiser veil'd his crest, 
Victorious still in hull-feast or in fight. 

Since first his limbs with m;iil he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

ISior reason'd of the right, nor of tlie wrong, 
But at his bidding hiid the lai'ce in rest. 
And wrought fell deeds the troubled world 
along. 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as 
strong. 

XXXL 

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-fonnd 
world. 
That latest sees the sun. or first the morn ; 
Still at I hat Wizard's feet their spoils he 
hurl'd,— 
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne. 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs 
worn. 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, 
and foul ; 
Idols of sroK! from heathen temples torn. 
Bedalihled ail with blood. — With grisly 
scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled be- 
nea h his cowl 

XXXH. 
Then did he ble.ss the oflering. and bade make 
Tribute to He;iven of gratitude and praise; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake. 

And many a hand the silver censer sways, 
But with the incense-breath tiiese censers 
raise, 
Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the 
fire; 
The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, 
And shrieks of agony confound the quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd 
scenes expire. 

xxxni. 

Preluding light, were strains of music heard. 

As once again revolved tliat measured sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance pre- 
pared. 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band ; 
When for the light bolero ready si;iiid 

'I'he mozo blithe, with gay mucliacba met.t 
He conscious of his hroider'd cap and band. 

>he. of her netted locUs and light corseite. 
Each tiptoe percli'd to spring, and shake the 
Castanet. 

XXX IV. 
And well such strains the opening scene be- 
came ; 
For VALOUR had relnx'd his ardent look. 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, 

Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms 
to brook ; 
And soften'd BIGOTRY upon his hook, 

Patter'd a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his prunine-hook. 

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from vdlage-green the merry segui- 
diUe. 



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Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seera'd for kings of giant v^ce.—Page 236, Vers3 



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239 > 



XXXV. 
Grey Royalty, grown jnipotftiit of toil, 

Let the jjnive sceptre slip Ins lazy hold ; 
And, careless, saw liis rule become the spoil 

Of a loose Female and her mmioii l)<)ld 
But peace was on ihe cottage and the fold. 
From court intrigue, from bickering faction 
far; 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was 
told, 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the 
evening star. 

XXXVI. 
As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand. 
When first from Carmel by the 'I'ishiute 
seen. 
Came slowlv overshadowing Israel's land. 
A while, perchance, bedeck'd with colours 
slieen. 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been. 
Linuiing with purple and with gold its 
shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene, 
And blotted heaven with one broad sable 
cloud. 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirl- 
winds howl'd aloud : — 
XXXVII. 
Even so. upon that peaceful scene was pour'd. 
Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign 
band. 
And HE, their Leader, wore in sheath his 
sword. 
And olTer'd peaceful front and open hand. 
Veiling the perjured treat^liery he plann'd. 
By friendship's zeal and honour's specious 
guise. 
Until he won the passes of the land : 
ThtSi hurst were honour's oath, and friend- 
ship's ties ! 
He clutcti'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair 
Spiiin ins prize. 

xxxvin. 

An Tron Crown his anxious forehead bore; 
And well such diadem his heart became. 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 

Or clieck'd his course for piety or shame; 
Who. train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 
Might floiu'ish in the wreath of battles won. 
Though neither trutli nor honour deck'd his 
name : 
Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's 
throne. 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's 
kingly tone. 

XXXI X. 
From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 
The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's 
hearth 
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame. 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the 
earth — 
The sable land-flood from some swamp ob- 
scure. 
That poisons the glad husband-field with 
dearth. 
And by destruction bids its fame endure, 
Hatli not a source more sullen, stagnant, and 
impure. 



XL. 
Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form ; 
Her limbs like mist, her toi<-.ii like meteor 
show'd, 
With which she beckond hiui through fight 
and storm. 
And all he crush 'd that cn^ss'd his desperate 
road. 
Nor thought, nor fear'd. nor look'd on what he 
trode. 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could 
not slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
It was A.MBITION bade her terrors uaUe. 
Nor deiifii'd she, as of yore, a milder ioriu to 
take. 

XLI. 
No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge. 
Or staid lier Jiaiid for conquer'd foeuiuii's 
moan ; 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, 

By Ciesar's side she cross'd tlie Kiihicon. 
Nor jov'd she to bestow the sjioiis she won. 
As when the banded powers of Greece were 
task'd 
To war beneath the Youth of Macpdon : 

No seemly veil her modeiii iniiuou ask'd. 
He saw herhideous face, and loved liie lieiid 
unmask'd. 

XLII. 

That Prelate mark'd his march — On banners 
blazed 
With battles won in many a distant land. 
On eagle-standards and on arms he sa/ed ; 
'•And hopest thou then." he s;i.d, • thy power 
shall stand ' 
O. thou hast builded on the shifiui:: sand. 
And thou hast teniper'd it wiiu slaugliier's 
flood : 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighly's hand, 
Gore moisten'd trees shall perish mi he bud. 
And by a blotnly death, shall die the man of 
Blood !" 

XLIII. 
The ruthless Leader beckon 'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade hiiii kneel. 
And paled his temples with the vruwu of 
Spain, 
While trumnets rang, and heralds cried, 
•' Castile'!" i 
Not that he loved him — No! — In no man's 
weal, 
Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen 
heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors 
wheel, 
Th.atthe poor Puppet might perform his part, 
.•\iid be a sceptred slave, at his stern lieck 
to start. 

XLIV. 

But on the .Natives of that Land misused. 

Not loii2 the .silence of amazeiueiit liuiig. 
I Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith 
abused ; 
For, with a common shriek, the general 
! tongue 

Exclaim'd, " To arms !" — and fast to arms they 
sprung. 

I 1 See .\prenJix, Note K. 



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And VALOUR woke, that Genius (if the Land. 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloih, asiile he tiling, 

As hiiist th' iiwakeiiiun Nazante his hand, 
When Vainst his tie^iclieroiis foes he cleiicird 
his dreadlul liand.i 

XLV. 

ThHt Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 
UlK.n the Satraps that hegirt liini round, 
Now dutrd ins roval rohe in act to fly. 

And fruni his brow the diadem unbound. 
St) oft, so near, tile Patriot bugle wound. 
From Tarick's walls to Bdbou's mountains 
blown. 
These martial sateUites hard labour found. 
To K'lard awhile his substituted throne- 
Light reckiiiK of his cause, but battling for 
tiieir own. 

XLVI. 

From Alpuhara's peak that busle runff, 

And It was eclio'd from Coninna's wall ; 
StJitelv Seville responsive war-shout flun?, 

Grenada raiiu'lil it m her Moorish hall; 
Galicia bade her children fi^ht or fall. 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the hattle-call, 

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are 
met. 
First started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. 

XLVn. 

But unappall'd and burnin? for the fi£ht. 

The Invaders march, of victory secure; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful les.s. cheap cimqiiest to ensure, 

Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow. 
To quell by boastinsr, and by bribes to lure ; 

While iiouffht asainst idem bring the un- 
practised foe. 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands 
for Freedom's blow. 

XLVin. 

Proudlv they march — but, O! they march not 
forth 

By one hot field to crown a brief campaig^i, 
As when their Eagles, sweeping thro gh the 
North, 

Destroy 'd at every stoop an ancient reien ! 
Far other tale had Heaven decreed for Spain : 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied. 
New Patriot armies started from the slain. 

High lilazed the war, and long, and far, and 

^ wi,le,2 

And ofi the God of Battles blest the righteous 

^Hle. 

XLIX. 

Nor iiiiatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail. 
Remain'd their savage waste. With l)lade 
and brand. 
By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale. 

Put, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 

Came like night's tempest, and avenged the 

land. 

And claim'd for blood the retrihulion due. 

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the mur- 

d'lous hand ; 



And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams 
she threw. 
Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' 
corpses knew. 

L. 
What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may 
tell. 
Amid the vision'd strife from .sea to sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Si ill honour'd in defeat as victory ! 
For that sad pageant of events to he, 
Show'd every form of figlit by field and 
flood; 
Slaushier and Ruin, shouting forth their slee, 

Beheld, while ridins on the tempest scud. 
The waiers choked with slain, the earth be- 
drench'd wiili blood ! 

LL 
Then Zarasoza— blighted be the tongue 
That names thy name without the honour 
due ! 
For never hath the harp of Minstrel runs, 

(Jf faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
Mine, sap. and biimb. thy shatter'd ruins knew, 

Each art of war's exi "remit v had room. 
Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe 
witluirew ; 
And when at length stern fate decreed thy 
doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's 
bloody tomb 3 

LII. 
Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 
Enthrall'd thou canst not be! Arise, and 
claim 
Reverence from every heart where Freedom 
reigns. 
For what thou worshippest ! — tny sainted 
dame. 
She of the Column, honour'd be her name. 
By all, whaie'er their creed, who honour 
love ! 
And like the sacred relics of the flame. 

That gave .some martyr to the bless'd above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers 
prove ! 

LIII. 
Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 

Faithful to death thy heroes shall be suns-. 
Maiming the towers while o'er their heads tlie 
air 
Swart as the smoke from raging furnace 
hung; 
Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was 
sprung. 
Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare. 
Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb wiis 
fluns. 
And redd'ningnow with conflagration's glare 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm pre- 
pare. 

LTV. 

While all around was danger, strife and fear. 
While the earth shook^ and darken'd was 
the sky. 

And wide Destruction stunn'd the listenini^ear, 
Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye,— 



, See Book of Judgesj Cliap. 



AjireniJix, Note L. 



Slbiii, KoteM. 



z 



It" 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



Aliir wiis heard that thrice-repeated cry, 
III which old Albion's liearl iiiid tongue 
unite, 
Whene'er lier soul is up, and pul.«e beats hish, 

\V hetlier it hail the wine-cup or the fiKht, 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each lieart 
be light. 

LV. 

Don Roderick turn'd him as t!ie shout grew 
loud — 
A varied scene the chaneefiil vision show'd, 
F'lr, where the ocean mingled vviih the cloud, 

A gallant navy steinm'd the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol 
flow'd. 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; 
Mouliiis the sea tlieir landward barses row'd. 
And fla.sh'd the sua on bayonet, brand, and 
spear. 
Anil llie wild beach return 'd the seaman's jo- 
vial cheer. 

LVI. 

It was a dread, vet spirit-stirrin? sisht ! 

The billow.s foam'd beneath a thousand oars. 
Fast as they land the red-croj^s ranks unite, 

Uigions on lesions briglil'ning all the shores. 
Tlien banners rise, and cannon-signal roars. 

'I'hen peals the warlike tlmnderof the drum, 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-tlourish 
pours, 
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are 
dumb, 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of 
Ocean come ! 

Lvn. 

A various host they came — whose ranks dis- 
play 
Each mode in which the warrior meets the 
fight. 
The deep battalioQ locks its firm array. 

And meditates his aim the marksman light; 
Far slance the lightTof sabres flashing bright, 
Where mounted squadrons shake the echo- 
ing mead. 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night. 
.Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed. 
I'hul rivals lightning's flash lu rum and in 
speed. 

LVIIl. 

A various host — from kindred realms they 
came. 
Brethren in arms, hut rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry Eiishind claim. 
And with tlieir deeds of valour deck her 
crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial 
frown. 
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's 
cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown. 
And the blunt speech that bursts without a 
pause. 
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Sol- 
dier with the Laws. 

LIX. 

And, ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land 1 

Yonder your bonnets luA, your tartans wave ; 



The rng-eed form may mark the mountain 
baud, 
And harsher features, and a mien Liore 
grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so 
brave. 
As that which beats beneath the Scottish 
plaid : 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 

And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Where lives the desperate foe that for such 
onset staid ! 

LX. 
Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter 
riiiss. 
Mmgliiia: wild mirth with war's stem min- 
stielsy. 
His jesr while each blithe comrade round him 
flinss. 
And moves to death with military glee : 
Boast. Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and 
free. 
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger 
known. 
Ronsh Nature's children, humorous as she : 
And He, yon Chiefiain— strike the proudest 
tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle! — the Hero is 
thine own. 

LXl. 

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, 
On 'lalavera's fight should Roderick gaze. 
And hear Coruana wail her battle won. 
And see Busaco's crest with lightning 
blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise T 
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long tri- 
umphs room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the 
bays. 
That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the war- 
rior's tomb ? 

LXII. 
Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope, 

BiddiiiK beyond it scenes of glory had. 
And paintins' Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
Wliile kindlins: nations buckle on their mail. 
And Fame, with clarion-blast and wmgs un- 
furl'd. 
To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured 
World? 

LXITI. 

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast. 

Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own: 
Vet fate resisns to worth the glorious past, 

The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny i be gone, 

Km?, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain. 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun. 

Yet grant for faith, for vaUiur. and for Spain, 
One note of jtride and fire, a Patriot's parting 
strain ! 




^k 



242 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



Etit Vision of 33oix aaotremfe. 



CONCLUSION. 



I. 

"Who shall commsind Estrella's mountain- 
tide 
Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to 
hie? 
Wlio, when Gascognc'a vex'tl gulf is ragintj 
wide. 
Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry? 
His matric power let such vain boaster try, 

And when the torrent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lulhiliy, 
Let him si and foilh and bar nune eagles' 
way. 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bid- 
ding stay. 

II. 
" Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's 
towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of our 
yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelnrd yon red- 
cross Powers !" 
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's leader 
spoke. 
While downward on the land his legions 
press, 
Before them it was rich with vine and flock. 
And smiled like Eden in her summer 
drfss; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wil- 
derness. 1 

III. 
And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of 
the land. 
Though Lusitania whet her venseful sword, 
Tnough Britons arm, and Wellington com- 
mand ! 
No ! grim Busaco's iron rkiare shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ; 
And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd 
band. 
As from the unshaken rock the torrent 
hoarse 
Bears otf its broken waves, and seeks a de- 
vious course. 

TV. 
Yet not because Alcoba's Yiiountain-liawk 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food. 
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood : 

For full in view the promised conquest stood. 

And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might 

sum 

The myriads that had half the world subdued. 

And hear the distant thunders of the drum. 

That bids the bands of France to storm and 

havoc come. 



Four moons have heard these thunders idly 
loU'd, 
Have seen these wistful myriads eye their 
prey. 
As fainish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to ballle-fray, 
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly 
fight : 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 
Where cowardice and cruelty unite 
To danm with double sliame Vheirignominions 
flight ! 

VI. 
O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, vet ne'er to he forgot. 
What wanton horrors mark'd their wreckful 
path ! 
The peasant bntcher'd in h'.s ruin'd cot. 
The Fioary priest even at the altar shot. 
Childhood and age given o'er to sword and 
flame. 
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot. 

By which inventive demons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's 
great name ! 

VIL 
The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done. 

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretcii 

forlorn. 2 

Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd lits 

gun. 

Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful sou 

Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty th'e tax sliall shun. 

Nor prince nor peer,the wealthy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more 
worthless lay. 

vin. 

But thou— unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now mi.scall'd in vain I 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 
Miircella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain- 
chain ? 
Vainglorious fugitive ! 3 yet turn again ! 
Behold, where, named by some prophetic 
Seer, 
Flows Honour's Fountain,* as foredoom 'd the 
stain 
From thy dishonour'd name and arms to 
clear- 
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her 
favour here ! 

IX. 

Vet, ere tlum turn'st, collect each distant aid ; 

Those chiefs that never heard the lion roar ! 

Within whose souls lives not a trace portray 'd, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon 
more ; 
Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour. 

Legion on legion on thy foenian roll. 
And weary out his arm— thou canst not quell 
his soul. 



7 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



vainly jrleanis with steel Asneila's sliore, 

Vaiiiiv Illy sqiiailroirs hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flyici? thunders as thev mar, 
With fniiiiic charge and tenfold odds, in 
v;iin ! 1 
And What avails thee that, for CAMERON 
slain.a 
Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was 
L'iven— 
Venu^e:inre and grief gave mountain-rage the 
rem, 
And. :it the bloody spear-point headlong 
ilriveii. 
Tliy Desiiot's sriant guards fled like the rack 
of heaven. 



Go. haflled boaster! teach thy hanjlitv ninod 

To plead at thine init^ieiioiis master's throne, 
Say. ihou hasi left his lesions in their blood, 

Deceived Ins hones, and frustrated thine own ; 
Sav, that ihme utmost skill ;uid valour shown, 

By Bnti'^h skill and valour were outvied ; 
Last say. thy conqueror was WELLINGTON ! 

And if he chafe, he his own fortune tried — 
God an I our cause to friend, tiie venture we'll 
abide. 

XII. 
But you. ye heroes of that well-fon?ht day. 

How shall a hard, unknowing and unknown, 
His meed to each victonoiis leader pav, 

(ir bind on every hmw the laurels won? 
Ye' fain niv !iar|) would w;ike its boldest icme, 

O'er the wide sea to hail CADOGAN brave ; 
And he. perchance, the iniustiel-note might 
own, 

Mindful of meeting brief that P'ortune gave 
'Mid yon far western isles that hear the 
Atlantic rave. 

XII 1. 

Ves ! hard the task, when Britons wield the 
sword, 
To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunder.** BEKI-;?;FOHD. 
And Red IJaiosa shouts for dauntless 
GK.EME! 
O for a verve of tumult and of flame. 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame ! 

For never, upon gory battle-sround. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were 
braver victors crown'd ! 

XIV. 
who shall snidge him Albuera "s havs. 

Who brought a race regenerate to ihe field, 
Roused them to emulate their fathers" praise. 
Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage 
steel'd.s 
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield. 



1 See Appendix, Note R. 



3 Ibid, Role 8. 



And save new edge fo Lusitania's sword. 
And taught lier sons forgotten arms to wield— 

Shiver'd my liarp. and burst its every chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious BEIi EbFORD ! 

XV. 

Not on that bloody field of battle won, 
ThouKli Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist 
awav. 
Was half his self-devoted Valour shown, — 
He gased but lite on that illustrious day ; 
But when he toil'd those squadrons to array. 

Who fought like Bntoiis in the bloody game, 
Sharper than Polish [JiUe or assagay. 
He braved the shafts of Censure and of 
shame. 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 

XVL 
Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath I he warrior's vest aflfection's wouikL 
Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal 
denied ; 
Daii-er and fate he sought, but slory found. 
From rlime to clime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound. 
The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia! .still 
Thine was his thought in march and tented 
ground ; 
He dream'd 'nud Alpine's chfl's of Athole's 
hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely 
nil. 

XVII. 

hero of a race renown'd of (»ld. 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle- 
swell. 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold. 
Wild sounding when the Koman rampart 
fell I 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 
Aldenie, Kilsylhe, and 1 ibber, own'd its 
tame, 
Tumniells rude pass ran of its terrors tell. 

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, 
Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquerinif 
shout of GH.E.ME' •» 

XVlll. 
But all too long, through the unknown and 
dark, 
(With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) 
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturoug 
bark, 
Antl landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore I hail, 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now 1 gladly furl my weary sail. 
And as tlie proW lisht touches on the strand. 

1 strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to 

land. 



243 \ 



See Appcudix, Note T. 



4 Ibid, Note U. 



k 




/. 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



APPENDIX, 



Note A. 

And Cattreath's qlms with voice of triumph 
run(j, 
And myslic Mf.rlin htirp\l, and yrey hair d 
LluWarch Slim/ ,'— P. 234. 

This locality may startle those readers who 
t1(i not recollect that much of the ancient 
poetry preserved i^i Wales refers less to the 
hisioiy of the Prmcipiility to which that name 
is now limited, thiin lo events which happened 
in the n(U-ih-west of Emjhind, and south- west 
of Scotland, where the Biitons for a lon^: time 
made a stand affainst the Saxons. The battle 
of Cattreath, lamented by the celebrated Aneu- 
nn. is sufiposed, by the learned Dr. Leyden, to 
liaVe been foniafht on the skirts of Ettrick 
Forest It is known to tiie [!;ng;lish reader by 
the paraphrase of Gray, beginning. 

" Kad I but Ihe torrent's might. 
With heaillong rage and Wild affright," &:c. 

But it is nt>t so (generally known that the 
cliampioiis mourned in this beautiful dirse, 
were the British inhabitants of Edinburgh, 
who were cut off by the Saxons of Deiria, or 
Northumberland, about the latter part of the 
Sixth century. — Turner's Hislori/ of Ike Atu/lo- 
Saxons, edition 1799, vol. i. p. 222, Lly warcli. 
ttie celebrated bard and monarch, was Prince 
of Argood, in Cumberland ; and ins youtjiful 
exploits were performed upon the Border, 
although in his age he was driven into Powys 
by the successes of the Anglo-Sa.vons. As for 
Merlin Wyllt, or the Savage, his name of ('ale- 
donia, and his retreat into the Caledonian 
wood, appropriate him to Scotland. Foidun 
dedicates the thirty-tirst chapter of the third 
book of his ScotoChronicon, to a narration of 
the death of this celebrated bard and propiiet 
iie:ir Drumelzier, a village upon Tweed, which 
is supposed to have derived its name {quasi 
Tumulus Merlini) from the event. The par- 
ticular spot III which he is buried is still shown, 
and ajipears. from the foUowme: quotation, to 
have partaken of his prophetic qualities : — 
" There is cnie thins remarkable here, which 
is that tiie burn called Pausayl runs by the 
east side of this churchyard into the Tweed ; 
at the side of which burn, a little below the 
churchyard, the famous prophet Merlin is said 
to be buried. The particular place of his 
grave, at the root of a thorn tree, was shown 
me, many years ago, by the old and reverend 
mmisler of the place, Mr. Kichard Brown; 
and here was the old prophecy fulfilled, de- 
livered in Scots rhyme, to this purpose :— 



'• For. the same day that our King James the 
Sixth was crowned King of England, the river 
Tweed, by an extraordm-'iry flood, so far over- 
owed its banks, that it met and joined with 
the Pausayl at the said grave, whicli was never 



before observed to tall out "—Pennyanck's De- 
scription of Twctddalc. Kdm. 1715, iv. p. 26. 



Note B. 

Mmchmore's haunted spring.— V. 2i5. 

A belief in the existence and nocturnal 
revels of the fairies still lingers among the 
vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain 
upon the ridge of Mijichmore. called the 
Clieesewell, is supposed 'to be sacred to these 
fanciful spirits, and it was customary ir> pro- 
pitiate them by throwing in scmiething upon 
passing it. A pin was the usual oblation ; and 
the ceremony is still sometimes practised, 
though rather in jest than earnest 



Note C. 

■ The rude villager, his labour done. 

In verse spontn7iFous c/uints some favour'd 
name.— P. 235. 

The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish 
languages, and perhaps the liveliness of their 
genius, renders these countries distinguished 
for the talent of improvisation, which is found 
even anions the lowest of the people. It is 
mentioned by Baretti and other travellers. 



Note D. 

Kindling at the deeds of Grcetne—P. 235 

Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, 
a poet may be allowed to exercise some power. 
I have used the freedom, here and elsewhere, 
to alter the orthography of the .name of my 
gallant countryman, in order to" apprize the 
Southron reader of its legitimate sound ;— 
Grahame being, on the other side of the Twt ed, 
usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 



Note E. 

What! will Don Roderick here till morning 
stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

And are his hours m such dull penance past. 

For fair Florinda's pLumler'd charms lo pay ? — 

P. 236 

Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as 
the voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of 
the Moors to the forcilile violation committed 
by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the 
Moors, Calia or Cava. Sue was the daughter 
of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monurch's 
principal lieutenants, who, when llie crane 



Z 



v^ 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON KODEPJCK. 245 



M 



^ 



W;is rier[)err;ite<l. was eiiL;ai;eJ in the 'lefeiioe 
of Ceuia against ilie Moors. In his inilis;iia- 
tioM at the )ii-;raiitiide of his sovereign, and 
the (lishiMumi- ot" Ins dausjhter, Count Julian 
forgot the (Inties ot a I'hnsiian and a patriot, 
and forming an alliance with Mnsa. then the 
Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he couiiienanced 
Ih.- invaMoii of Spain liy a hody of Saracens 
and Africans, c.oinmanded by the celeliraied 
T.irik; the i>siie of which wsis the defeat and 
death of KoJeiick, and the occupation of 
annost the whole peninsula by the Moors. 
Voltaire, III his General HisKny, expresses his 
doubts of tins po[)ular story, and Gibbon gives 
tiiin some (•oiintenance ; hut the universal 
tradition IS qniie sutticient for the purposes of 
poetry. 'Ilie Spaniards, in detestation of Flo- 
rinda's nieiiiory. are said, by Cervantes, never 
to iiestow that name upon any human female, 
reseivins: it for their dogs. Nor is the tradi- 

t less inveterate among the Moors, since 

the same author mentions a [iromontory on 
the coa-st of 13arbary. called "The Cape of the 
Cab. I Kiiinia, which, in our tongue, is the 
Cape of the Wicked Christian VSOman; and it 
IS a tradition among the Moors, that Caba, the 
damjhter of Count Julian, who was the cause 
of I he loss of Spam, lies buried there, and 
they limik it ominous to be forced into that 
bay ; for they never go in otherwise than by 
necessity." 



Note F. 

And guide me. Priest, to that mysterwus room. 
Where, if iiwjht true in ol'l trad) lion be. 
His nalioii's future fate a Spanish Knuj shall be. 
P. 236 

The transition of an incident from history to 
tradition, and from tradition to fable and ro- 
mance, becoming more marvellous at each 
step from Its original simplicity, is not ill ex- 
emplitied in the account of the " Fated Cham- 
ber" of Doll Roderick, as given by his name- 
sake, the historian of Toledo, contrasted with 
subsequent and more romantic aci'ouiits of 
the same subierranean discovery. I give the 
Archbishop i>f 'i'oledo's tale in the words of 
Nonius, who seems to intimate, (though very 
modestly,) thai the fatiile palalinm of which so 
nmch had been said, was only the rums of a 
Koman amphulieatre. 

■■ E.vtra muros, septentrionem versus, vesti- 
gia mai-'iii ohm theatn sparsa visuntnr. Aucior 
est HoderKms, Toletanus Aichiepiscopus ante 
Araiinm m Hispanias irruptionem, hic futale 
pal'iiium fiiisse; quod invicti vectes seierna 
fern roliora claudebant. ne reseratum llispa- 
nia; excidium adferiet ; quod in fails non vu.gus 
solum, sed et prudentissimi quique ciedebant. 
Sed Koderici ultiini (iollioruin Kesis animiim 
liifelix curiositas subiit, sciendi quid sub tot 
vetilis clauslns observareiur; insentes ibi su 
periorum regum ojies et arcanos thesauros 
servari nitus. Seras et pessulos perl'rmgi 
curat, invitis omnibus; nihil prater arculam 
repertum, et in ea linteum. quo explicato iiovai 
et iiisolenles homiiium lacies haiiitusque ap- 
paruere, cum iiiscriptione Latiiia, Hisji'inias 
excuJmin ab ilia genie imiiiinere ; Vultus liabit- 
usqiie Maurorum erant vjuamobremex Africa 
Utniaii. ch.deni mstare legi cajiensque per- 



suasiim ; nee falso ut Hispanic annales etiam- 
iium queruiitur." — Hispania Ludovic. Noiuj. 
ca[i lix 

But, ab(mt the term of the expulsion of the 
Moors from Grenada, we find, in the " Historia 
Verdadeyra del Rey Dmi Rodri(jo." a (pretended) 
translation from the Araljicof the sa^e Alcayde 
Abulcacim Tarif Abentarique, a lesend which 
puts to shame the modesty of the historian 
Roderick, with his chest and prophetic picture. 
The custom of ascribing a pretended Moorish 
onsinal to these legendary histories, is ridi- 
culed by Cervantes, who affects to translate 
the History of the Knight of the Woful Figure, 
from the Arabic of the sage Cid Haniet Benen- 
ereli. As I have been indebted to the Historia 
Vcrdadeyra for some of the imagery employed 
in the text, the following literal translation 
from the work itself may gratify the inquisi- 
tive reader ; — 

•One mile on the east side of the city of 
Toledo, among some rocks, was situated an 
ancient tower, of a niamiificent structure, 
thousrli much dilapidated l)y time, which con- 
sumes all : four estadoes \i. e. four times a 
man's heiiihi) below it, iliere was a cave with 
a very narrow entrance, and a sate cut out of 
the solid rock, lined with a strong coverinff of 
iron, and fastened with many locks: above 
the gale so/ne Greek letters are engraved, 
which, alihough abbreviated, and of doubtful 
meaning, were thus interpreted, according to 
f lie exposition of learned men: — 'The King 
who opens I his c;ive, and can discover the 
w'onders, will discover both good and evil 
things.' — Many Kings desired to know the 
mystery of this tower, and sought to find out 
the manner with much care: but when they 
opened the gate, such a tremendous noise 
arose in the cave, that it appeared as if the 
earth was bursting; many of those present 
sickened with fear, and oth'ers lost their lives. 
In order to prevent such great perils, (;is they 
supposed a dangerous enchantment was con- 
tained within.) they secured the gate with 
new locks, concluding, that, though a King 
was destined to open it. the fated time was 
not yet armed At last King Don Rodrigo. led 
on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, 
oiiened the tower; and some bold attendants, 
whom he had brought with hun. entered, al- 
though agit ded Willi (ear. Having proceeded 
a good way, tliey fled back to the entrance, 
tenified with a fiiglitful vision winch they had 
beheld. The King was greatly moved^ and 
orilered many torches, so contrived that the 
tem|)est 111 the cave could not extin:;uish I hem, 
to be lighted. Tlien ilie King entered; not 
williou: fear, before all the others Tliey 
discovered, by decrees, a s(ilendid hall, appa- 
reii ly built in a verv sumptuous manner; lu 
\.\w. middle stood a Bronze Statue of very lero- 
cious appearance, winch held a battle-axe in 
Its hantls. With this he struck the tloor vio- 
lently, giving it such heavy blows, that the 
noise in the cave was ocyasioned by the mo- 
ti'in of the air. The King, greatly affrialned 
and asionished. besan to conjure this terrible 
vision, promising that he would reiurn wiih- 
ont doing any injury in the cave, alter he had 
obiained a sight of what was coii'mned in it. 
The statue ceased to strike the floor, and the 
King, with his followers, somewhat assured, 
and recovering their courage, proceeded mlo 



21 



/. 



^ 24G 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



\ 



the h;(!l ; and on llie left of tlie statue they 
found iliis nisonpiinti un the wall: • Unfortii- 
iiale Kim?, thou hast entered here in evil 
hour.' Oil the rifrht side of the wall these 
words were inscribt'd : 'By strange tiatjons 
thou shall he dispossessed, and thy subjects 
foully degraded.' On the shoulders of the 
statue other words were v\ritten, which said, 
* 1 call Ufioa the Arahs.' And upon his breast 
was written, ' 1 do my office ' At the entrance 
of the hall there was jilaced a round bowl, 
from which a great noise, like tlie fall of 
waters, proceeded. They fimiid no other 
thin;; in the hall : and when the Kins:, sorrow- 
ful and greatly affected, had .-carctly turned 
about to leave the cavern, the statue a.^ain 
coiniiienced its accusloiiied blows upon the 
floor. After I hey had niutiially promised to 
conceal what they had >een, they again closed 
the tower, and bi.ckeil up the gate of the 
cavern with earih. that no memory might re- 
main III the world of such a poiientous and 
evil-b(nling f)roilii;y. 'I'he eiisuiiis- midnight 
they heard yreat cries and clamour tVom the 
CJive, lesouiuliii^ like llie noise of battle, and 
the ground shaking with a tremendous roar; 
the whole edifice of the old tower fell to the 
ground, by which they were greatly atfrighted. 
tiie vi.sioti winch they had beheld appearing to 
them a«i a dream. 

••The King having left the tower, ordered 
wise men ui explain what the inscriptions 
sij^nihed; and having con.sulted upon and 
studied tlieir meaning, they declared that the 
statue of broiizi', \\;:h the motion which it 
made with its ball le-a.\e, signified Time: and 
that lis olfice, alluded to m the inscripnon on 
Its breast, was, that he never resis a single 
moment. The words on the shoulders, ' I call 
upon the Ar.ibs.' they expounded, that, m 
time. Spam would be conquered by the Arabs. 
The words upon the left wall siguiried the de- 
struction of King Kodrigo; those on the right. 
the dreadful calamities which were to fall 
upon the Spaniards and Cotlis, and that the 
tinfortuiiale Kiiik would tie dispossessed of all 
his slates. Iiiially, the letters on the portal 
indicated, that good would betnle to the con 
querors, and evil to the congiiered, of winch 
e.xperieiice proved the truth " — Hislorui Vir- 
duiteyra ilil Rty Dun Rodnja. Quinta impres- 
sion. MadriU, Iti.'U, iv. p. 2J. 



Note G. 

The Tecbir war-ay and the Lelk's yell.— P. 237. 

The Tecbir (derived from the words Alia 
achar. God is most mighty) was the orisi'nal 
war-cry of the Saracens. It is celebrated by 
Hughes in the Siege of Damascus : — 

•• VVe hearil ttie Tecbir; so tlii-se Arabs rail 
Their kIiouI of oii.sri, when, with louil .-.ppeal. 
They chnlkiige Heiiven, as if demaiiJiiig coiic|ue8U" 

The Lelie, well known to the Christians 
duritig the crusades, is the shout of AUm ilia 
Alio, the Mahomedan confession of faith It 
is twice used in poetry by my friend Mr. VV. 
Stewart Rose, in the nimance of Purtenopex, 
and ill the Crusade of St. Lewis. 



Note H. 

By Heaven, the Moors prevail ' the Christians 
yield ! — 

Their coward leader yives for Jiiijht the sign .' 
The sceptred craveii mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Oreha? — Yes, 'tis mine! 

P. 237. 

Count Julian, the father of the injured Flo- 
rinda, with the connivance and assistance of 
Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, invited, in 713, 
the Saracens into Spain. A considerable army 
arrived under the command of Tarik. or Tarif, 
who becjuesithed the well-known name of 
Gibraltar (G/MflZ Tarik, »r the mouniam of 
Tank) to the place of his landing. He was 
joined by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, 
and took Seville. In 714, they returned with 
a still trreater force, and Roderick marched 
into Andalusia at the head of a great army, to 
u'lve them battle. The field was (Chosen near 
Xeres, and Mariana gives the following ac- 
count of the action : — 

" Both armies being drawn up. the King, 
according to the custom of the Gothic kings 
when they went to battle, appeared in an 
ivory chariot, clothed in clotli of gold, en- 
couraging his men; Tarif, on the other side, 
did the same. The armies, thus prepared, 
waited only for the sisiial to fall on; the 
Goths gave the (charge, their drums and trum- 
pets soundins, and the Moors received it with 
the noise of ketile-drums. Such were the 
shouts and cries on both sides, thai the moun- 
tains and valleys seemed to meet. First, they 
liegan with slings, darts, javelins, and lances, 
then came to the swords; a long time the 
batile w.is dubious; but the Moors .seemed to 
have the worst, till 1) 0[ipas. the archbishop, 
bavins to that time concealed his treacherv. 
in the heat of the tight, with a great body lif 
Ins followers, went over to the inhdels He 
joined Count Julian, with whom was a great 
number of Goths, and boili together f.ll upon 
the flank of our army. Our men, terrified wtii 
that unparalle'ed treachery and tired with 
fighting, coiikl no longer sustain that charse, 
lut were easily put to fliu'ht. The Kin;;: per- 
oriiied the part not only of a wise general, 
)ut of a resolute soldier, relievins the weak- 
est, briiiiiing on fresh men in place of those 
that were tired, and stopping those that 
turned their backs. At length, seeing no 
hopes left, he iiLghted out of Ins chariot for 
fear of being taken, and mounting on a horse 
called Orelia. he wiihdrew out of the battle. 
The Goths, who siill stood, missing him, were 
most part put to the sword, the rest betook 
themselves to flisht. The camp was imme- 
liately entered, and the basgage taken. What 
number was killed was not known : I suppose 
they were so many it was hard to count tliem ; 
for this single battle robbed Sfiain of all its 
glory, and in it perished the renowned name 
f the GoUvs. The King's horse, upper gar- 
ment, and buskins, covered with pearls and 
precious stones, were found on the bank of 
the river Guadelite, and there being no news 
of him afterwards, it was supposed he "as 
drowned (lassing the river." — Maritina's His- 
toi-y of apain, book vi. chap. 9 

Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, men- 
tioned in the text, ami m the above quotation, 



^ 



V 



Al'PENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



:N[ 



was celebrated for her speed and form. She 
is mentioned repeatedly m Spanish romance, 
and also by C«rvaiit«s. 



Note I. 

When for the liuht bolero ready stand, 
The mozo blithe, with gay mvchacha met. 

P. 238. 
The bolero is a very light and active dance, 
much practised by the Spaniards, in which 
c;istanets are always used Mdzo and mucha- 
cha are equivHleiit to our phrase of lad and 
lass. 



Note K. 



Cos- 



While trumpets rang, and heralds cried 
tile .'"—P. 239. 
The heralds, at the coronation of a Spanish 
iiiouarch. proclaim liis name three times, and 
reoeat tliree times the word CaslMn, Caslilta, 
Caslilhi; A'liich, with all other ceremonies, 
was carefully coined in tlie mock inauguration 
of Joseph Bonuparie. 



Note L. 

HiQh blazed the war, and 



, and far, and W7de. 
P. att*. 



Those who were disposed to believe that 
mere 

oppressed 
people. siiriH'ised in a moment of conhdence, 
deprived of their officers, armies, and for- 
tresses, who had every means of resistance to 
seek in the very moment when they were to 
lie made use of. and whom the numerous trea- 
sons amous: the higher orders deprived of 
<;onlidcnce Ml their natural leaders, — those 
who entertained tins enthusiastic but delusive 
opinion may lie pardoned for expressing their 
disappoinimeut at the protracts! warfare in 
the Pennisiihi There are, luiwever, another 
class of persons, who, having themselves the 
highest dread or veneration, or something 
allied to both, for llie power of the modern 
Atlila, will nevertheless give the heroical 
Spaniards little <n- no credit for the long, 
siuliborn, and unsuhdued 
years to a power before 
Well-prepared, well-armed, and numerous ad- 



of arms and discipline, is surely not to be 
wondered at But that a nation, under the 
ciicuiiisiances of repeated discomfiture, in- 
ternal tre;ison, and the mismanagement inci- 
dent to a temiiorary and hastily adopted go- 
vernment, should have wasted, by its stubborn, 
uniform, and prolonged resistance, myriads 
after myriads of those soldiers who had over- 
run the world — that some of its provinces 
should, like Galicia, after being abandoned by 
their allies, and overrun tiy their enemies, 
have recovered their freedom by their own 
unassisted exertions; that others, like Cata- 
lonia, undismayed by the treason which be- 
trayed some fortresses, and the force which 
subdued others, should not only have con- 
tinued their resistance, tiut have attained 
over their victorious enemy a superiority, 
which is even now enabling them to besiege 
and retake the places of strength which had 
been wrested from them, is a tale hitherto 
untold in the revolutionary war. To say that, 
such a people cannot be "subdued, would be 
presumption similar to that of those who pro- 
tested that Spain could not defend herself for 
a year, or Portugal for a month ; but that a 
resistance which has been continued for .so 
long a space, when the usurper, except during 
the short lived Austrian campaign, had no 
other enemies on the coutment, should be 
now less successful, when repeated defeats 
have broken the reputation of the French 
armies, and when they are likely (it would 
seem almost in desperation) to seek occupa- 
tion elsewhere, is a prophecy as improbable as 
ungracious. And while we are in the humour 
of severely censuring our allies, gallant and 



,, ^,, , .devoted as they have shown them-selves in 

virtue and energyare able of themselve.s I tt,g ^ause of national liberty, because they 
.rk h.itl. the salvation of an oppressed „,yy „ot mstantly adopt th(«e measures whicli 
we in our wi.sdom may deem essential to suc- 
cess, it might be well if we endeavoured first 
to resolve the previous questions. — 1st, Whe- 
ther we do not at this moment know much 
less of the Spanish armies than those of Por- 
tugal, which were so promptly condemned as 
totally inadequate to assist in the preservation 
of their country ? 2d, Whether, independently 
of any right we have to offer more than advice 
and assistance to our independent allies, we 
can expect that they should renounce entirely 
the national pride, which is insejiarable from 
patriotism, and at once condescend not only 
to be saved by our assistance, luit to be saved 
in our own way .' 3d, Whether, if it be an 
•■ .1 object (as undoubtedly it is a main one), that 

resistance of three f,,^ Spanish troops should be trained under 
whom their former , B^jf-^,', discipline; to the fle.xibility of move- 
ment. and power of rapid concert and combi- 



yersanes fell in the c...urse..fasnn.ny months. I j,.^^ij,, ^^^^^ jg essenlial to modern war 
While the.se gentlemen plead for deference to ^^^.^ .^ consummation is likely to he producei 



Bonaparte, and crave 



ly to he produced 

by abusing them in newspajiers and periodical 

publications? Lastly, since the undoubted 

authority of British officers makes us now 

altogether unreasonable to | acquainted with part of the horrors that attend 

e upon those invasion, and which the providence of God, 

' ■ ' nd perhaps the very 

fforts of these Spaniards, have hitherto 

diverted from us. it may be modestly ques- 



it may not be 

claim'some moditieation ofcens 

who have been long and to a great extent | the valour of our navy 

successfully resisting this great enemy of man ~ 

kind That the energy of Spain has not nn 



k 



formly been directed by conduct equal to its ! tioned whether wo ought to be too forward to 
vigour, has been too obvious ; that her armies, , estimate and condemn the feeling of tempo- 
under their complicated disadvantages, have i rary stupefaction which they create: lest, in 
shared the fate of such as were defeated after so 'doing, we should resemble the worthy 
taking the field with every possible advantage I clergyman who, while he had himself never 



z 



248 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



snuffed a candle with his fincers, was disposed 
severely to criticise the conduct ot a martyr, 
who winced a little ainons his flames. 



Note M. 

Tliey won not Zaragoza, but her children's 
bloody tomb— P. 240. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vauglian has 
made most readies acquainted witli tlie first 
siege of Zaragoza.i Tlie la.st and fatal siege 
of that gallant and Jevoted cily is detailed 
with great eloquence and precision in the 
"Edmhurgh Annual Kegister" for 18(19, — a 
work in which the affairs •>f Spam have been 
treated of with atieiition coi responding to 
their deep interest, and to the peculiar sources 
of inforniatiiin open to liie historian. The fol- 
lowing are a few brief extracts from this 
splendid historical narrative: — 

" A breach was .soon iiiiide in the innd walls, 
and then, as in the tornier siege, the war was 
carried on in the streets and hou.ses; but the 
French had l>een taught by experience, that in 
this species of warfare the Zaragozans derived 
a superiority from the feeling and principle 
which inspired them, and the cause lor which 
they fought. The only means of conquering 
Zaragoza was to destroy it house by house, 
and street by street ; and upon this systen ' 
destructitm they proceeded. Three companies 
of miners, and eight companies of sappers, car- 
ried on this subterraneous war ; the Spaniards 
it is said, attempted to oppose them by coun- 
termines; these were operations to which 
ihey were wholly unused, and, according to 
the French statement, their miners were 
every dav discovered and suffocated Mear 
time, the boinbardmeiit was iiicessantlv ke\ 
up. 'Within tlie last 48 hours,' said I'alafox 
in a letter to his fneiul General l)..yle. -6000 
shells have been thrown m. Two- thud 
the town are in rums, hut we shall perish 
der the rums of the remaining third rather 
than surrender.' In the coui^e of the 
above 17.000 bombs were throv\n at the town ; 
the stock of powder with which Zaragoza had 
been stored was exhausted ; they had none at 
last but what they manuractiired day liy day 
and no oilier cannon-balls ihan those whid 
were shot into the town, and which they col- 
lected and tired back upon I lie enemy." 

In the midst of these horrors and jirivalions, 
the pestilence broke out m Zaragoza To va- 
rious causes, enumerated by the annalist, he 
adds, •'scantiness of food, (aowded quarters, 
unusual exeriion if body, an.xiety of mind, 
and the impossibility of recrui'nig their ex- 
hausted strength by needful lest. in a city 
which w;is almost incessantly bombarded, and 
where every hour their sleep was broken by 
tlie tremendous exi>losion of mines. There 
was now no respite, either by day or night, for 
this devoted city; even the natural order of 
light and darkness w as destroyed in Zaragoza ; 
by day it was involved in a red sulphurous 
atmosphere of sim ke. which hid the face of 
heaven; by night the fire of cann(ms and 



:^ 



1 See Na.T-.»tive of tie siege of Zaragoza, by Rirhard 
Charles Vaughan, Ksq ISOa The Right llonpurahle R. 
C. Vaughan is now British Minister al Washiiiglon. 1833. 



mortars, and the flames of burning houses, 
kept it in a state of terrific illumination. 

■When once the pestilence had begun, it 
was impossible to check Us progress, or confine 
it to one quarier of the city. Hosjntals were 
immediately established. — there were above 
thirty of th'em; as soon as one was destroyed 
by the bombardment, the patients were re- 
noved to another, and thus the infection was 
carried to every part of Zaragoza. Famine 
aggravated the evil ; the city had probably not 
been sufficiently provided at the commence- 
ment of the siege, and of the provisitms which 
it contained, much was dest toyed in the daily 
rum which the mines and bombs etfet^ted. 
Had the Zaragozans and their garrison pro- 
ceeded according to military rules, they would 
have surrendered before the end of January ; 
their batteries had then been demolished, 
there were open breaches in many parts of 
their weak walls, and the enemy were already 
within the city. On the 30th, ahove sixiy 
houses were 'blown up, and the French ob- 
tained possession of the nuniasteries of the 
Aiigustines and Las Monicas, which adjoim-d 
each other, two of the la.«t defensible places 
left. The enemy forced their way into the 
church ; every column, every chapel, every 
altar, became a point of defence, which was 
repeatedly attacked, taken, and retaken ; the 
pavement was covered with blood, the aisles 
and body of the church strewed with the dead, 
who were trampled under foot by the com- 
batants. In the midst of this conflict, the 
roof, shattered by repeated bombs, tell in ; the 
few who were not crushed, after a short 
pause, which this tremendous shock, and their 
own unexpected escape, occasioned, renewed 
the fight with rekindled fury : fresh parties 
of the enemy poured m : monk.s, and citizens, 
and soldiers, came to the defence, and the 
contest was continued upon the rums, and the 
bodies of the dead and the dying." 

Yet, seventeen days after sustaining these 
extremities, did the heroic inhabiianls ot Za- 
ragoza continue their defence; nor did they 
then surrender until their despair had ex- 
tracted from ilie French generals a capitula- 
tion, more honourable than has been granted 
to fortresses of the first order. 

Who shall venture to refuse the Zaragozans 
the eulogium conferred np(m them by the elo- 
quence of Wordsworth [-•• Most gloriously 
have the citizens of Zaragoza proved that the 
true army of Spain, in a contest of this nature, 
is the wlnde people. 'Ihe same city has also 
exemplified m a melancholy, yea, a dismal 
truih, — vet consolatory and lull of joy.--ttiat 
when a people are called suddenly to fight for 
their liberty, and are sorely pressed upon, 
their best field of battle is the floors upon 
which their children have played; the cham- 
bers where the familv of each man has slept, 
(his own or his neiahbours' ;) upon or under 
the roofs by which they have been sheltered : 
in the gardens of their recreation: ni the 
street, or in the market-place; belm-e the 
altars of their temples, and among their con- 
gregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted. 
' "The government of Spain must never for- 
get Zaragoza for a moment. ?^othing is want- 
ing to produce the same effects everywhere, 
but a leading mind, such as that city was 
blessed with. In the latter contest this ha« 



z 



V 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 249 



bfen proved ; for Zarasciza ci>nt;iinei], at tli;it 
time, bodies of men from almost all pans of 
^^[)alll. The ii;irrative of those two sieffes 
should he the manuai of every Spaniard, lie 
niav .uM to It the ancient slor'ios of Nimiantia 
ami SM'jiiiiUiin ; let him sleep upon tlie book 
as a inllow. ;iiid. if he be a devout adherent to 
th(- lehmon of his couiitry. let him wear 
his bosom for his erucifix to rest npon 
Wordsworlh on the Convention of Citilra. 



K 



Note N. 

Thp. Vault of Destiny.— ? 2U. 

I'lefore finally dismissing the enchanted ca- 
vern of Don Roilerick. it may be noticed, that 
the leaend occurs in one of Calderon's plays, 
entitled, La Virgin del Snijrarw The scene 
opens with tiie noise of I he chase, and Heci- 
siiiido, a predecessor of Roderick upon the 
riothic throne, enters pursuing: a stas. The 
animal assumes the form of a man. and defies 
the kins to enter the cave, which forms the 
bottom of the scene, and ens:a-;e with him in 
single combat. The kin? accepts the chal- 
lens;e. and they encase ac^(ndmu:ly, but with- 
out advaiit;uie on either side, winch induces 
the Genie to int'orni Recismido. that he is not 
the monarch for whom the adventure of the 
enchanted cavern is reserved, and he proceeds 
to predict the downlall of the Gothic mon- 
archy, iiiid of the Christian religion, which 
shall attend the discovery of its mysteries. 
Recisundo, appalled by these prophei^ies, or- 
ders the cavern to he secured by a gate and 
bolts of iron. In the second part of the same 
play, we are informed that Don Roderick had 
removed the barrier, and transgressed the pro- 
hibition of his ancestor, and had been apprized 
by the prodigies which he discovered of liie 
approaching rum of his kingdom. 



Note 0. 

Whtlfi dowuw'ird on the lund his lafimts press, 
Beloie Ihnn ll uv/s rich with vinf and Jlnrk. 

And SJniUd like Edni m her summer dress ; — 

Behind tlttir wasli ful march, a reekiny wildtrni ss 

F. 242 

I have ventured to apply to the movements 
of the lr(Mich army that sublime pa.ssage in 
the [iropheciesof Joel, which seems apt)licjd)le 
to them in more respects than that 1 have 
ailopted in the text. One w<Mild think their 
ravages, their .militarv appointmenis, the ter- 
ror which they S()iead among invaded nations, 
their iiiiiitary discipline, their arts of political 
intrigue and deceit, were distinctly poinied out 
HI the following verses of Scripture : — 

"2 A day of darknesse and of ijloominesse, 
a day of clouds :ind of thick darknesse, B-s the 
morning spread upon the nmuntains: a great 
people and a strong, there ha'Ji not been ever 
the like, neither shall be any more after it. 
even to the yeares of many generations. 3. A 
fire devoiireth before them, and behind tliern 
a flame burnetii : the land is as the g.irden of 
Eden before them, and behinde them a deso- 
late wilderness, yea, and nothing shall escape 



them. 4. The appearance of them is hh the 
iippearance of horses and as horsemen, so 
shall they runne. 6. Like the m-ise of cha- 
riots on the tops of mountains, shtill they leap, 
like the noise of ;i flame of fire that devouretli 
the stubbie, as a strong people set in battel 
arrtiy. 6. Before their (ace shall the people 
it in I be much ptntied ; all (aces shall gather black- 
nesse. 7. They shall run like mighty inen, 
they shall climb the wall like men of warre. 
and they shall march everv one m Ins waves, 
and they shall not break tlieir ranks. 8. .Nei- 
ther shall one tiirust another, they shall walk 
every one in his path: and when they fall 
upon the sword, they shall no; be wounded. 
9. They shall run to and fro in the citie; they 
shall run up(m the wall, they shall climbe up 
upon the houses; they shall enter m at the 
windows like a thiel". 10. The eanh shall 
quake before them, the heavens shall tremble, 
the sunne and the moon shall be dark, and the 
starres shall withdraw their sliming." 

In verse 20th also, which announces the re- 
treat of the northern army, described in such 
dreadful colours, into a '"land barren and 
desolate." and the dishonour with which God 
afflicted them for having " maguined them- 
selves to do great thinss," there are parncu- 
lars not inapplicable to the retreat of .Masse- 
na : — Uivme Providence having, in ail ages, 
attached dissrace as the natural punishment 
of cruelty and presumption. 



49 ^ . 



Note P. 

The rnd/'st sent.uud, vi Britain born. 

With horror paused to view the havoc dove, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. 
P. 242. 
Even the unexampled gallantry of the 
British army m the campaign of 1810-11. al- 
though they never fought but to conquer, will 
do them less hommr in hisiory than their hu- 
manity, attentive to soiten to the utmost (if 
their power the horrors which war, in us 
mildest aspect, must always inflict u[ion the 
defenceless inhabitants of liie country in which 
It is waged, and which, on this occ.ision. were 
tenfold augmented by the b.ubarous cruelties 
of the French. Soup-kitchens were esta- 
blished by subscripiion among the oflicers, 
wherever the troops were quartered for any 
length of time. The coniii.i>saries contri- 
buted the heads, feet, &c. of the cattle slaugh- 
tered for the soldiery : rice, vegetaliles. and. 
bread, where it could be had. were purchased 
by the officers. Fifiy or six'y starvms pea- 
sants were daily fed at one of these regimental 
establishments, and carried home the relics to 
their lamished households The emaciated 
wretches, who could not crawl from weak- 
ness, were speedily emph)yed in pruiiiuj; their 
vines. While pursuing .AIas.sena. the soldiers 
evinced the same spirit of humanly, and in 
many instances, when reduced themselves to 
short allowance, from having out-marched 
their supiplies. they shared their pittaiit-e with 
the starving inhabitants, who had Vi'ii'iired 
back to view the ruins of their halntations. 
burnt by the retiealing enemy, and to luiiy 
the bodies of their relation> whom thev had 
butchered. Is it possible to know such fads 



^ 250 



-ii 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



without feelinsr a sort of confidence, that those 
who so well deseive victory are most hkely to 
attHiii it?— It is not the least of Lord Wellitig- 
loii's military merits, that the slightest dispo- 
silioii idwards iiiiiraudins: meets immediate 
jjimishmeiit. Independently of all moral obli- 
gation, the army which is most orderly in a 
friendly country, has always proved most 
formidable to an armed enemy. 



Note Q. 

Vam-glortmis fugitive ! — P. 242. 

The French conducted this memorable re- 
treat with much of X\\e. fanfnrronnde proper to 
Iheir country, by which they attempt to im- 
pose upon oiiiers. and ()erl.!ips on themselves, 
n belief that they are iiiumiihiiiK in the very 
moment of their discomfiture. On the 3()th 
March. 1811, their rear-fjuaid was overtaken 
near Pesa by the British cavalry. Beiiiij well 
posted, and conreivimr themselves safe from 
infantry, (who were indeed many miles in the 
rear,) and from artillery, they indulged them- 
selves in parading their banils of music, and 
actually performed "God save the Kins" 
Their minstrelsy was. however, deranged hv 
the undesired accompammeTit of the British 
liorse-artillery, on wh.se part in the concert 
they had not calculated The surprise was 
sudden, and the rout complete; for the artillery 
and cavalry did execution upon them for about 
four miles, pursmns ai the aallop as often as 
tliey got beyond the raime of the guns. 



Note R. 

Vninly thv squni!ro7is hide Assunvn's plaitl, 
And front the flying thundfvs as tfiey roar, 

Wit/i JratUic charge and tenfold odds in vain ! 
P. 243. 

In the severe action of Fiientes d' Honoro, 
npnii 5th May. 1811. the strand mass of the 
French cavalry attacked the ris^lit of the 
British position, covered by two guns of the 
horse-artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. 
After sutierin? considerably from the fire of 
the p:uns. which annoyed them m every attempt 
at formation, the enemy turned tlieir wrath 
entirely towards them, distributed l)randy 
amonp: their troopers, and advanced to (-any 
the field-pieces will! the desperation ordninken 
fury. They were in nowise checked by the 
heavy lo.'^s which they sustained in this darins 
attempt, but closed, and fairly mingled with 
the British cavalry, to whom tliey bore the 
proportion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay, 
(let me be permitted to name a jjallant coun- 
tryman,) who commanded the two lEruns. dis- 
missed them at the gallop, and putims: him- 
self at the head of the mounted artillerymen, 
ordered them to fall upon the French, sabre- 
in-hand. This very unexpected conversion of 
artillerymen into dragoons, contributed greatly 
to the defeat of the enemy, aheady discon- 
certed liy the rece[ition theyh.ad mot I'rom the 
two British squ;i<lroiis ; and the appe.irance of 
some small reintbccemenis, not withstanding 
the immense disproportion of foixte, pur iliem 



to absolute rout. A colonel or major of their 
cavalry, and many prisoners, (almost all m- 
toxicaied,) remained in our possession. Those 
who consider for a moment the diti'erence of 
the services, and how much an ariillervman is 
necessarily and naturally led to identify his 
own safety and utility with abiding bv the 
tremendous instrument of war, to the exercise 
of which he is chiefly, if not exclusively, 
trained, will know how to estimate tlie pre- 
sence of mind which commanded so bold a 
manoeuvre, and the steadiness and confidence 
witii which it was executed. 



Note S. 

I And what avails thee that for Camrron slain. 
Wild from his plaided ranlis the yell was (jiven. 
P. 243. 
i The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded 
j mortally during the desperate contest in the 
j streets of the villnse called Kuentes d' Honoro. 
; He fell atfhe head ofliis native Highlanders. the 
j 71st and 79th, who rai.scd a dreadful shriek of 
I grief and rage. They charged with irresistible 
j fury, the fine.st body of French grenadiers ever 
j seen, lieitig a part of Bonaparte's selecJed 
guard. The officer who led the French, ii 
I maiK'remarkable for stature and symmetry, 
was killed on the spot. The Frenchman who 
stepped out of his rank to take aim at Colonel 
Cameron was also b.ayoneted, pierced with a 
I thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces 
by the furious Highlanders, who, under the 
command of Colonel CadoKan, bore the enemy 
out of the contested ground at the point of the 
bayonet. Massena pays my countrymen a 
singular compliment in his account of the 
attack and defence of this vdlage. m which 
he says tlie British lost many officers, and 
Scotch. 



Note T. 

O who shall grudge him Alhnera's hays. 
Who brought a race refjeiierate to the field. 

Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, 
Temper'd. their headlong rage, their courage 
steeCd. 
And raised fail Lusitanid's fallen shield. 

P. 243. 

Nothing during the war of Portuffal seems, 
to a distinct observer, more deserving of praise, 
than the self devotion of Field-.Marshal Be res- 
ford, who was contented to undertake all the 
hazard of obloquy which might have been 
founded upon any miscarriage in the his;hly 
important experiiiient of traininjT the Portu- 
guese troops to an improved state of discijilme. 
In exposins: his military refHitation to the cen- 
sure of imprudence from the most moderate, 
and all mamierof utiutterid)le calumnies from 
the ignorant anil malignant, he r'hiced at stake 
the dearest pledge which a military man had 
to offer, and nothm? but the deepest conviction 
of the high ami essential importance attached 
to success can be sii[iposed an adequate motive. 
How great the chance of miscarriage wa.< sup- 
posed, may be estimated from the general 
ofiinion of officers of unquestioned talenis 
and experience, possessed of every oppoiti- 



Z 



7 



^ 



R K E B Y. 



iiity of inlorriiatioii ; liow cunipletely the ex- 
penmenl lias succeecled, and liow much the 
s|)iiit and patricitisni (if our ancient allies had 
heeu nnderrated. is evident, not otdy Iron, 
those virrories in which they have Home a 
distnii,Mjislie(i share, but from the lilwral and 
iiiiclilv lionoiirable manner in vvhicli these 
opinions have heen retracted. The sacne>is 
of this plan, with all its imr)ortant ronse- 
qnenct^s. we owe t<i the indefatigable exertions 
of Field-Marshal Beresford. 



Note U. 

-n race rrnownd of old, 

WUose war-cry v/l has waked the battle-swell. 

the conqueririQ shout of Greenie.—P. 213. 

This stanza alludes to the various achieve- 
ments of tlie warlike family of Gi-aenie, or Ura- 
hame. They are said, by tradition, to have 



descended from the Scottish chief, under 
whose command his countrymen stormed the 
wall built bv the Emperor Severus lietween 
the Friths of Forth and Clyde, the frasrments 
of which are still popularly called Giieme's 
Dvke. Sir John the Grajme," the hardy, wi^lit. 
and wise," is well known as the friend of Sir 
\\ illiani Wallace. Alderiie, Kilsythe, and 
Tilibermuir. were scenes of the victories of the 
heroic Marquis of Montrose. The pass of 
Killycr;uikie is famous for the action between 
Kins: WiUiain's forces aud the Highlanders m 
16S9, 

" Wliere glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired." 

It. IS seldom that one line can number so 
many heroes, and yet more rare when it can 
appeal to the erlory of a living descendant iii 
su(iport of its ancient renown 

The allusions to the private history and 
character of General Grahame may be illus- 
trated by referring to the eloquent and artect- 
ing speech of Mr! Sheridan, upon the vote of 
thanks to the Victor ut Barosa. 



251 > 



ROKEBY: 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Sir Walter Scott commenced the compnsition 
of Rokebi/ at Abbotsford. on the 1.5th of Sep- 
tember 1812. and finished it on the last day of 
the following December. 

The reader may be interested with the fol- 
lowing extracts Irom his letters to his friend 
and printer, Mr. Ballantyne. 

Abbotsford, 28lh Oct 1812. 
" Dear James, — I send you to-day better than 
the third sheet of Canto II.. and I trust to send 
tlie other three sheets in the course of the 
week. I expect that you will have three 
cantos complete before I quit this place — on 
the mil of November. Surely, if you do your 
part, the poem may be out by Cliristnias ; but 
you must not daudle over your typographical 
scruples. I have too mnch respect for the 
public to neglect any thing in my poem to at- 
tract their attention ; and you misunderstood 
me much, when you supposed that 1 designed 
any new experiments in point of composition. 
I only meant to say, that knowing well that the 
said public will never be pleased with exactly 
the same thing a second time. 1 saw the ne- 
cessity of giving a certain degree of novelty, 
by throwing the interest more on character 
than in my former poems, without certainly 
meaning to' exclude either incident or descrip- 
tion 1 think you will see the same sort of 
diHeifiice taken in all my former poems, of 



which I would say. if it is fair for me to say 
any thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown 
on style, in Marinicm on description, aud in the 
Lady of the Lake on incident." 

3d November.—" As for my story, the conduct 
of the plot, which must be made natural and 
easy, prevents my introducing any thing light 
for some time. You must advert, that in order 
to give poetical effect to any incident, 1 am 
of^en ol)liged to be much longer than I expected 
in the detail. You are too much like the 
country squire in the what d'ye call it, who 
commands that the play should not cmly be a 
tragedy and comedy, hut that it should be 
crowned with a spice of your pastoral As for 
what IS popular, and what people like, and so 
forth, it is all a joke. Be interestitvj ; do the 
thing well, and the only difTorence will he thtit 
people will like what they never liked before, 
and will hke it .so much the better for the no- 
velty of their feelings towards it. Dulpess 
and tameness are the only irreparable faults." 

December 31s<. — "With kindest wishes on 
the return of the season. I send you the last 
of the copy of Rokeby . If you are not engaged 
at home, and like to call in, we will drmk 
good luck to it; but do not derange a family 
partv. 

"There is something odd and melanchfdv 
concluding a poem with the year, ;iiid I could 
be almost silly and seiilimenlal about it. I 



. ^ 252 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 




hojie you think T hnve done my l)est. I assure 
you of Miy vvisliHs tlie vvorK in;iy succeed ; and 
my exertions to eet out in lime were more in- 
spired by your mternst ;iiid John's, than my 
own. Mid so vo<jtu: la galere. W. S." 



INTKODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

Between the pulilication of " The Lady of 
the Lake." which wa.s so eminently successful, 
and that of "Uokel)y."iii 1813, three years had 
intervened. I shall not. 1 believe, be accused 
of everhaviiiffattempicd to usurpu superiority 
over many men of semus. my contemporaries; 
but, in point of popularity, not of ad ual talent, 
the caprice of the public liad certainly given 
me such a temporary superiority over men. of 
wiu.m, in regard to poetical fancy and feeling. 
I scarcelv thought myself worthy to loose the 
shoe-latch. On the other hand, it would he 
absurd atfedalion m me to deny, that I con- 
ceived mvsflf to uiidersiand, more perfectly 
than maiiv of my contempoiaries, the manner 
most liki'iy to interest the gie:it mass of man- 
kind. Yet, svew with this belief. 1 must truly 
and fairlv sav, that I always considered my- 
self rather as one who held the bets, in time 
to be paid over to tiie winner, than as having 
anv pretence to keep them tii my own right. 

ill the meantime years crept on, and not 
without their usual depredations (m the pass- 
ing generation. My sons had arrived at the 
age when ihe paternal himie was no hmger 
their best abode, as both were desiined to ac- 
tive life. The field-sports, to which 1 was pe- 
culiarly attached, had now less interest, and 
were replaced by other amusements of a more 
quiet character; and the means andopponu 
tuiii'y of pursuing tliese were to be soiigiit for. 
1 had, indeed, for some years attended to larin- 
ing, a knowledge of which is. or at least was 
then, iiidis[)ens.d5le to the comfort of a family 
resuling in a solitary country-house ; hut al- 
thougli this was the favourite amusement of 
many of my friends, 1 have never been able to 
consider It as a source of pleasure. I never 
could think It a mutter of passing importance, 
that my cattle or crops were belter or more 
plentiful than those of my neighbours, and 
nevertheless I began to feel tiie necessity of 
some more quiet out-door occu|iation. different 
from those 1 had hitherto pursued. I pur- 
chased a small farm of about one hundred 
acres, with the purpose of planting and im- 
proving it, to which property ciicumstances 
afterwards enabled me to make considerable 
additions; and thus an era took place in my 
life, almost equal to the im[)ortaiit one men- 
tioned by the Vicar of Wakefield, when he re- 
moved from the Blue-roimi to the Brown. In 
jmint of neighliourhood, at least, Ihe change 
of residence made little /7io)f difference. Ati- 
botsford, to which we removed, was only six 
or seven miles down the Tweed, and lay on 
the same beautiful stream. It did not [lossess 
the romantic character of Ashestiel. my former 
residence ; but it liad a stretch of meadow- 
land along tlie river, and posses.sed, in the 
phrase of the landscape-gardener, considerable 
Capabilities. Above all, the land was my own, 
like Uncle Toby's Bowling-green, to do what 
1 would with. It had been, though the grati- 



tication was long postponed, an early wish of 
mine to connect myself with my mother earth, 
and prosecute those experiments by which a 
species of creative power is exercised over the 
lace of nature. I can trace even tochildhood, 
a pleasure derived from Dodsley's account of 
Slien.stone's Leasowes, and I envied the poet 
much more for the pleasure of accomplishing 
the objects detailed in his friend's sketch of 
his grounds, than for the possession of pipe, 
crook, flock, and Pliillis to hoot. My memory, 
also, tenacious of quaint expressions, still re- 
tained a phrase which it had gatliered from an 
old almanack of Charles the Second's time 
(when every thing down to almanacks affected 
to be smart), in which Ihe reader, in the month 
of June, is advised for health's sake to walk a 
mile or two every day before breakfast, and, 
il he can possibly so manage, to let his exercise 
be taken upon his own land. 

W'ltli tlie satisfaction of having attained the 
fulfilment of an early and long-cherished hope, 
1 comiiieiiceil my improvements, as delightful 
in iheir progress as those of the child who 
first makes a dress for a new doll. The na- 
kedne.ss of the hind was in time hidden by 
woodlands of considerable extent— the small- 
est of possible cottages was progressively ex- 
panded into a sort of dream of a mansion- house, 
whimsical in the exterior, but ctmvenient 
within. Nor did 1 forget what is the natural 
pleasure of every man who has been a reader ; 
I mean the filling the shelves of a tolerably 
large library. All the.se objects I kept in view, 
to be executed as convenience should serve; 
and. although I knew many years must elapse 
before they could he attained, I was of a dis- 
position to comfort myself with the Spanish 
proverb, "Time and I against any two." 

The difficult and indispensable point, of 
finding a permanent subject of occupation, was 
now at length attained ; but there wasaimexed 
to it the necessity of becoming again a candi- 
date for public favour; for. as I was turned 
improver on the earth of the every-day world, 
it was under condition that the small tenement 
of Parnassus, which misrht be accessible to my 
labours, should not remain uncultivated. 

I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject 
of Bruce, in which I made some prosre.ss. but 
afterwards judged it advisable to lay it aside, 
supposing that an English story might have 
more novelty; in consequence, the precedence 
wiis given to " Rokehy " 

If subject and scenery could have influpnced 
the fate of a poem, that of " Rokehy " should 
have been eminently distinguished; for the 
grounds belonged to a dear friend, with whom 
I had lived in habits of intimacy for iiiaiiy 
years, and the place itself united the romantic 
beauties of the wilds of Scotland with the 
rich and smiling aspect of tlie souifiern portion 
of tlie island But the Tavaliers and Round- 
heads, whom I attempted to summon up to 
tenant this beautiful region, had for the public 
neither the novelty nor the peculiar interest 
of the primitive Highlanders. This, perhaps, 
was scarcely to be expected, considering that 
the general mind sympathizes readily and at 
once with the stamp which nature herself litis 
affixed upon the manners of a people living in 
a simi)le and patriarchal state; whereas it has 
more difficulty m understanding or interesting 
Itself 111 maimers foundeil upon those peculiar 



y^ 



K 



habits of tliinkins: or actms;, wliicli :ire pro- 
duced hy the progress of sociely. We couhl 
read witli pleasure the tale of the adventures 
of a Cossack or a Mons^ol 'I'artar. while we 
only woiiilj-r and stare over those of the h)veis 
in the •• Pleasin;; Chinese Histnry," where the 
t-mbarrassnienis luiii upon difficulties arisiiiu: 
out ol uiiiiitelliKilile delicacies pecnljar to ihe 
cusluiiis and manners of tint alfected people. 
The cause of iny failure had, however, a far 
deciipr root. 'Ihe manner, ()r style, which, hy 
its novelty, attracted the public in an unusual 
decree, had now, after haviin? been three 
times before them, exhausted Uie patience of 
the reader, and began iii the fourtli to lose its 
charnis. The reviewers may l)e said to have 
iipostniphized Ihe author in the language of 
ParneUs Edwin: — 

" Ami licre reverse Ihe charm, he cries, 
Anil M It r.iiily now siiffi.e, 
The gambol iiaa b<^eu shown." 

The licentious combination of rhymes, in a 
mani.er not perhaps very congenial to our lali- 
euage. had not bi-cii coiitiiied lo the author. 
Indeed, in must siinilarcases. the iiivetifors of 
such novelties havetlieir lepu aiion destroyed 
by their own miiialDrs. as Aciaeou fell under 
llie furyof his own doirs. The present author, 
like Bohadil. had tau^-hf. his trick offence to a 
hundred Kentleinen, (and ladies.) who could 
fence very nearlv. or quite as well as biin-elf. 
For this ilicre w:is no remedy; the harmony 
became tiresome and ordinary. :md both the 
original inventor and his iiiveiiiion must li.-ive 
fallen into conteni|it, if lie had not found out 
jiiiother road to puhlic favour. \\ hat li;is been 
said of the metre only, must be considered to 
a(iply equally lo the structure of the Hoem 
and of the style. The very best pas-ages of 
any pofiular style are not, perhaps, susceptible 
of imitation, but Iheymtiybe approached by 
men of talent ; and those who are less able to 
Copy them, at least lay hold of tiieir peculiar 
features, so as to produ(-e a strong burlesque. 
In either w.ty. the ellect of the manner is ren- 
dered cinap and cominon; and. in the latter 
Case, ridii'ulousto lioot The evil dmseipieiices 
to an author's reputation are at least as fatal 
as ih.ise wnii-li come upon the musical com- 
poser, when bis melody falls into the hands of 
the street ballad-singer. 

Of the imfiviiur.ible species of imitation, 
the author's style gave room to a very laige 
number, owing to an appeaiance of lacility to 
which some of those who used Ihe measure 
ungues i.mably leaned too far. The etfecit of 
Ihe more favourable imitations, composed by 
pe sons of lalt-ni, w; s almost equally unfortu- 
n ite lo the original iiLinsiiel. bv' sIk.wiu'.; that 
they could ovt-islioot hnn with his own bo.v In 
short, tne populariiy which oii'e a' tended the 
Srhool. ;»s it was called, was now f.ist de- 
caying. 

Liesides all this, to have kept his ground at 
the crisis when " Rokeby" appeared, its an hor 
ought to have put forth his utmost strength. 
Hiiil to have pi)>sessed at least all his uri^iiiid 
advantages, for a migli'y and iiiie.\"|>ected rival 
Wiis advancing on the stage — a rival not in 
poetical powers only, hut in i hat art of .ittract- 
tng poiiulanty. m which the present writer 
hud iiitherli> preceded betier men than hmi- 



self. The reader will etisily see that Byron is 
here meant, who. after a little vehtation of no 
great promise, now appeared as a serious can- 
didate, in the " First two Cantos of Childe 
Harold." I was astonished at the power 
evinced by that work, which neither the 
"Hours of Iilleness," nor the "Engtish Bards 
and Scotch Keviewers." had prepared me to 
expect from its author There was a depth in 
his thought, an eager abundance m his did ion, 
which argued full confidence in the inexhausti- 
ble resources of which he felt hinis^lf pos- 
sessed; and there was some appearance of 
ttiat labour of the file, which indicates that 
the author is couscous of the necessity of 
doing every justice to his work, that it 'm;iy 
pass warrant. Lord Byron was also a traveller, 
a man whose ideas were tired by having seen, 
in distant scenes of difficulty and danger, the 
places whose very names are rncorded in our 
bosoms as the shrines of ancient poetry. For 
Ins own misfortune, perhaps, but ceriaiiilv to 
the high increase of his poetical character, 
nature bad mixed in Lord Byron's .system those 
passions winch agitate the human" heart with 
most violence, and which may be said to have 
hurried his bright career to an early close. 
There would have been little wisdom in 
measuring my force with so formidable an an- 
tagonist ; ami 1 was as likely to tne of phiying 
the second riddle in the concert, as my audi- 
ence of hearing me. Age also wa.s advancing. 
I was growing insensible to those subjects of 
excitation by which youth is agitated. I had 
around me the most pleasant but least exciting 
of all society, that of kind friends and an 
affectionate fimily. .My circle of employments 
was a narrow one ; it occupied me constauMy, 
and It became ilaily more difficult for nie to 
interest myself in poetical composition : — 

" How happily the days of Thalaba went by '." 

Yet, though con.scious that J must be, in tlie 
opinion of good judges, inferior to the place I 
had for four or five years held in letters, and 
feeling alike that Ihe latter was one to wliich 
I had only a temporary right. 1 could not brook 
the idea of relmquisiiing literary occii[)atioii, 
which had been so long my chief diversKni. 
Neither was I disposed to choose Ihe alterna- 
tive of sinking into a mere editor and com- 
mentator, though that was a species of labour 
which r had practised, and to which I was 
attached. But I could not endure to think 
that I might not. whether known or concealed, 
do something of more importance. My inmost 
thoughts were those of the Trojan Captain in 
the galley race, — 



re certo, 

le, deilisti; f 



Non jam, prima petn, Miieslheu.s, neqiie vin 
Qmnquam O !- Ked supereiit, ijuibiis hoc, .\epl 
K\Iri'mos pudeat rediissi;: h'li- viiicile, civca, 
Et prohihele iiefas."— .En. lib. v. 194. 



I had. indeed, some private reasons for my 
"Quanquam O!" whi(;h were not worse than 
those of Mnestheus. 1 have already hinted 
that the matt-nalswete c ulecled for a poem 
on the subjfCl of Bruce, and fraginenfs of it 
had been shown to some of my f'l tends, and 
re(!eivc-d with applause. .No! wiilistaiiding, 
therefore, the einment success of Bmmii. and 
the great chance of his taking ihe wind 
of my sails, there was, I judged, a speiaes of 



2z 



tTt 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



f.owai-iiice ill ilosisliiig from the task whioli I 
liiid uiideiiakeu, and it was time enougli to 
rt^tiear, wheii the battle should be more de- 
ctledly lost. 'I'he sale of " Kokeliy," ex<'.f piiu? 
as coiiijiaied wiih lliat of " 'I'he Lady of ijie 



Lake, " was in the tnghesl desree re>ptc.iai>le ; 
mid ;is it included tifieea hundred qiiarlos,! ni 
those quarto-reading days, the trade had no 
reason to he dissalisried. W. S. 

Abbolsjord, Apnl, 1830. 



ROKEBY. 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esq., 

THIS POEM, 

THE SCUNE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF KOKEBV, 

IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BV 

WALTER SC0TT.2 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Tnp Seem of this Porm ts liul at Rokrht/. nrur Greta Bridge, tti Yorkshire, nmi shifts to the 
adjnreiit fortress of Bnriinrd Castle, and to other places in that Virxmtu. 

The Time ocrupird liu the Action is a sjjnce of Five dai/s. Three of which are supposed to elapse 
between the end. of the Fitih and licQmnivfi of the Sixth ('onto. 

'I'he date of the snpfiosfd cvnits is mwiid lately sti'jsequent to the great Battle of Marston Moor, 
2<t Jiity. 1644. This period of public coiitusmn has been chosen, without any purpose of combining 
the Fable with the Military or Pidi'ical Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of 
probability to the Fictitious Narrative now presinltd to the Public. 



aaottebs. 



CANTO FIRST 



I. 

The Moon is in her summer slow, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow. 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream,' 
She chansjes as a guilty dream. 
When conscience, with remorse and fear, 
Go.-ids sleeping: Fancy's wild career. 
Her lifrhl seems now the blush of shame. 
Seems now fierce aiiaer's darker flame, 
Shiftlns that shade, to come and go, 
Like afiprehfiision's hurried erlow; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air. 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Keflecteil from the woodland 'lees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth, 
Sees the clouds musteriii": in the north. 



Hears, upon turret-roof and wall. 
By hts the plashing: rain-drop fall. 
Lists to the breeze's bodin? sound, 
.^iid wraps his shaggy mantle round. 

n. 

Those towers, which in the chansefiii gleam 

Throw murky shadows on the stream. 

Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 

The emotion of whose troubletl breast. 

In wild and strange confusion driven, 

Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 

Ere sleep stern Oswalii's senses tied. 

Oft had he changed his weary side. 

Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 

By ertort strong to banish thought. 

Sleep came at length, but with a train 

Of feelings true and fancies vain, 

Mingling, in wild disorder cast. 

The expected future wiih the past. 

Conscience, anticipating lime, 

Already rues the enacted crime. 

And calls her furies forth, to shake 

The sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 

While her poor victim's outward throes 

Bear witness to his mental woes. 

And show what lessons msiy be read 

Beside a sinner's restless bed. 



^ 



T 



^ 



7 



^ 



R K E B Y 



255 



III. 

Thus Oswald's lahourms feeling's trace 
Strange clianees iii Ins sleeping face, 
f<;ip;d and ominous as lliese 
With which the inoonbeanis tinse the Tees. 
'I liere inisht he seen of shame the blush, 
There answer's dark and liercer flush, 
Willie the perturbed sleeper's hand, 
t^eeiii'd Kraspinj? dagser-knife, or brand. 
RfUix'd that KHisp. the heavy sigh, 
The tear lu the half-opening eye, 
Tiie pallid cheek and brow, confess 'd 
That grief wa.s busy in his breast ; 
Nor paused that mood— a sudden start 
Iiii(ieH\l I he lile-blood from the heart: 
Features convulsed, and tnuttenn;^ dread, 
SiioA terror reigns in sorrow's stead 
That pang the painful slumber broke, 
And Uswald with a start awoke. 

IV. 
He woke, and fear'd again to close 
His eyelids m such dire repo.se ; 
He woke.— to watcli the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
Or listen to the owlet s cry, 
Or I he sad breeze that whistles by. 
Or catch, by tits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheuis the time. 
And eiivymg: think, how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch he done, 
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 



Far town-ward sounds a distant tread, 
And Oswald, starting from his bed. 
Hath caught it, thotjgh no human ear, 
Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear. 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
liiiiil it reach'd the castle bank 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears. 
The warder's challenge now he hears,' 
Then clanking chains and levers lell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell, 
And, in the casMe court below. 
Voices are heard and torches glow. 
As marshalling the stranger's way. 
Straight for the room where Osw'ald lay ; 
The cry was, — '• Tidings from the host. 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stilling the tumult of his breast. 
His answer Oswald thus exiiress'd— 
'• Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." 

vr. 

The stranger came with heavy stritle, 
The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
And the buif-coat, an amiile fold. 
Mantles his form's' gigantic mould. ^ 
Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 
But mark'd, by a disdainful smile. 
He saw and scorn'd the petty wile. 
When Oswald clianged the torch's place. 
Anxious that on the soldier's face 
its partial lusire might lie thrown, 
To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
His guest, the while, laid low aside 
'I'he ponderous cloaK of tough bull's hide, 



^ 



1 See Appendix, Note B. 



And to the torch glanced broad and clear 
The corslet of a cuirassier; 
Then from his brows the casque he drew, 
And from the dank plume dash'd the dew, 
From gloves of mail relieved his hands. 
And s[iread tiiem to the kinding brands, 
And, turning to the genial board. 
Without a health, or pledge, or word 
Of meet and social reverence said, 
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 
I As free from ceremony's sway. 
As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 

VII. 

With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
Mis host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And guaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment 
Now Oswald stood ii space aside. 
Now paced I he room wnh hasty stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern. 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
^'et. viewing with alarm, at last, 
The end of that uncouth repast. 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue. 
As. at his sign, his train withdrew. 
And left him with the stranger, ix^ie 
T(» question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 

VIII. 

Much in the stranger's mien appears. 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime, 
And toil, had done the work of time, 
lioughen'd the brow, the temples bared. 
And sable hairs with silver shared. 
Yet left — what age alone could tame— 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
'I'he lull-drawn lip that upward curl'd. 
The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. 
That lip had ternn- never blench'd ; 
Ne'er 111 that eye had tear-drop quench'd 

The (lash severe of swarthy glow. 
That mock'd at paiii. and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 

Tornade and earthquake, flooil and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
By wasting phigue, by tortures slow, 3 
Bv mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
Knew all his sliapes,'and scorn'd them all. 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's liarden'd look, 

Unmoved, could blood anil danger brook. 

Still worse than apathy had place 

On his swart brow and callous face ; 

For evil passions, cherish'd long. 

Had plough'd them with impressions stnjiig. 

All that gives gloss to sin. all gay 

Light folly, past with youth away. 

But rooted stood, in manho(Krs hour. 

The weeds o-f vice without their flower. 

And yet I he soil in which they grew. 

Had it been tamed when life was .lew. 

Had depth and vigour to bring f.rih 

The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 



t 



a See Appi'iidix, NoleC. 



aibiil, Note 1). 



A 




^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"^ 



i 



Not ihal.. e'en then, his heart had known 
The treiitler feelmss' kindly tone ; 
But hivisli waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chiislen'd ninid, 
And Inst of sold, that waste to feed, 
Been k>st in love of glory's meed, 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience tinrestrain'd. 
Closs'd by gross vice, by sbiughter slain'd, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar. 
And mastery o'er the iiiiiid he bore; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard. 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Dswald, while in vain 
lie strove, by inany a windins train, 
To lure his sullen sjuest to nIiow, 
llnasli'd. the news he long'd to know, 
While on fiir oMier subject hung 
His heart, th;!ii fidtei'd from his tongue. 
Yet n(iui,'hl for that his giiest did deign 
"^I'o note or siiare his secret pain, 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort. 
Relurn'd him answer d;irU and short, 
Or started from the theine. to range 
In loose digression wild and strange. 
And forced the embarrass'd host to buy, 
By query close, direct reply. 

XL 
A while he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons. Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church Keform'd— hut felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Beitram's sneering look, 
1 hen stammer'd— ■• Has a field been fought? 
H.'is Bertram news of battle brought? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war. 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
Umil the field were won and lost." 
"Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 
You, Oswald V\ vclitle, rest at ease ; 
Why deem it strange tiiat others come 
To share such safe and easy home. 
From fields where danger, death, and toil. 
Are the reward of civil broil !"— 
••Nay, mock not. friend ! sinc^e well we know 
The near advances of the foe. 
'I'o mar our northern army's work. 
Encamp'd before beleaguer d York ; 
Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay. 
And must have fought— how went the day ?"- 

XIL 
"Wouldst hear the tale I—On Marston heath' 
Met, front to front, the ranks of death : 
Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now 
Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow ; 
On either side Imid clamours ling, 
'God and the Cause !'—• G. id and the King!' 
Right Knghsh all. they rush'd to blows, 
With nouglit to win. and all to lose. 
1 could have laugh'd— but lack'd the time- 
To see, in phrenesy sublime. 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
For king or state, as humour led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for cliuich-ti|ipet, gown and hood. 
Draining their veins, m death to claim 
A patriot's or a mariyr's name. — 



S«e Appendix, Nc 



Led Bertram Risingham the hearts. 

That counter'd there on adverse parts. 

No superstitious tool had I 

Sough' El Dorados in the sky ! 

Chili had heard me through h.rsta'es. 

And Lima oped her silver gates. 

Kich Mexico 1 had niarch'd ihrough. 

And sack'd the splendours of Peru, 

Till sunk Fizarro's daring name. 

And, Coitez, thine, in Bertram s fame." 

•■Still li-om tlie purpose wilt thou stiay! 

Good gentle friend, how went the day ?"— 
XI II. 

'• Good am 1 deem'd at trumpet-sound. 

And good wlrere goblets d.oice i he round, 

Though gentlH ne'er wms join'ii. till now, 

With rugged Berirain's l.reiist aii<i brow — 

But I presume. The h;iltlH's rage 

Was like the strife which currents wage. 

Where Orinoco, m his pride. 

Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 

A riv.il sea of roaring war; 

While, in ten thousand eddies driven, 

The bihows fling their foam to heaven. 

And the pa!e pilot seeks m vain, 

W here rolls the river, wheie the mam. 

Even thus upon the bloody field. 

I'lie eddving tides of coiifl:Ci wheel'd 

Amliigui'ius, till that heart of tlaiiie. 

Hot Kupert. on our squadrons came. 

Hurling against our sii^ars a line 

Of gallants, tierv as their wme ; 

Then ours, ihoiigh stubborn in their zeal, 

In zeal's despiie began to reel. 

What woiild-st thou more ? — in tumult tost, 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

A thousand men. who drew the swcnd 

For both the f louses and the Word, 

Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and dcwn, 

To curb the crosier and the crown, 

Now, stark and still", lie sire ch'd in gore, 

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more.— 

Thus fared it, when I left the fight. 

With the good Cau.se and Commons' right."— 

XTV. 
'• Disastrous news !" dark Wycliffe said ; 
Assumed despondence bent liis head. 
While troubled joy was in his eye. 
The well-feign'd sorrow to belie. — 
" Dis;istrous news! — when needed most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? 
Complete the woful tale, and say, ^ 
Who fell up(m that fatal day; 
What leaders of repute and' name 
Bought by their death a deathle.ss fame. 
If such my direst foeman's doom, 
Mv tears shall dew his hoiiour'd tomb. — 
Nil answer? — Friend, of all our host. 
Thou know'st whom 1 should hate the most, 
Whom thou too. once, wert wont to hate, 
Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate "— 
With look unmoved.— "Of friend or foe. 
Aught," ansvver'd Bertram, ' would'st Ihou 

know. 
Demand in simple terms and plain, 
A soldier's answer shall thou gam; — 
For question dark, or riddle high, 
I have nor judgment nor reply." 

XV. 
The wrath his art and fear suppress'd. 
Now blazed at once in vVyclilTe's breast ; 



^ 



7 



ROKEBY 



\ 



And brave, from man so ineanly liorn, 

Roused his liereilitarv scorti. 

"VV retell! Ii.-.sl iliou|.aid ii.y blnody debt? 

Phlhpof .M(.rlh;Mii. lives lie yet? 

False to tliy patnui or thine oath, 

'IVaii'n.'Us or perjured, one or lio'h 

JSlave ! hast fhou ki pt tliy |)ronMse plight, 

'I'o slay thy leader m the fi-ih: ?'' — 

'I'fieM Irorn his seat the soldier spriin','. 

And Wyciitfes hand he strongly wrun^; 

Ills ^n.'sp. as hard as slove ol mall. 

Forced ihe red hlo 'd-drop from the nail — 

'• A heali h !" he cried ; and. ere he qualfd, 

Fluiii; fiimi him Wy.-litf.'s hand, and lauih'd : 

— ■• Now, UNwald VVyclille. speaks thy heart! 

,No\v plav'st lliou well thy sreiiuine part! 

Worthy, but. for thy i-raven fear, 

I. ike me i-j roam a bucaiiKM'. 

What i^: k'st thou of the Cause divine, 

If Mortl. din's wealth and lands be thine? 

V\hat caiesi ihou for beleaicuer'd York, 

It tins sood hand have done its work? 

Or what, tlioiish Fairfax and Ins best 

Are re<lileiiiiiu Maiston's swarthy breast. 

If Fhilip M>.r ham wiih them lie. 

Lending his liie-bu.kl lo ilie dye? — 

Sit, then I and :»*; 'mid comrades free 

Carousiiiif after victory. 

VVIien tales are told of blood and fear. 

That boys and women shrink to hear, 

From piJiiii to pomi I frankly tell 

The deed of death as it belell. 

XVI. 
" When purposed venseance I foreg:o. 
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
And when an insult 1 fora;ive, 
Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 
Phihp of Morham is with those 
Whom Bertram RisiiiEriiam calls foes; 
Or whom more sure revenue ai tends, 
If number'd with ungrateful friends. 
As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 
Alimi; the marshall'd ranks he rode, 
And wore his vizor up the while. 
I saw his melancholy smile, 
W^hen, full opposed in front, he knew 
Where Rokeby's kindred haimer flew. 
* And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide ! — 
I heard, and thought how. side by side, 
We two had turn'd the battle's tide. 
In many a well-debated field. 
Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 
I thought on Darien's deserts pale. 
Where death bestrides the evening gale. 
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw. 
And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 
J thought on Qiiariana's clitf, 
Where, rescued frtmi our foundering skiff. 
Through the white breakers' wratn 1 bore 
Exhausted Moriham to the shore; 
And when his side an arrow found. 
I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 
These thoughts like torrents rush'd abmg. 
To sweep away my purpose strong. 

XVII. 

" Hearts are not flmt, and flints are rent ; 
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent 
When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 
Be near liim in the battle's roar, 
1 scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
i scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 

22* 



Lost was the war in inward strife, 

n(^bating Mortham's death or life. 

' Twas then I thought, how, lured to come. 

As [)ariner of his wealth and home. 

Years of piratic wandering o'er. 

With him I sought our native siiore. 

Bm .Mortham's lord grew far estranged 

From Ihe bold heart with whom he ranged : 

Doubts, horrors, superstitious feai^s, 

Sadden'd and dinim'd ilesceiRliiig years ; 

The wily priests then vicliin songiit. 

And dainn'd each iVee-honi docnl and thouj;ht. 

Then must I seek another home, 

.My license shook his sober dome ; 

If gold he gave, in one wild d;iy 

I revell'd tiirioe the sum away. 

Ai! idle outcast then i stray'd". 

Unfit for tillage or for trade. 

Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance. 

Useless and dangerous at once. 

The women fear'd my hardy look. 

At my approach the peaceful shook ; 

The merchant saw my ulaiice of flame. 

And lock'd his hoards" when Bertram came; 

Each child of coward peace kept fur 

From the neglected son of war. 

XVIIl. 
" But civil discord gave the call. 
And made my trade the trade of all. 
By Mortham urgeil. I came asain 
His vassals to the fight to I ram. 
V\ hat guerdon waited on my rare ? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer; 
Sour fanatics each trust ohtain'd, 
And I. dishononr'd and disdain'd, 
Gam'd but the high and hap|.y lot, 
111 these poor arnis to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st. thy gestures tell ; 
Vet hear it o'er, and maik it well 
' lis honour bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 

XTX. 

"Thoushts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightnins: through the heart. 
As my spur press'd my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was t led. 
And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd. 
His plea was oast, his doom was tixd. 
I watch'd him through the doubtful fray. 
That changed as .March's moody ilay. 
Till, like a stream that bursts its hank. 
Fierce Rupert thnnder'd on our llnik 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke and strife. 
Where each man fought for death or l,fe, 
Twas then 1 fired my petroiiel. 
And .Mortham. steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast. 
Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 
Think not that there I stopp'd. to view 
What of the battle should ensue; 
But ere I clear'd that bloody \\ ess. 
Our northern horse ran masterle.ss; 
iMonckton and Miiton told the news, 
How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 
Spurrim; his palfrey northward, p.ist. 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.' 
Yet when I leach'd the banks of Swale. 
Had rumour learn'd another tale ; 



1 See Appendix, Note F. 



A 



c 



/ 258 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



With his harh'd horse, fresh tidinss say. 
Stout Cromwell has redeeni'd the day":i 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you." 

XX. - 

Not then hy Wycliffe misht be shown. 
How his pride startled at the totie 
Iti which his Vroniplice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest lerrns his speech he wove. 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love; 
Promised and vow'd in courteous sorl, 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not liere I stay. 
No, scarcely till the risiiis day ; 
Warn'd by the lecends of my youth, 
I trust not an associiite's trutli 
Do not my native dales [Hdlon^ 
Of Percy Rede the tragic sons, 
Train'd forward to his liloodv fall. 
By Girsonfield. that treacherous Uall?2 
Oft, by I he Pringle's haunted side. 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot tliat gave me name. 
The moated mound of Rislnshnm, 
Where Keed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's coltajjres and trees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's imase on the stone ;3 
Unmatch'd in streng:th. a giant he. 
With quiver'd back, and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
The tameless monarch of the wold. 
And age and infancy can lell. 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warn'd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 

"When last we reason'd of this deed, 
Nought, 1 bethink me. was agreed, 
Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
The wealth of Mortham we should share; 
Then list, while 1 the portion name, 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 
Her rides of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
"I'hy kinsman's lands and livings fair. 
And lhe.se 1 yield : — ilo thou revere 
The statutes of the Bucmier.* 
Friend to the sea. and foeman sworn 
Trt all that on her waves are borne. 
When falls a mate in battle broil. 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil ; 
When dies in fight a daring toe. 
He claims his wealth who s'ruck the blow : 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those sijoils of Indian seas and mines. 
Hoarded in Mortiiam's caverns dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark. 
Chalice and plate from churches borne. 
And gems from shriekins beauty torn, 
Kach string of pearl, each silver bar. 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I go to search, where, dark and deep, 
I'hose Traiis-atlantic treasuies sleep. 
Thou musl aloiiK— for, lacking thee, 
The heir will scarce fiTiu entrance free ; 



K 



Aippemlix, Note O. 



2 Ibid, No 



And then farewell. I haste to iry 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
When cloyed each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 

XXII. 

An undecided nnswrer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Destiite his crafr. lie hearti with awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear: — 
.loy'd at the soul that Bertram flies. 
He grudged the murderer's mighty prize. 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 
And fear'd to wend with him alone 
At length, that middle course to steer. 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge." he said, " would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now ; 
Wilfrid on Bertram should attend. 
His son should journey with his friend." 

xxni. 

Contempt kept Bertram's anger down. 

And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 

" Wilfrid, or thou— 'tis one to me. 

Whichever bears the golden key. 

Vet think not but I mark, and smile 

'I'o mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 

If injurv from me vou fear. 

What, O.svvald Wycliffe, shields thee here ? 

I've sprung from walls more high than tiiesp. 

I've swain throDU'h deeper streams than Tees 

Might I not stab thee, ere one veil 

Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 

Start not — it is not my design. 

But. if it were, weak fence were thine : 

And. trust me. that, in time of need. 

This hand hath done more desperate deed, 

Go. haste and rouse thy slumbering son; 

Time calls, and I must needs be gone." 

XXIV. 

Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart; 
A heart too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 
Ot numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace. 
On Wilfred set contemptuous brand. 
For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centred in her sickly hoy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 
Hour after hour he loved to pore 
On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore. 
But turn'd from martial scenes and liirht, 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight. 
To p(mder Jaqiies' moral strain. 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain : 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 

XXV. 

In youth he sought not pleasures found 
Bv youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 



I Sec Appc-ndi; 



4 Iliid. No 



z 



7" 



R K f: B Y. 



259 



\ 



1 



Ii Ueepdnle's solitude to lie. 
Where all is cliff and C(i|ise and sky; 
To ciinl) Catr.istle's dizzy peak. 
Or lone Pendrajoirs mound to seek. 
Such was his wont; and there his dream 
Soar'd on some wild faiitaslic theme, 
Of faithful love, or ceaseless sprinsr, 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more sustain, 
And sad lie sunk to earth again. 

XX VT 
He loved — as many a lay r;in tell. 
Preserved in Slainnore's lonely dell ; 
For his was nHnstrel's skill, he causlit 
The art unieachable. iiutansht ; 
He loved — iiis soul did iia'ure frame 
Vi>r love, and fancy nursed the flame; 
Vainly he loved — for seUhmi swain 
Of such sof( iriou d is loved a^in; 
Silf-nf he loved — in every ifaze 
Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
So musei! his life away — till died 
His lirf^threii all, their father's pride. 
\\ ilfrid IS now tlie only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 
And destined, darklin?, to pursue 
Ambition's maze hy Oswald's clue. 

XXVIl. 
Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knisrlit. 
To love her was an easy best. 
The secret ecnpress of iiis breast; 
To woo her was a harder t;usk 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Vet all Matilda could, she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave ; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard. 
And praise, the pout's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste a|)proved. 
And suns the lays he framed or loved; 
Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The lavourmg glance to tViendship due, 
1 hen sneved to see her victim's pain. 
And gave tiie dangerous smiles again. 

XXV lU. 
So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 
\\ hen war's loud summons v\aked the land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The wo-foreboding peasant sees; 
In coiurert oft they braved of old 
'I'he bordering Sciit's incursion bold: 
Frowning defiance in their pride. 
Their vassals now and lords divide. 
From Ins fair hall on Greta hanks. 
The Knight of Hokeby led his ranks, 
'I'o aid the valiant northern Earls, 
Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Kokeby's biide. 
Though long before the civil fray, 
III peaceful grave the lady lay,— 
Phiiip of Mori ham raised his'band. 
And march'd at Fairfa.v's command : 
V\'liile V\ vcliffe, bound bv manv a train 
Of kindred art with wilv Vane', 
I.es-; prompt to brave the bloody field. 
Made Barnard's battlements his shield. 
Secured tliem with his Lunedale powers, 
And for the Cimimons held tlie towers. 



XXIX. 
The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knisht 
Waits in his halls the event of tight. 
For England's war revered the claim 
Of every unprotected name. 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage. 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego. 
By Greta's side, in evening grey, 
Til steal upon Matilda's way. 
Striving, with fond hypocrisy, 
For careless step and vacant eye , 
Calming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the ineeling all to chance, 
Or framing, as a fair excuse, 
The book, the pencil, or the muse : 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Si line modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the long'd-for minutes last,— 
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past! — 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy. 
Each friendly look, each softer lone, 
As food for fimcy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
Wilfred may lurk in Eastwood green. 
To watch Matilda's wonted round. 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes! — 'tis but a passing sight. 
Vet serves to cheat his weary nigln ; 
She comes not — He will wait the hour. 
When her lamp lightens in the tower; 
'Tis something yet. if, as she piist. 
Her shade is o'er tlie lattice c.ist. 
" What is my life, my hofie T" he said , 
" Alas ! a transitory shade" 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love. 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills t.o come, 
Wliile still he turn'd impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifiereiit, and subdued, 
111 all but this, unmoved he view'd 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
Was Fancy's spoil'tl and wayward child. 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side. 
Or. in some wild and lone retreat, 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews his languid head. 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread. 
For hini her opiates g;ive to flow, 
\N'liich he who tastes can ne'er forego. 
And [»laced him in her circle, free 
From every siern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her daydreams truth, and truth a dream. 

XXXI. 
Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains. 
Winning from Reason'.s hand the reins. 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those who train such youth, 
And sp&ie to press the rights of truth, 
T he mind to strengthen and anneal. 
While on the stithy glows the steel! 



'^ 



z. 



^ 260 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



V 



O tench him, while your lessons last, 
To judgfe the preseift by the p;ist; 
]le!nind hiin of each wish pnrsiietl, 
How rich it gloWtl with promised good ; 
Reniitid him of each wish enjoy 'd, 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd! 
7'eil him, we play nneqnal same, 
Wiiene'er we shoot-bv Fancy's aim; 
And, ere he strip him for her race, 
Sliow the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters bv tlie u'oal are set. 
Cold Disapiiointitipot and Keirret; 
One diseiicliaii's llie Vv-iiiner's eyes. 
And strips of all its worlli the prize. 
While one anumenls ils •randy show, 
More to eiiliaiice ihe loser's woe. 
The victor sees liis fairy gold, 
Transform'd. when won, to drossy mold. 
But still the vangnish'<i monrns his lo.ss, 
And rues, as g:()ld, that glittering dross. 

XXXII. 

More wonldst thon know— yon tower survey. 

Yon conch nnpiess'd since parting day, 

'k'on mitrimiii'd laiiif), whose yellow gleam 

Is minglins: with the cold inooylieani. 

And yon thin form !— the hectic; red 

On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 

The head reclined, the loosenM hair. 

The limbs relax'd, the mourntui air. — 

See, he looks up ;— a woful smile 

Lightens his wo- worn cheek a while, — 

'Tis Fancy wakes some idle thought. 

To gild the ruin she has wroui^ht; 

For, like the bat of Indian brakes. 

Her iiinions fan the wound she makes, 

And soothins thus the dreamer's pain. 

She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 

Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 

Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 

The moon with clouds is still o'ercast. 

Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 

Another hour must wear away, 

E^re the East kindle into day. 

And hark ! to waste that wetiry hour, 

He tries tlie minstrel's magic power. 

XXXIII. 

SONG. 
TO THK MOON. 

Hail to thv cold and clouded beam. 

Pale riiltrriin of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, thouu:li the misis that o'er thc-e stream 

Lend to thy brow tln-ir sullen dye! 
How should thy pme ami peacet'ul eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To li^ht a world of war and woe ! 

Fair Queen ! T will not blame thee now, 

As once by Gief;i's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide. 

Still are the thousliis to memory dear. 
For, while a softer strain I tried. 

They hid my blush, and calin'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, 
5y two fond lovers only seen, 
Keflected from the crystal well, 



Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 

Or quivering on the lattice bri!i:ht. 
(Jr glancing on their conch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 

XXXIV. 
He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 
A voice ! — his f;ither seeks the tower. 
With haggard look and troubled sense. 
Fresh from his deadful conference. 
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep adilress'd ? 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
Morlham has fall'n on .Marston-moor ; 
Bertram lirinirs warrant to secure 
His treasures, bous-'ht by spoil and blood. 
For the State's use and public good. 
The menials will thy voice obey; 
Let his commission have its way, 
111 every point, in every word.'' — 
Then, in a whisper. — ""Take thy sword ! 
Bertram is— what I must not fell. 
I hear his liasty step— farewell !" 



iXofeefaD. 



CANTO S K C O N D . 



I. 

Far in the chambers of the west. 

The gale had sigh'd itself to rest . 

The moon was cloudless now and clear. 

But pale, and soon to disappear. 

The thin e:rey clouds wax dimly light 

On Brusleton and Houghton height; 

And the rich dale, that eastward lay. 

Waited the wakening toncli of day. 

To give its woods and cultured plain. 

And towers and spires, to light again 

But. westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 

And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 

And rock -begird led Gilmanscar, 

And Arkingarth. lay dark afar: 

While, as a livelier twilight falls. 

Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls. 

High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale. 

The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

n. 

What prospects, from his watch-tower high, 

Gleam gradual on ihe warder's eye ! — 

Far sweeping to the east, he sees 

Down his deep woods the course of Tees,' 

And tracks his wanderings by the steam 

Of summer vapours from the stream ; 

And ere he [laced bis destined hour 

By Brackeiibnry's dungeon-tower. 

These silver mists shall melt away. 

And dew the woods with glittering spray. 

Then in broad lustre shall he shown 

That mighty trench of living stone. 

And each huge trunk that, from the side, 

Keclines him o'er llie darksome tiile. 

Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 

Wears with his rage no common foe; 

For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed lipro, 

Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career 



kjipenilix. Note L. 



y 



7" 



2l 



R K E B Y. 



261 



\ 



roiidetiin'il to mine a channell'd way, 
O'er solid sheets of marble grey. 

in. 

N(»r Tees alone, in dawninsf bright, 

Shall rush upon the ravishM sight ; 

But many a tributary stream 

Kach from Us own dark dell siiall ^leam: 

Stjundrop, who, from lier sdvan bowers, 

Salutes proud Kaby's battletl towers; 

'I'lie rural brook of Egliston, 

And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 

And Greta, to whose banks ere long 

We lead the lovers of the son?; 

And silver Lune, from Starmiore wild. 

And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring fluid, 

And last and least, but loveliest still, 

Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 

Who in that dim wood glen hatli stray'd, 

Yet loiig'd for Roslin's maificslade? 

Who. wandering there, hath soua^ht to change 

Even for that vale so stern and strange, 

Where Cartland's Craes. fantastic rent. 

Through her green copse like spires are sent 7 

Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 

Thy scenes and story to comhiae ! 

Thou bid'st him. who by Rosliii strays, 

List to the deeds of other days ; i 

'Mid Cartland's Crags thou sliow'st the cave. 

The refuge of thy champion brave ; 2 

Giving each rock its storied tale. 

Pouring a lay for every dale. 

Knitting, as with a moral band. 

Tliv native legends with thy land. 

To letid each sense the interest liijrh 

Which genius beams from Beauty "s eye 

IV. 

Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sun rise shows from Barnard's height, 

But from the towers, prevent msr day. 

With Wilfrid took his early w,.y. 

While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale. 

Still minsled in the silent dale. 

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone. 

The southern hank of Tees They won; 

Tlieir winding path then eastward cast, 

And Eglisions grey rums p-.iss'd ;3 

Each on his own deep visions bent, 

Silent and sad they onward went 

Well may you think that Bertram's mood, 

To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude; 

Well may you think bold Risingham 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 

And small the intercourse, I ween. 

Such uncongenial souls between. 



Stern Bertram shunn'd the nearer way. 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay. 
And. skirting high the valley's ridge. 
They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge; 
Descending wliere her waters wind 
Free for a space and uiicontined. 
As. 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood glen. 
She seeks wild .Mortham's deeper den. 
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, 
Rai.sed by that Legion * long renown'd, 

1 See Notes to the song o( Fair Rosabille, in llie Lay of 
Ihr La.st M.iistrel 

3 Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the 
favovrite retreats of Sir Wilham Wallace. 



^ 



Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
"Stern sons of war!" sad Wilfrid sigh'd, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known T 
A grassy trench, a broken stone !" — 
This to himself; for moral .strain 
To Bertram were addressed m vain. 

VL 
Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoke, when I\o4<eby's turrets hiirh * 
Were northward in t he dawning seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, thoiiifh Spenser's self had stray'd 
Besule liiiii through the lovely glade, 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of faiii-y. all its charms to show. 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty. 
Flashing her sparkling: waves abroad. 
And clamouring joyful on her road ; 
Pointing where, up the siniiiv banks, 
The trees retire in .scatter'd ranks. 
Save where, advanced before the rest. 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest. 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions, when tlieir band is broke, 
Stand forth to guard the rearward post, 
The bulwark of the scatter'd host- 
All this, and more, might Spenser say, 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay. 
While VVilfrid eyed the distant, tower. 
Whose lattice lights .Matilda's bower, 

VIL 

The open vale is soon passed o'er, 

Kokehy, itioush nigh, is seen no more , 

Sinking "mid Greta's thickets deep. 

.\ wild and darker course they keep, 

A stern and lone, yet lovelv road. 

As e'er the foot of Minsi rel trode ! s 

Broad shadows o er their pnss;ige fell. 

Deeper and narrower srew the dell; 

It seem'd some mountain, rent and riven, 

A channel for the stream had given. 

So hiah the (tliffs of limestone grey 

Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 

Yielding, along their rugged base, 

A flinty footpath's nisgard space, 

V\ here he, who winds 'twixi rock and wave. 

May hear the headloinr torrent rave, 

And like a steed in frantic fir. 

That flings the froth from curb and bit, 

May view her chafe her waves to spray, 

O'er every rock that bars lier way. 

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride. 

Thick as the schemes of human pride 

That down life's current drive amain. 

As frail, as frothy, and as vaiu ! 

VIII. 

The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed, 
Were now all naked, wild, and grey. 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell their brunches hung; 



S 



3 See Appendix, Note M. 



z 



f 2G2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



And there, nil splinter'il and uneven, 

'llie shiver'd rocks ascend Id heaven; 

Oil. U)o, the ivv swaih'd their hreast. 

And wreathed its garland round theii" crest. 

Or from tiie stores bade loosely flare 

Its tendrils in the middle air. 

As pennons wont to wave of old 

O'er the hiKh feast of Baron hold. 

When revell'd loud- the feudal roiit. 

And the arch'd halls return'd their shout; 

Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 

And such the echoes from her shore. 

And so the ivied banners §rlfeani. 

Waved wildly o'er the brawhng stream. 

IX. 
Now from the stream the rocks recede, 
But leave between no sunny mead. 
No. nor the spot of pebbly sand. 
Oft found by such a mountain strand; 
Fonnins such warm and dry retreat, 
As fancv deems the lonely seat. 
Where hermit, wandering: from his cell, 
His rosary might h)ve to tell. 
But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 
A dismal grove of sable yew. 
With whose sad tints were mingled seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 
Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast, 
The earth that nourish'd them to blast; 
For never knew that swarthy grove 
The verdant hue that fanies love : 
Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, 
Arose within its baleful bower: 
The dank and sable earth receives 
Its only carpet from the leaves. 
That, from the witliering branches cast, 
Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 
Though now the snn was o'er the hill, 
In this dark spot 'twas twiliglit still, 
Save that on Greta's farther side 
Some stragglmg beams through copsewoOil 

glide ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 
"That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, glimmering through the ivy spray. 
On tlie opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lafed peasant shunii'd the dell ; 

For Superstition wcmt to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight, 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide, 

Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 

While Curiositv and Fear, 

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near. 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village n)aidens lose the rose. 

The thriUing interest rises higher, 

The circle closes nigh and nigher. 

And shuddering glance is cast behind. 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

Believe, that fitting scene was laid 

For such wild tales in Mortham glade , 

For who had seen, on Greta's side, 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour. — 

If touch'd hy Superstition's power, — 

Might well have deem'd that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper Heaven, 

1 Ste Appiiidix, Nole U. 31oid, Note R. 



While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 
Like his pale victim by hia side. 

XI, 
Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these Unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor se.x confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard. 
'Gainst faith, anil love, and pity harr'd, 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in liis native dale.^ 
That in his secret soul re ain'd 
The credence they in childhood piin'd : 
Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
I.earn'd when, beneath tlie tropic gale. 
Full swell'd the vessel's steady sail. 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Pour'd on the watch of middle night, 
Wlieii seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigv. and s|iell : 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, 
How whistle rash liids temjiests roar,l 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
Of Frick's cap and Elmo's light: 2 
Or of that Phantom Ship, who.se form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lower'd is every topsail-yard. 
And canvass, wove in earthly looms. 
No more to braVe the storm'presumes! 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky. 
Top and topgallant iioisfed high. 
Full s|)read and crowded eVeiy sail. 
The Demcm Frigate braves the gale;' 
And well the doomVl spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and wue. 

XII. 
Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How. hy some desert isle or key.-* 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty. 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Ret)aid it home in deeds of blood, 
•■strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall'd the listening Bucanier, 
Whose light-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay 
In ambush by the loiielv bay 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain. 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane, 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer. 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail. 
To give. Ill thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

XIII. 
Thus, as a man. a youth, a child, 
Train'd in the mvstic and the wild. 
With this on Bertram's soul at times 
Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes; 
Such to his troubled soul their form. 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm. 
And such their omen dim and dread. 
As shrieks and voices of the dead,— 
That pang, whose transitory force 
Hover'd 'twixt horror and remorse ; 



I See Arr' 



\ Ibid, Not« T. 



y- 



R K E B Y. 



263 



That nail?. peroh;infe. Iiis tios >iii [iress'd, 

As Wil/nd Slid len tie adilress'd : — 

•• Wilfrid, this ^l.^n is rieVer troiie 

Til il the sun rides liiifli atiio;id ; 

Yet twice liave [ beheld to day 

A l-'orm. that seem d ti> do:; our way ; 

Twice fri>m itiv shince if seeiii'd to flee, 

And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 

How thinl< s: thou ?— Is our path way-laid? 

Or hath thy sue my trust hetray'd ? 

If so"— Ere. st'artm.r from his dream, 

'i'lial turn'd upon a sentler theme, 
\\ ilfred had roused hiiii to reply. 
Bertram sprunsr forwaid. shoutiu? hi?h, 
'• \\ hate'er ihi>u art. thou now shalt stand !"- 
And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIV. 

As hursts the levin in its wrath, 

lie shot him down the sounding path, 

I»ock. wood, and s ream, ran? wildly out, 

To his loud step and savage .shout. 

.^lenis that tlie object of his race 

HaMi scal'^d the cotfs ; his frau'ic chase 

t< de onff he turns, imd now 'tis bent 

Kilr up the rock's tali battlement; 

."strain iiic each sinew to ascend. 

Foot hand, and knee, their aid must lend. 

Wilfred. ;cll dizzv with dismay; 

Views from beneath, his dreadful way : 

Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings, 

^ow trusts his weiirht to ivy strings; 

Now. like the wild-£oat, must he dare 

An unsu, p .ried leap in air ; 

Hul in the shrubby rain-course now, 

Von mark him hythe cr;ishing; hough. 

And by his corslet's sullen clank. 

And by the stones spurn'd from the hank. 

And hythe hawk scared from her nest, 

And ravens nroakins o'er their suest, 

VV'iio deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 

XV. 
Sne, he emerges ! — desperate now 
All farther course— You beetling brow, 
III crassry nakediifss sublime. 
What heart or foot shall dare to ciimh? 
!t bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no ansle to his srrasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 
Is yon earth bedded jettin? stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop. 
He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
Just as the dangerous stretch lie makes. 
By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes ! 
Beneath his tottering hulk it bends. 
It sways. ... it loosens. ... it descends ! 
And downward holds its headlong way. 
Cni-shing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 
I.oud thunders shake the echoing dell !— 
Fell it alone ?— alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate. 
The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands. 
And on the top uuharm'd he stands ! — 

XVI, 
Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
At intervals where, roughly hew'd. 
Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Kender'd the clitfs accessible. 



1 Bee Appendix, 2<ole D. 



By circuit slow he thus attain'd 
The lie;?h' th.it Hisingham had gain'd, 
\iid when he issued from the wootl. 
Before the srafe of .Mori h:im stood, i 
' Twas a fair scene! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal grey : 
And fiom the ?r;issy slope he sees 
The Greta tlow to meet the Tees; 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She camjht the nioniinK's eastern red, 
And through the softenin? vale below 
Holl'd her bright waves, in rosy ghiw, 
All blushing to her bridal bed. 
Like some shy maid in convent bred : 
While Imiiel. lark, and blackbird gay. 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII. 
'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
That summer morn shone blithe and say, 
But morning beam, and wild-b.rd's call. 
Awaked not Mortliam's s'.'ent hall. 
.No porter, by the low-brow"d gate. 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant drew, 
Waked to their toil no menial crew; 
The maiden's carol was no' heard, 
As to her morning ta.sk she tared : 
In the void offices around, 
Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound , 
Nor eaaer steed, with shrilling neigh, 
Accused the lasiins groom's delay; 
Uiurimnrd, undress'd, nedected now, 
Was alley 'd walk and orchard bough , 
All spoke the master's ahsent care, 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate, an arrow riight. 
Two mighty elms their li:nbs unite, 
As if a Ciinopy to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
For their huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 
With many a scutcheon and device : 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb. 

XVIIl. 
'• It vanish'd. like a fiittinsr ghost ! 
Behind this tomb," he said, '■ twas lost — 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lies stored 
Of .Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'Tis true, the aged servant,s said 
Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
But weisriitier reasons may be gue.ss'd 
For Iheir lord's strict and stern behest. 
That none should on his steps intrude. 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. 
An ancient mariner I knew. 
V\ hat time 1 siiil'd with .Morgan's crew, 
Who oft, 'iiiid our carousals, spake 
Of Kalei£h. Frobisher. and Dr.ike; 
\dventnrous hearts 1 who barter'd, bold, 
Their English .steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not. would his experience say, 
("aptain or comrade with your prey ; 
But seek some charnel, when, at full. 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull- 
There dig. and tomb your precious heap ; 
And bid the dead your treasure keep;2 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the t;isk compel. 

I 3 bee Appendix, Nole V. 



T 



/. 



f 264 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



Lacks there sucli chariiel ?— kill a slave, 
Or [irisoner, on the trensure prave ; 
And hitl his iliscoiitented ghost 
S'lilk nig:hily on his lonely post. — 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween, 
Is in my morning vision seen." — 

XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scorn'd the le^:end wild, 

In mingled mirih and pity smiled, 

Mnoh marvelling that a breast so bold 

In sucli fond tale belief should hold ; 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and show.— 

T'he power wiihin the guilty breast, 

Oft vanquish'd, neve'r quite suppress'd, 

That unsubdued and lurking lies 

To take the felon by surprise, 

And force him, as by magic spell, 

III his despite his guilt to tell,—' 

That power in Bertram's breast awoke; 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke : 

" 'Twas Mori hum's form, from foot to head ! 

His morion, with tlie plume of red. 

His shape, his mien — 'twas .Mortham, right 

As when I slew him in the tight." — 

"Thou slay him ? — thou ?" — Willi conscious 

start 
He heard, then inann'd his haughty heart— 
•• I slew him ?— 1 !— I had forgot 
Tiiou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 
But it is spoken— nor will 1 
Peed done, or spoken word, deny. 
1 slew him ; I ! for thankless pride; 
'Twas by this hand that Mortham died !" 

XX. 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart. 

Averse to every active part, 

Hut most averse to martial broil, 

From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong. 

His blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain, 

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 

But, when that spark blazed forth to flame, 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood ; 

And. in full current of his blood, 

On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 

Placed firm Ins foot, and drew his brand. 

"Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt sold. 

Rise in thine aid, 1 keep my hold. — 

Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 

Attach the murderer of your Lord !" 

XXI. 
A moment, fix'd as by a spell, 
Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle, 
That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 
Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 
But when he felt a feeble stroke. 
The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand. 
To dash him headlong on the sand, 
W;is but one moment's work.— one more 
Had drencli'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore ; 
But, in the instant it arose. 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 



K 



I See Appendix, Nole W 



A warlike form, that mark'd the scene, 
Presents his rapier sheathed between, 
Parries the fast-descending blow. 
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand. 
But. sternly point iiig with his hand. 
With monarch's voice forbade the fight. 
And niotionM Bertr.mi from his sight. 
'• Go, and repent."— he said, " while time 
Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." 

XXII. 

Mute, and uncertain, and amazed. 

As (m a vision Bertram gazed I 

'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high, 

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 

His look ami accent of (•ommanil. 

The martial gesture of his hand, 

His stately form, spare-built and tall. 

His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Mortham all. 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear; 

His wavering faith received not. quite 

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 

But more he fear'd it. if it stood 

His lord, in living flesh and blood — 

What spectre can the cliarnel send, 

So dreadful as an injured friend ? 

Then, too, the habit of command, 

Used by the leader of the band. 

When Risingham, for many a day. 

Had march'd and fought beneath his sway, 

Tamed him— and, with reverted face. 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace; 

Oft stopp'd. and oft on Mortham stared. 

And dark as rated mastiflf glar»^d ; 

But when the tranip of steeds was heard, 

Plumred m the glen, and disappear'd;— 

Nor longer there the Warrior stood. 

Retiring eastward through the wood; 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives.' 

XXTll. 

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 

Hinting lie knew not what of fear; 

When nearer came the coursers' tread, 

And, with his fat her at their head. 

Of horsemen ariii'd a gallant power 

Rein'd up their steeds before the tower 

" Whence these pale looks, mv son ?" he said : 

" Where's Bertram ?— Why that naked blade?" 

Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 

"Bertram is gone— the villain's word 

Avouch 'd him murderer of his lord ! 

Even now we fought— but. when your tread 

Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 

In Wyclitfe's con.scious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear; 

On his pale brow the dewdrop broke, 

And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 
" A murderer !— Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you! 
Yet, grant such strange confession true, 
Pursuit were vain— let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 



z 



7 



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R K E B Y. 



265 



\ 



Tliat morn, an emhnssy of weight 

He bniiiffht to Baiiiaid's custle 2;ii(% 

And follow'd now ill WyclilFc's Iraiii, 

An answer for his lord lo g::im. 

His steed, whose arch'd and saltle neck 

All hundred wie;iths of foMiii hedeck. 

Chafed not asaiiist the curl) more Ingh 

Than he at ()swald's ciilil re[)ly. 

He bit his lip, implored his saint, 

(His the old Jaitli)— then burst restraint. 

XXV. 
" Yes! I beheld his bloody fall, 
I'.y that base traitor's dasiaid hall, 
.Inst when I thought lo measure swnrd. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortliini n lurd. 
And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew 
His leader, seneroiis. brave, and true? 
Ksraiie. while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his ei^antic pace ? 
No! ere the sun that dew shall dry. 
False Hisinsham shall yield or die. — 
Riii^ out the castle lai urn bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, pillanls, ride 
Beset the woimJ on every side. 
15ui if amoiiK you one there be, 
Tlia" honoiii-s Mortham'.s memory. 
Let hiiii dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and sha-ne, 
And foul suspicion dog your name !" 

XXVL 

Instant to earth youns fiedmond sprung. 
Instant on earth the Kainess rdiie 
Of twenty men of Wyrlitfe's band. 
Who waited not their lord's commnnd. 
Kedmond his spurs from buskiii.s drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pi-tols in his belt lie placed. 
I he sreen wood sain'd. the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
*• lo cover, hark !'' — and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry 
••^"Uspicion ! yes— pursue him — fly — 
But venture iiot. in useless strife, 
O I rufla in despemie of his life. 
Whoever finds him. shoot juni der.U ! 
Five hundred nobles for his head !" 

XX VII. 
The horsemen gaIlo[)"d. to make eood 
K:.c^ path that issued from the vvo(mJ. 
Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
(If Redmond and his eager rout; 
With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire. 
And en ying Redmond's martial fire, 
A)!d emulous of fame. — Bui where 
Is Oswald, nohie .Mortliam's heir? 
He, boind i)y honour, law. and faith, 
Avenger of his kinsman's death? — 
Leaning against the elitiin i ree, 
VV.th dro .ping head ami slacken'd knee. 
And clenched leelli, and close-clasp'd hands. 
In asony of soul he stands ! 
His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
HiS soul to every sound is lent; 
For m each shout that cleaves the air, 
May ring discovery and despair. 

XXVIII. 
What 'vail'd it him. that brightly play'd 
The morning sua cm Mortham's glade ? 



All seems in giddy nmnd lo ride, 

Like olijVcts on a'stormy tide. 

Seen eddying hy the moonlight dim, 

Im|)erfecily lo sink and swim. 

What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain. 

Its battled mansion, hill, and plain, 

On which the sun so brightly shone, 

Envied so long, was now his own? 

The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 

Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, i 

Had been his choice, could such a doom 

Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 

Forced, loo, to turn unwilling ear 

To each surmise of hope or fear, 

Murniur'd among the rustics round, 

Who gather'd at the 'laruin sound ; 

He dared not turn his head away, 

E en lo look up to heav'en to pray, 

Or call on hell, in bitter mood, 

For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 

XXIX. 
At length, o'erp.ost that dreadful spar^, 
Back straggling came the scaller'd chase ; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
Heturn'd the trooiiers, one bv one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to sav. 
All trace was lost of Bertram's way. 
Though Redmond still, up Brignal wood, 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 
O, fatal doom of human race! 
What tyrant passions passions chase! 
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 
Avarice and pride resume their throne ; 
The pang of instant terror by. 
They dictate us their slave's reply :— 

XXX. 

" Ay— let him range like hasty hound I 

And if the grim wolfs lair he found. 

Small is my care how goes the game 

With Redmond, or wiih Hisinghain — 

Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 

Thy fair Matilda, ail so coy 

To thee, is of another mood 

To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 

Thy ditties wiil she freely praise. 

And pay thy pains with courtly phrase. 

In a rough path will oft coniniand— 

Accept at least— tliy friendly hand; 

His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, 

Unwilling lakes his proffer'd aid. 

While conscious passion plainly speaks 

In downcast look and blushing cheeks 

Whene'er he sings, will she glide uigli. 

And all her soul is in her eye ; 

Yet doubts she still lo tender free 

The wonted words of courlesy. 

These are strong signs !— yet wherefore sigh, 

A'nd wipe, effeminate, thine eve ? 

Thine shall she he, if thou attend 

The counsels of thy sire and friend. 

XXXL 
" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light, 
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
Brave Cromwell lurn'd the doubtful tide, 
And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold .Marquis fled ; 
Nohles and knights, so proud of late, 
iMust fine for freedom and estate. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



266 



Of these, cominitted to my charge, 

Is Rokebv, prisoner at lars:e ; 

Reiliiiomi, Ills pa8:e, arrived to say 

He reaches Barnard's towers lo-ilay. 

Risiht heavy shall his ransom be, 

Unless that maid compound with theeP 

Go to her now— he l)old of cheer, 

While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear, 

Jt is the very change of tide. 

When best the female heart is tried — 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty, 

Are in the current swept to sea ; 

And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 

May lightly r;* his bark to shore." 



\ 



aaofeebj. 



CANTO THIRD. 



1. 

The banting tribes of air and earth 
Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
?iature, who loves the claim of kind, 
Less cruel chase to each assign 'd. 
The falcon, poised, on soaring wing. 
Watches the wild duck by the spring: 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair: 
i'he greyhound presse.« on the hare; 
i'he eagle pounces on tiie lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Their likeness and their lineage spare. 
Man. only, mars kind Nature's plan. 
And turns the fierce pursnit on man ; 
Plying war's desultory trade. 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade. 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 
At fir.st the blocfdy game begun. 

II. 

The Indian, prowling for his prey. 

Who hears the settlers track his way, 

And knows in distant forest, far 

Camp his red brethren of the war; 

He, when each double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

l,ow crouching now his head to hide. 

Where swampy streams through rushes glide 

Now covering with the wither'd leaves 

Tlie foot-prints that the dew receives : ^ 

He, skill'd in every silvan guile. 

Knows not. nor tries, such various wile. 

As Risinghani, wlien on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit beliind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 

When Rooken edge, and Kedswair high, 

To bugle runs and bloodhound's cry .3 

Announcing Jedwood axe and spear, 

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear; 

And well his venturous life iiad prove<l 

The lessons that his childhood loved. 

III. 
Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 
Each attribute of roving war; 



1 Btt A|>iieiKlix, Note Y. 



The sharpen'd ear, the piercinsr eye, 
The Quick resolve in ilniiger nigh ; 
The speed, that in the flight or chase, 
Oulstripp'd the Chanb's rapid race; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb. 
To leap, to clinib, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron franie, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air. 
Nor less confirm'd to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
These art.s he proved, his life to save, 
In peril oft by land and wave. 
On Arawaca's desert shore. 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spam 
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried. 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 

IV. 

'Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 

He proved his courage, art, and speed. 

Now slow he stalk'd vvitii stealthy pace, 

Now started forth in rapid race. 

Oft doubling back in mazy train. 

To blind the trace the dews retain ; 

Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 

To baffle the pursuer's eye; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 

The echo of his footsteps drown'd. 

But if the forest verge he nears. 

There trample steeds, and u'liniiiier spears; 

If deeper down the copse he drew. 

He heard the rangers' load halloo. 

Beating each cover while they came, 

As if to start the silvan game. 

'Twas then— like tiger close beset 

At every pass with toil and net, 

'Counter'd where'er he turns his glare, 

By cla.shins arms and torches' flare, 

Who meditates, with furious bound, 

To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — 

'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose. 

Prompting to rush upon his foes: 

But as that croucliing tiger, cow'd 

By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd. 

Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stern. 

And couches in the brake and fern. 

Hiding his lace, lest foeman spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye.* 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 
V\ho paused to list for every sound, 
("limb every height to look iinjund, 
Then rushing on with naked swoij. 
Each dinsle's l)osky depths explored. 
'Twas Redmond— by the azure eye: 
'Twas Reilmond— by the locks that fly 
Disorder'd frum his glowing cheek ; 
Mien, face, and form, young Redmond sjieak. 
A form, more active, lifrht. and strong, 
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along; 
The modest, yet the manly mien. 
Might grace the court of inaiden queen ; 
A face mare fair you well might find. 
For Redmond's knew the suti and wind. 
Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 
The charm of regularity : 



3 See Appenilix, Nols 2 A. 



d. Note 2 B. 



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BERTRAM WATCHING HIS PURSUERS 

'Twas then lliat Bertram's soul arose. 

Prompting to riisli uixjn his foes. — Page 2'i'>, Verse i 



's- 



i_z: 



7" 



ROKEBY, 



But every feature had tlie [)0\ver 

'I'd aid the expression of the hour : 

Whether gav wit, and humour sly, 

Danced laughing in his liifht-bhie eye ; 

Or bended hrow, and fflnnce of fire. 

And kindhns: cheek, spoke Erin's ire 

Or soft and sadden'd slances sliow 

Her ready sympathy with woe ; 

Or in ihat wayward mood of mind. 

When various feelings are combined, 

When joy anil sorrow miii°ie near. 

And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear, 

Anil risiiiK doul);s keep transport diwii, 

And anger lends a short-lived irown ; 

In that .-trange mood which maids approve 

Even when tiiey dare not call it love ; 

With every change his features play'd, 

As aspens'show ttie light and shade. 

VI. 

Well Risingham young Redmond knew: 
And much he enarveil'd that, the crew, 
Boused to revenge bold Morthain dead, 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led; 
h'or never fell his soul the woe. 
That wails a generous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong, 
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
But small Ins leisure now to pause; 
Redmond is tirst, whate'er the cause : 
And twice that Keduioiid came so near 
Where Ben rain couch'd like hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace, 
Rustled against the ruffians face. 
Who. desoeraie. twice pre|iaied to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart! 
Bui Redmond tuin'd a dirt'erent way. 
And the bent boughs resumed their sway, 
And Bei Irani he d it wise, unseen. 
Deeper to plunge ni coppice green. 
Thus, Circled in Ins coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red iind glistening eye, 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, 
With forked tongue and veiiom'd fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang; 
But if the intruders turn aside. 
Away Ins coils unfolded glide. 
And through the deep savannah wind. 
Some uiidisiurb'd retreat to find. 

Vll. 

But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
And heard the loud pursuit renew. 
And Redmond's hollo on liie wind, 
Oft niutier'd in his savage mind — 
'• Redmond O'Neale ! wert thou and 1 
Alone this day's event to try, 
Wiih not a second here to see, 
But the grey clitf and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, 
S lould ne'er repeat its sunmions proud! 
No ! nor «;'er iry its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower." 
Eluded, now behind liim die. 
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry; 
He stands in ScargiU wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
The summer sun in quiel ; 



267 ^^ 



VIII. 
He listen 'd long with anxious heart, 
Ear bent to iiear, and foot to start, 
And, while his strelch'd attention glows 
Refused his weary frame repose. 
'1' w;is silence all — he laid him down. 
Where purple iieath profusely sirowu, 
And throatwort, with its aZure bell. 
And moss and lliyme his cushion swell. 
Ttiere, spent wiili toil, he listless eyed 
The course of Greta's playful tide ; 
Beneath, her banks now eddying dun, 
Now l>rightly gleaming to the sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone. 
In yellow light her currents shone, 
Maiching in hue the favourite gem 
Of Albin's mountain diadem. 
Then, tired to watch the current's plav, 
He tuiiiM his weary eyes away, 
1 o where the banK opposing sliow'd 
Its huge, square cl.ffs through shaggy wood. 
One. prominent above the rest, 
Rear'd to tlie sun its pale grey breast; 
Around its broken summit grew 
The hazel rude, and sable yew; 
A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
And round iis rugged basis lay. 
By time or thunder rent awav. 
Fragments, that, fnmi its iionilet torn, 
Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
Such was the scene's wild majesiy, 
That fili'd stern Bertram's gazing eye. 

IX. 
In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
Kevolv.ng, in his stormy niiiid, 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 
His patron's blood by treason spilt; 
A crime, it seem'd. so due and dread. 
That It had power to wake the dead. 
Then, pondering on his life betray 'd 
By 0.>wald's art to Redmonds blade, 
III treacherous purpose to withhold. 
So ileem'd it, Mori ham's promised gold, 
A dee(> and full revenge he vow'd 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud ; 
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sue 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire .— 
If, in such mood, (as legends say. 
And well believed that simple day,) 
The Enemy of -Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour, 
Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge ! i 
But though his vows, wih sucli a fire 
Of earnest and inten,>ie desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made. 
As well might reach hells lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the gruve embrown'd. 
No neiher thunders shook the ground ; — 
The demon knew his vassal's heart. 
And spared temptation's needless art. 



Oft. mingled with the direful theme. 

Came Mortham's form —Was it a dream 7 

Or had he seen, in vision true. 

That v'ry .Mortham whom he slew? 

Or had in living flesh appear'd 

The only man on earth he fear'd T — 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 C. 



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^ 268 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



I'd try the mystic r.iiuse mteiit, 
His eyes, thnt on the cliff were bent, 
'Coimter'd ki once ii dazzlins: Rlaiice, 
Like sunbeam flasli'd from sword or lance. 
At once he started as for fisht, 
But not a foeniiin was in sight ; 
He heard the cuslmfs murniur hoarse, 
He heard ilie river's soundins course ; 
I'he solitary woodlands lay. 
As shimheiins \\\ \\\i- .Miminer ray. 
He g:azed, like lion roused, around, 
Tlien sunk again upon the ground. 
'T was hut, he ihousht, some fitful beam, 
GlatK^ed sudden from the sparkling stream ; 
Then plunged him from his gloomy train 
Of ill-<-oniiected thoughts again. 
Until a voice behind him cried, 
" Bertram ! well met on Greta side." 

XI. 
Instant his sword was in his hand, 
As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
Vet, dubious still, opposed he stood 
'I'o him that issued trom the wood : 
" Guy Denzil ! — is it tliou t" he said ; 
" Do we two meet in ScargiU shade ! — 
Stand back a space! — thy purpose show, 
Whether thou coinest as friend or foe. 
Keport hath said, that Denzil's name 
From Rokeby's hand was razed with shame." 
— " A shame 1 owe that hot O'Neale, 
Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 
Of my marauding on the clowns 
Uf Calverley and Bradford downs. 1 
1 reck not. In a war to strive. 
Where, save the leaders, none can thrive, 
Suits ill my mood ; and better game 
Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the same 
Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 
Who watch'd with me in nudnight dark, 
To snatch a deer from Rokehypark. 
How tiiink'st thou?" — "Speak thy purpose 

out; 
1 love not mystery or doubt." — 

XII. 
" Then, list. — Not far there lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades, stanch and true. 
Glean'd from both factions — Roundheads, freed 
From cant of sermon and of creed ,; 
And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, 
Spurn at the bonds of discipline 
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 
A warfare of our own to hold. 
Than breaijie our last on hattle-down, 
For cloak or surplice, mace of crown. 
Our schemes are Inid, our purpose set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
Thou art a wanderer, it is said ; 
For Morthaiii's death, thy steps way-laid, 
Thy head at price — so sav our spies. 
Who ran«e the valley in disguise. 
Join then with us : —though wild debate 
And wijinslin;; rend our infant slate, 
Each to an equal lolli to bow, 
Will yield to chief renown'd as thou." — 

XT II. 
'• Even now,"thnushtBertram.passion-stirr'd, 
" I call'd on hell, and hell has heard J 
What lack I, vengeance to command. 
But of stanch comrades such a band ? 



See Aprenilix, Note 3 D. 



This Denzil, vow'd to every evil. 

Might read a le.sson to the devil. 

Well, be It so ' each knave and fool 

Shall serve a.t my revense's tool."— 

Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy. 

But tell me where thy comrades lie ?"— 

"Not far from hence." Guy Denzil said; 

'• Descend, and cross the nver's bed, 

Where rises yonder clitf so grey." — 

•' Do thou." said Bertram, " lead the way." 

Then miitter'd, " It is best make sure; 

Guy DenziFs faith was never pure." 

He foUow'd down the sleep descent. 

Then through the Greta's streams they 

went; 
And, when they reach'd the farther shore, 
They stood the lonely cliflf before. 

XIV. 

With wonder Bertram heard within 

The flinty rock a murmur'd din; 

But vvlien Guy pull'd the wilding spray, 

And brambles, from its base away, 

He saw, appearing to the air, 

A little entrance, low and square, 

Like openine cell of hermit lone. 

Dark, winding through the living stone. 

Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here ; 

And lotid and louder on their ear, 

As from the bowels of the earth. 

Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 

Of old, the cavern strait and rude, 

In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 

And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's, wave. 

E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. 2 

Where, far within the darksome rift, 

The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 

But war had silenced rural trade, 

And the deserted mine was made 

The banquet-hall and fortress too, 

Of Denzil anil his desperate (M'ew.— 

There Guilt his anxious .revel kept ; 

There, on his sordid pallet, sle.pt 

Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd 

Siill in his slumbering grasp retain'.! ; 

Regret w£is there, his eye still cast 

With vain repining on the past; 

Among the feasters waited near 

Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 

And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 

With his own crimes rejiroaching heaven; 

While Bertram show'd, amid the crew, 

The Master-Fiend that Milton drew 

XV. 

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again, 

To greet the leader of the train. 

Behold the group by the pale lamp. 

That struggles with the earthly damp. 

By what strange features Vice hath known, 

To single out and mark her own ! 

Yet some there are, whose brows retain 

Less deeply stanip'd her brand and stain. 

See yon pale stripling! when a hoy, 

A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 

An early image fills his mind : 

The cottase, (>nce his sire's, he sees, 

Embower'd upon the banks of Tees : 

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene. 

And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 



a See A^pficndix, Note 2 E. 



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269 



\ 



A tear is sprini^iiig— but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or bruia'l jest, 

Haih til loud laughter stirr'd the rest. 

Oil him they call, tlie aptesc mate 

Kor jovial siiiis and merry feat: 

Fast flies Jiis dream — with dauntless air, 

As one vTctonous o'er Despair, 

He hids the ruddy cup go round, 

'J'lli sense and sorrow both are drown'd ; 

And soon, ill ineriy wassail, he, 

The life of all their revelry. 

Peals his to id song! — The muse has found 

Her blossiiiiis on ihe wildest ground, 

'Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd, 

"^riiemselves all profitless and rude. — 

With desperate merriment he sung, 

The cavern to the cliorus rung; 

Yet miniiled with his reckless glee 

Kemorses hitter ag(niy. 

XVI. 

SONG, 

0, Brigiiall banks are wild and fair, 

And Greta woods are treen. 
And you may gather garlands tiiere. 

Would srrace a summer queen. 
Anil as I roile by Ualton-hall, 

Beneath the iiiirets hiurli, 
A Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

"0, Brignall banks are fresh ami fair. 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove wnti Edmund there. 

Than reign our English queen." — 

" If. Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tower and town. 
Thou first must guess what life lead we, 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read full well y.iu may. 
I'heii to the greeiiwo id siiait thou speed. 

As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet suns she, " Brisnall hanks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

'I'han reign our English queen. 

XVII. 

" I read you, by your bugle-horn, 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranirer sworn. 

To keep the iving's greenwood."— 
"A Ranker, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of lijrlit ; 
His blast IS heard at merry morn. 

And mine at dead of night." — 

CHORUS. 

Yec sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would 1 were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

'•With burnish'd brand and musketoon, 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum."— 

23* 



'■ I lis: no more the tuck of drum. 

No more the trumpet hear; 
But vvlien the beetle sounds his hum, 

.\Iy comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

" And. O ! though Brignall banks be fair. 

And Greta woods be gay. 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare. 

Would reign my Queen of May! 

XVIII. 
" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death 1*11 die ! 
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, 

Were better mate than 1 ! 
And when I'm with my comrades met. 

Beneath the greenwood bough. 
What once we were we all forget. 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHORUS 

"Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are irreen. 
And you may sai her garlands there 

Would grace a summer queen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng. 
Till waked .some ruder mate their glee 
W'ltli note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But. far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan. 
Of import foul and fierce, design'd. 
While still on Bertram's sraspmg mind 
The wealth of murder'd .Mortham hung. 
Though half he fear'd his daring tonsue, 
When it should give his wishes birth. 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 

XIX. 
At length his wondrous tale he told : 
When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold , 
For. train'd in license of a court. 
Religion's self was Denzil's sport ; 
Theii judge in what cmlempt he held 
The visionary tales of eld ! 
His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 
The unbeliever's sneering jest. 
'■ ' I'were hard," he said, " for sage or seer, 
To spell the subject of your fear; 
.\or do I boast the art renown'd, 
Visitm and omen to expound. 
Yet. faith if 1 must needs afford 
111 spectre watching treasured hoard, 
.\s bandog keeps his master's rnof, 
iliddiiig the plunderer stand aloof. 
■| his doubt reiiiaiiis— thv goldiii gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his glmsrly liaunt ; 
For whv Ins guard on .Murthain hold, 
When Rokehy cas'le hath the sold 
Tliy patron won on Indian soil. 
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?" — 

XX. 

At this he paused— for ansry shame 
Lower'd on the brow of Kisinsjuam. 
He blusii'd lo ihink. that he should seem 
Asserlor of an airy dream. 
And gave his wrath anoltier theme. 
'• Denzil,"' he says, -thou-jh lowly laid, 
Wrong not the memory of the dead; 
For, while he lived, at .Mortham's look 
Ihy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ' 



T 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



And when he tax'd thy breach of word 

•To von fair Ros-e of Allenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound, 

V\ hose hack tlie limitsniatrs lash hath found. 

Nor dare to call his foreisn wealth 

i'hp spoil of piracy or stealth ; 

He won it bravely with his brand, 

VViien Spain waged warfare with our land.' 

Mark, too—! brook no idle jeer. 

N(ir couple Bertram's name with fear; 

Mine IS but half the demon's lot, 

I'm I believe, but tremble not — 

Jjioiish of this.— Sav. why this hoard 

'liiiiu deeni'sl at Kokeby castle stored ; 

Orlhmk'st that Mdrlhaiii would bestow 

His treasure with his faction's foe!" 

XXT. 
Soon qnench'd was Denzil's lU-timed mirth; 
Kill her he would have seen the earth 
Give to ten thousand spectres larlh, 
't'liaii venture to awake to flume 
The deadly wraih of Kismsham. 
Siibmiss he answer'd.— " Mort ham's mind, 
'Ihoii kiiow'st, to joy wiis ill inclined. 
In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 
A lusty reveller was he ; 
But since return'd from over sea, 
A sullen and a silent mood 
Hath numb'd the current of his blood. 
Hence he refused each kindly call 
To Rokeby's hospitable hall, 
And our stout kiiisht. at dawn of morn 
Who loved to liear the bugle-horn. 
Nor less, when eve his oaks enibrown'd, 
To see the ruddy ftup fro rouiul. 
Took umbraije that a friend so near 
Refused to share liis chase and cheer; 
Thus did the kindred barons jar. 
Kre tliev divided in the war. 
Yet. trust me, friend. Matilda fair 
Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." 

XXII. 
<• Destined to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
'I'lie prize mv life had wellnifjh paid. 
When 's.iinsf Laroche, by Cayo's wave. 
1 fduglii iiiv patron's wealth to save !— 
Deiizil. 1 knew him Ions, yet ne'er 
Knew him that jovous cavalier, 
VVIiom youthful friends and early fame 
Calld soul of gallantry and game. 
A moodv man, he sought our crew. 
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew ; 
And rose, as men with us must rise. 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
Oil each advent me rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 
On Ins sad l.row nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
Foremost he fought in every broil. 
Then scornful turn'd him from the spod ; 
Nav, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and Iheir prey; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we. 
Hot with our dear-bougiit victory. 
Of mercy and humanity. 



^ I Sec 



1 Sec Appendix. Note a F. 



XXI II. 

" I loved him well— His fearless part, 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangled for his right, ^ 
Redeem'd his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thrice saved his life. 
And once amid our comrades' strife.— 2 
Yes. I have loved thee! Well hath proved 
My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death nigrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around. 
And sternly stamp'd upon the ground— 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Even as this morn it met mine eye. 
And give nie. if th(m darest. the lie !" 
He paused— then, calm and passion- freed, 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 

XXIV. 

" Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 
What thou hast cau.se to wot .so well. 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of .Mortham's mind! 
But since he drove thee from his tower, 
A maid he lound in Greta's bower, 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway. 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Keniembrance of the wife he loved ; 
But he would uaze upion her eye, 
Till his mood softeu'd to a sigh. 
He. whom no living mortal sought 
To question of Ins secret thought. 
Now every thought ami caie contess'd 
'I'o his fair niece's faithful breast; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, in ocean, or in air. 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him unto life ; 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore, by his commands. 
Three coffers, wi^h "their iron l)ands, 
From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep. 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and pUi'e. of pride, 
His gift, if he in battle died."— 

XXV 

"Then Denzil. as I gnes«, lays train. 
These iron banded chests to sain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here. 
Where many a peril waits him near. 
For all his feats of war and peace. 
For plunder'd boors, and harts of greese ?» 
Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 
Or where the chase that hafli not rung 
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung?"— 
'• I hold my wont— my rangers go. 
Even now to track a milk-white doe.* 
By Rokehy-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbours fair. 
And when mv huntsman marks her way. 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ! 
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power. 
We rate her ransom at her dower." — 



3 Deer in season. 



4 See Appendix, Note 2 I 



7^ 



r 



R K E B v. 



XXVI. 

'• 'Tis well !— there's vengeance in the thought 

Mutildii is by Wilfrid sought ; 

An«l liot-brain'd Kedmond, too, 'tis said, 

Pays lover's honiase to the maid. 

Beiirani she srorii'd— If met by chance. 

She turn'ii from me iier shuddenne glance, 

Like a nice dame, that will not hrnok 

On what she hates and loatlies to look ; 

She lold to Mnrtliam she could ne'er 

lieliold me without secret fear, 

rorehodiiis evil ;— She may rue 

'I'd I'lnd her prophecy fall true! — 

'I lie war has weeded Rokeby's train, 

r.-w followers in his liall^; remain; 

If thy schemes miss, then, brief and bold, 

\\'e are enow to storm the hold ; 

IJear otF tlie plunder, and the dame. 

And leave the c stle all in flame." — 

xxvn. 

'• Still art thou Valour's venturous son ! 

Yet ponder first the risk to run : 

The menials of the castle, true. 

And stiihhorn to tlipir charge, thoii^i few; 

The wall t^ scale— the nio:it to cross — 

The wicket-graie — the inner fosse" 

— •■ Fool! if we blench for toys like these. 

Oil what fair guerdon can we seize ? 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 

And the best prize we hear away. 

The earnings of his sordid day." — 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear: 

In sight of road more sure and fair. 

Thou woiildst not choose, in blindfold wrath. 

Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 

1,1st. thfii ;— for vantage or assault. 

From gilded vane to dungeon- vault. 

Each pass of Hokeby-house I know: 

Tliere is one postern, dark and low. 

That issues at a secret spot, 

l?y most neglected or forgot. 

Now. Could a spial (»f our train 

On fair pretext admittance gain. 

That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 

Then, vain were battlement and ward '" 

XXV III. 
'• Now speak'st thou well : — to me the same. 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
IndltTerent. if like fox I wind. 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark 1 our merry-men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay"— 



SONG. 

" A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue. 
A doublet of the Lincoln green,— 

No more of me you knew. 

My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 



I See A.ppendix, Note 2 I 

% The ruins of Ravciisworlh Castle 1 
Ridini; of Yorkshire, ahout threr milei 
Ui< bmniid, and adjoining to the waste 



"This morn is merry June, I trow. 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow, 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake, 

Upon the river shore. 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 

Said, "Adieu for evermore, 

My love 
And adieu for evermore." — i 

XXIX. 
'• What youth is this, your band among. 
The best for minstrelsy and song ? 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave.— 
Now center'd all in iJrignall cave ! 
r watch him well — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart. 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest. 
By fits, the darling and the jest. 
His harp, his stor\', and his lay, 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 
When unemploy'd, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them, with a blither strain." 

XXX. 

SONG. 
ALLEN-.\-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
AlIen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the s|)iiining. 
Yet AlIen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my 

tale! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravens worth '-i prances in pride. 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net. and the land for his game. 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the 

tame; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the 

vale. 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale I 

AUen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight. 

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be 
as bright ; 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his 
word : 

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. 

Who at Rere-cioss3 OnStanmore meets Allen- 
a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come; 
The mother, she a.sk'd of his household and 
home: 



?t 



Arkingarth. It belonged originally to the powerful family 
North of Fitj-Hugh, from whom it pawed to the Lords Dacre of 
from the town of the South 
:allr(l the Forest of I 3 See Appendix, Note 2 K. 



^ 



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A 




2v 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



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riiough the castle of Richmond stand fair 

on the hill. 
My hall," quoth hold Allen, "shows gallanter 

still ; 
'Tis the blue vault of iieaven, with its crescent 

to pale. 
And with all its bright spangles !" said AUen- 

a-Dale. 

The father was steel, and the mother was 

stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him he 

gone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their 

cry; 
He had langh'd on the lass with his bonny 

black eye, 
And sne fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI. 
•' Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay 
Love mmgles ever in his lay. 
But when his boyish wayward fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit! 

! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various shape." — 
"Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy- 
Soft ! who comes here V' — " My trusty spy. 
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer i" — ' 
" 1 have — but two fair slasjs are near. 

1 watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
from Egliston up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid VVycliflfe sought lier side, 
And then young Redmond, in his pride. 
Shot down to meet them on their way : 
Much, as it seeiii'd, was theirs to .^ay : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net, 
Before their path be homeward set." 

A hurried and a whisper'd speech 
Did Bertram's will to Deiizil teach ; 
Who, turning to the robber band. 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 



aaokcfau. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 

When Denmark's raven soar'd on hi?t». 
Triumphant tiuough Noriliumbrmn sKy, 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke ,2 
And the broad shadow of her wins 
IMacken'd each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source. 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ; 
Beneath the shade the NnrUimen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name,* 
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone. 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 
Then. Balder, one bleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 



3 
^ ovc 



1 Sp^ Aprendix, Note 2 L. 2 Ibid, Note 2 M. 

1 The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, and falls 

over ihe catoi'acts named in the text before it leaves the 



But to the Monarch of the Mace. 

That held in fight the foremost place. 

To Odin's son. and Sifia's spouse, 

Near Stratforth high they paid their vows, 

Kememher'd Thor's victorious fame. 

And gave the dell the Thunderer's name. 

II. 
Yet Scald or Kemper err'd. I ween. 
Who cave that soil and quiet scene, 
Willi all its varied light and shade. 
And everv litile sunny glade. 
And Ihe blithe l)ro((k that strolls ahmg 
its pelihled bed with summer song, 
To the i;rim God of blood mid scar. 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O. betier were its hanks assign'd 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede. 
And the rath primrose decks the mead. 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the lierht fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown, 
Might make proud Obenm a tlircme. 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh. 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly : 
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencili'd flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 

HI. 
Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting everv sunny glade. 
In fair variety of green 
The woodland lends its silvan screen. 
Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak. 
Its houghs by weight of ages broke; 
And towers "erect, in sable spire, 
'ihe pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire; 
The drooping ash and birch, between. 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath at random grow 
FJach coppice dwarf of varied show. 
Or. round the stems profusely twined. 
Fling summer odours on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plaim'd. 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Maiss Mount the God Unkn(»wn! 
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh. 
Though bent by age. in spirit high : 
There rose the scar-seam'd veteran's spear 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 
While (Jhildhood at her foot was placed, 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 

IV. 
" And rest we here," Matilda said. 
And sat her in the varying shade. 
"Chance-met, we well may steal an hour. 
To friendstiip due. from fortune's power. 
Thou. Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to ttiy sister friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
No (farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft ; 
Wellnigh an orphan, and alone. 
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown" 



vhich divide the North Riding from (Jumbej. 
ii.d. High-Fnrre is seventy-five feet in height. 
4 See Appendix, Note 2 N. 



z 



7 



Z. 



R K E B Y. 



273 > 



Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced, 
Beside tier on tlie Uiif slie placed ; 
Then putised, with downr.iist. look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
Her (Utn.scious diffidence he saw, 
Drew backward, as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space removed, 
Unmark'd to gaze on her he loved. 



Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 

Hair hid Matilda's forehead fair. 

Half hid and half reveal'd to view 

Her fnll dirk eye of hazel hue. 

The rose, with fami and feeble streak, 

Sii slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 

Th.1t yon had said lier hue was pale ; 

But if she faced the summer g.ile, 

Or spDUe, or sung, or quicker moved. 

Ur heaid the praise of those she loved. 

Or when of iii;erest wa.s expiessM 

Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 

The mantling blond in ready play 

Kivail'd the blusli of r.sing day. 

There was a solt and pensive grace, 

A cast of thaughi upon hrr faci'. 

Tliat suited well the foieliHa.! Ii;gli, 

'I he eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 

The iniid expression sp'iku a mind 

In duly tirm, com losi d, resigii'd ; 

'lis tlial whM;ii Roman art lias given. 

To ma k iheir in.iiden Queen of Heaven. 

Ill hours of s|„,rt. that mood gave way 

To Fancy's ligh and f ollc play; 

And wiiHii the d UK-.-, or lale. or song, 

III har.iiless mirtii sped tune along. 

Full I ft ht;r doaim; sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 

But days of war and civil crime 

Allow'il b It III SUCH festal time. 

And her snft pi'iisiveiie>s of brow 

H.ul det-pt n'd intii sailiiess now 

III Mars on field her f..ther ta'eii. 

Her friends dispei>ed. brave .Mortham slain. 

While every ill her soul foretold. 

From Oswald s iliiisi of power and sold. 

And boding thoughts thai she must part 

V\ ith a Soft vision of her heart, — 

All lowerM around I he lovely maid, 

To darken her dejec;tion s shade. 

VI. 
Wh > has not heard — while Erin yet 
tJtiov; gai ist the ij.i.xoii's iron liit — 
U h > ii.is 1 ot heard how brave OXeale 
III English blood imbrued Ins steel.' 
AgMoM. .-St Geoi-e.s .-loss bl.ized high 
■J he banners of his Tan strv, 
'I o fiery Essex gave the foil, 
An 1 ii i^nd a prince iii Ulster's soil ? 
B it chief aro.se Ids victor pride, 
\^ li> n I hat brave .Marsh.l fought and died,2 
And Avoii-Duif lo ocean liore 
H - bill .ws reil with Saxon gore. 
'Twas firs' in th.it disasrous light, 
Rokeby . nd Alortham i roved their might. 
Tiiere had ihey fallen 'iiiongst the rest, 
Dot p iv louch'd a chieftains breast; 
'I he r.-imsi he to srat O Neale ;3 
H clie.Kd iiis followers' bloodv zeal, 
'lo quarter look live kiiismeii bold, 

1 Sre A iifidix. Note 2 O. 2 Ibid, .\i.ie .' P. 



^ 



And bore them to his mountain-hold. 
Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Doniiid's cliffs and woods could show, 
t^liared with them Erin's festal cheer, 
Sliovv'd them the cliase of wolf and deer, 
And. when a fitting lime was come. 
Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 

VII. 
Years speed away. On Rokeby 's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoy'd. by Greta's wave. 
The pea(-e which James the Peaceful gave, 
Wtiile .Morlham. far beyond the main. 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. — 
It chanced upon a wintry night, 
That whiten'd Staiiiiiore's slorniy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd. 
In Rokeby-hall the cups were fill'd. 
And by the huge stone chimney sate 
The knight in hosiiitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late. 
When a loud summons shook the gate, 
And sore for enti aiice and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 
The porter ansvver'd to the call, 
.4iid instant rilsh'd inio the hall 
A Man, whose aspect and all ire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

VIII. 
His plaited hair in elf-lock* spread * 
Around his bare and matted head; 
On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim. 
His ve.'iture show'd the sinewy limb ; 
in saffron dyed, a linen vest 
Was frequent folded round his breast; 
A manile long and loose he wore. 
Shaggy with ice, and staiii'd with gore. 
He clasp'd a burden to his heart. 
And, resting on a knotted dart, 
'I'he snow from liair and beard he shook. 
And round him gazed with wilder'd look. 
Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 
He hasten'd by the blaze lo place. 
Half lifeless Iroin the bitter air. 
His h>ad. a Boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby, next, he louted low. 
Then stood erect his lale to show. 
With wild majestic port and tone. 
Like envoy of some bai haroiis throne.* 
"Sir Richard, Lord of Roketty, hear! 
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair, 
lie bids thee breed lum as thy son, 
For furlough's days of joy are done; 
And other lords have seized his land. 
And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapour flown. 
To bind the duly on thy soul, 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due, 
But, in his absence, honnurs you. — 
.\ow is my master's message by. 
And Ferraught will contented die " 



4 See .\ppendix, Note 2 R. 



V 



J- 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



IX. 
Tlis look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale, 
He sunk wlien he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild, 
And xnrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 
Poor Ferrausht raised his wistful eyes, 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries; 
All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest and blest him o'er again! 
And kiss'd the little hands outspread, 
And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head. 
And. in his native tongue and phnise, 
Pr;iy'd to each saint to watch liis days: 
Then all his sMeiiETth togeiher drew, 
1'he chaise to Kokehy to renew. 
When half was faltei'd from his breast, 
And half bv dvins signs express'd, 
" Bless the'O'Neide !" he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spirit tied. 

X. 

'T was long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the CliiUI to end the tale; 
And then he said, that from his home 
His giandsiie had been forced to roam, 
Which had not b(!en if Redmond's hand 
flad but had strength to draw the brand, 
'I'he brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
'piat hung beside the srey wolf's head. — 
'T was from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was his ffuide.i 
Who. in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met lliem in the wood, 
FenauKlit m 'oatlle boldiy stood, 
'I'lll wounded and o'l-rpower'd at length. 
And strip[)'d of all. his laihns strem?^th 
Just tune him here— and then the child 
Reiiew'd again his moaning wild. 

XI. 

The tear down childhood's cheek that ilows. 

Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 

When next the summer breeze comes by. 

And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 

Won by their care, the orphan Child 

JSiioii on his new protector smiled, 

VVitli (liin()led cheek and eye so fair. 

Through Ins thick curls of flaxen hair. 

But blithest laiigh'd that cheek and eye, 

V\ hen Rokehy's liitle Maid was nigh; 

Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 

Matilda's tottering ste[)s to guide; 

His native lays in Irish tonurue, 

'I'o soothe her mfant ear he sung, 

And primrose twined with daisy fair. 

To form a chajilet for her hair. 

By lawn, by gnive. bv brooklet's strand. 

The children still wAre hand in hand. 

And i;ood Sir Richard smiling eyed 

The early knot so kindly tied. 

XII. 
But summer months bring wilding shoot 
i'rom bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit: 
And years draw on our human S|)an, 
From child to boy, from boy to man; 
And soon in Rokehy's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's (;rei;n. 



XBce App.-i,dix, Note 2 T. 



2 Ibid, Note -J I'. 



He loves to wake the felon boar, 

In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 

And loves, against the deer so dun. 

To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 

Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 

The hazel's spreading: boughs to climb. 

And down its cluster'd stores to hail, 

Where young Matilda holds her veil. 

And she. whose veil receives the shower, 

Is alter'd too, and knows her power; 

Assumes a monitress's pride, 

Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide; 

Yet listens still to hear him tell 

How the grim wild-boar fought and fell. 

How at his fall the bugle rung. 

Till rock and greenwood answer flung; 

Then blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind ! 

XIII. 
But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale. 
And knew so well each point to trace, 
Gives living interest to the chase. 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
His spirit's wild romantic glow, 
That, while she blameil. and while she feai'd 
She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
Oft, too. when drifted snow and rain 
To bower itud hall their steps restrain. 
Together they explored the page 
Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 
Oft, placed the evening tire beside. 
The minstrel art alternate tried. 
While gladsome harp and lively lay 
Bade wmier-night flit fast away: 
1'lins, from their childhood, blending still 
i'lieir sport, their study, and their skill. 
An union of the soul they prove. 
But must not think that it was love 
But though they dared i.ot, envious Fame 
Soon dared to give that union name, 
And when so often, side by side. 
From year to year the pair she eyed. 
She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 
As dull of ear and dim of sight. 
Sometimes his purpose would declare, 
That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 

XIV. 
The suit ot Wilfrid rent disgui.se 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes; 
"I'was plain that Oswald, lor his son. 
Had Roketiy's favour wellmgh won. 
Now must they meet with change of cheer. 
With mutual looks of shame and fear; 
Now must Matilda stray apart, 
To school her disobedient heart : 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokel)y sware 
No rebel's son should wed his heir; 
And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild. 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
To cherish there a happier dream. 
Of maiden won by sword or lance. 
As in the regions of romance ; 
And count the heroes of his line. 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine.2 
Stiane-Dymas3 wildtand Geraldine,* 



3 S.c Appendix, Note 2 V. 4 Ibid, No'e 2 W. 



.^ 



7 



R K E B Y. 



275 N 



Ami Connaii-rnore. who vnw'd Ins race 
For ever to the fisrht wwA (-huse. 
And cursed liiiii, of Ins lineage born, 
Should sheathe tlie sword to reap the corn, 
Or leave the mountain and the wold, 
'l"o shroud himself in castled hold. 
Troni such examples hope he drew. 
And brighten'u as the trumpet blew. 

XV. 
If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Kedmond had both his cause to aid, 
And all l)esiile of nurture rare 
That inisht hoseem a baron's heir, 
'i'urloush O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 
On Rokehv's Lord i)eM.ow'd his life. 
And well did Kokeby's eeiieroiis Knight 
Younsc Kfdinonil for the deed requite. 
Nor was Ins lil)eral care and cost 
Lpoii I he gallant, striplms lost: 
Seek th<; North-Ridms; broad and wide. 
Like Redmond none rouM steed bestride; 
l-'roni 1 ynemouth search, to Cumberland, 
LiKe Ke.Jmoiid none could wield a brand; 
.'^iid then, of humour kmd and free, 
And bearin? hiiu to each degree 
V\ ith frank and fearless courtesy, 
'1 here never you h was foiin'd to steal 
Upon the heart like brave 0'Nea.le. 

XVL 
Sir Richard loved him as his son; 
And When the days of peace were done, 
And to the gales of war lie gave 
'I he bannei of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, disiinguisird by Ins care. 
He chose that hoiioui'd dag to bear,* 
And named his page, the next degree, 
In tha-. old time, to chivalry 2 
In five pitch'd fields he well maintain'd 
'i'he hoiioiii'd place his worth ohraind. 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blazed la the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smiled (m Marston tight. 
The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight ; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife. 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
But when he saw him prisoner made. 
He kiss'd and then resign'd his blade. 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the Kmglit away; 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
In prison, as in tight, his love. 

XVIL 
When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'Tis like a sun glimpse through a shower, 
A watery ray. an instant seen 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined. 
The past and present fill'd his mind : 
" It was not thus,' AfTection said, 
" I dream'd of my return, dear maid ! 
Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 
1 look the banner and the brand. 
\S'hen round me. as the bugles blew. 
Their blades three hundred warriors drew, 
And. while the standard I uiiroll'd. 
Cliisli'd their bright arms, with clamour bold. 
Where is that iFanner now ?— its pride 
Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide 1 



^. 



1 See Appeiiili 



Where now these warriors f—Mi their gore. 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor! 
And" what avails a useless brand. 
Held by a captive's shackled hand, 
l^hat only would his life retain. 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain !" 
Thus Redmond to himself apart ; 
.\or lighter was his rival's heart; 
For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 
Uisdain'd to profit by control. 
By many a sign could mark too plain. 
Save with such aid, Ins hopes were vain. — 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their mournful musing fly, 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 

xvaii. 

" I need not to my friends recall. 

How Mortham sliuiin'd my father's hall; 

A man, of silence and of woe, 

Yet ever anxious to bestow 

On my poor self whate'er could prove 

A kinsman's confidence and love. 

My feeble aid could sometimes chase 

The ch)uds of sorrow for a space : 

But oftener, fix'd beyond my power, 

1 mark'd his deep despondence lower. 

One dismal cause, by all unguess'd. 

His fearful confidence confess'd; 

And twice it was my hap to see 

Examples of that agony, 

V\'hich for a season can o'erstrain 

And wreck the structure of the brain. 

He had the awt'ul power to know 

The approaching mental overthrow. 

And while his mind had courage yet 

To struggle with the dreadful fit. 

The victim writhed against its throes. 

Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 

This malady, I well could mark, 

Sprung from some direful cause and dark; 

But still he kept its source conceal'd, 

Till arming for the civil field ; 

Then in my charge he bade me hold 

A treasure huge of gems and gold, 

With this disjointed dismal scroll, 

That tells the secret of his soul. 

In such wild words as oft betray 

A mind by anguish forced astray." — 

XIX. 

mortham's history. 

"Matilda! thou hast seen me start. 
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart. 
When it has hap'd some casual phrase , 
Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe, that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past; 
But 1 ! — my youth was rash and vain. 
And blood and rage my manhood stain. 
And my grey hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend ! 
Even thou. .Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 
And must I lift the bloody veil. 
That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
I must. — I will — Pale phantom, cease I 
Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
Thus haunted, think'st thou 1 have skill 
Tliine own commission to fulfil? 



a See Appendix, Nole Q y. 



V 



A 



■V- 

f 270 

r Or, wl 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



X 



AIK 

V lie 



„., while thou poiul'st with gesture fierce, 
'I'liy bh^hted cheek, thy hlooily hearse, 
How can I paint tliee as thou wert, 
So fair m face, so warm iu lieart ! 

XX. 

" Yes, she was fair !— ^f atilJa, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on tliy brow ; 
But hers was like tiie sunny slow. 
That laughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret— there was need— 
Diffenns in conntrv and \\\ creed ; 
And, when to Mortham's tower she came. 
We mention 'd not her race and name. 
Until thy sire, who foiiffht afar. 
Should turn him home from foreign war 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we lived retired, unknown, 
To all but one dear friend alone, 
One darling: friend— I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I miisht forget, 
And sue m vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Unsrateful to God's clemency. 
'I hat spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me otf amid my crime. — 

XXI. 

" A kindly smile to all she lent. 

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 

So kind, that from its harmless glee, 

'I'he wretch misconstrued villany. 

Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 

A 'veng-eful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sat— the flask had flow'd. 

My blood with heat unwonted :;low'd. 

When through the alley'd walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edith jjlide, 

Cowerins; beneath the verdant screen, 

As one nnwilliiiEr to be seen 

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile. 

'i'hat curl'd the traitor's cheek the while! 

Fiercely I question'd of the cause ; 

He made a cold and artful pause, 

Then pray'd it iiiisht not chale mv mood- 

' There was a pidlaiit in the wood !' 

We had tieen shooiin? at the deer; 

My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near : 

That ready weapon of my wrath 

1 causht, and, haslins: up the path, 

In the yew erove my wife 1 found, 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 

1 mark'd his heart— the bow I drew— 

I loosed tlie shaft— 'twas more than true ! 

I found my Edith's dyins charms 

Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms ! 

He came in secret to enquire 

Her stale, and reconcile lier sire. 

XXII. 

" All fled my rage— the villain first. 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few. my guilt to none; 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I know not what— of shaft misaim'd; 
And even from those the act who knew, 
lie hid tlie hand from wliicli it flew. 



Untouch'd !)v human laws I stood. 

But God had heard the cry of blood ! 

There is a blank upon my mind, 

A fearful vision ill-defined, 

Of raving till my flesh was torn. 

Of (longecm-bolts and fetters worn— 

And when I waked to woe more mild, 

And question'd of my infant child — 

(Have 1 not written, that she bare 

A bov. like summer moniing tair?) — 

Willi looks confused my menials tell 

That armed men in Mortham dell 

Beset the nurse's evening way. 

And bore her, with her charge, away. 

My faithless friend, and none but he. 

Could profit bv this villany ; 

Him then. I sought, with purpose dread 

Of treble vengeance on Ins head ! 

He 'scaped me— but my bosom's wound 

Some f;iint relief from wandering found ; 

And over distant land and sea 

I bore my load of misery. 

XXIII. 
" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 
.^moiig a daring crew and dread. 
With whom full olt my hated life 
I ventured in such desperate strife. 
That even my fierce associates saw 
•Vly frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 
Much then T learn'd, and much can show. 
Of human guilt and human woe. 
Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known 
A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own' 
It chanced, that after battle fray, 
Upon the bloody field we lay; 
The yellow moon her lustre shed 
Upon the wounded and the dead. 
While, sense in toil and v/assail drown'd. 
Mv ruflfian comrades slept around. 
There came a voice— its silver tone 
Was soft, Matilda, as thine own— 
' Ah, wretch !' it said, 'what malcest thou here 
V\liile unavenged my bloody bier. 
While unprotected lives mine heir. 
Wuhout a father's name and care ?' 

XXIV. 

" I heard — obey'd— and homewarti drew ; 

The fiercest of our desperate crew 

I brought at time of need to aid 

My purposed vengeance, longdelay'd. 

But, humble be mv thanks to Heaven. 

That better hopes and thoughts has given. 

And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught. 

Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 

Let me in misery rejoice— 

I've seen his face — I've heard his voice— 

I claim'd of him my onlv child— 

As he disown'd the theft, he smiled ! 

That very calni and callous look. 

That fiendish sneer his visage took, 

As when he said, in scoriil'ul mood, 

'There is a gallant in the wood !'— 

I did not slay him as he stood — 

All praise be to my .Maker given ! 

Long suffrauce is one path to heaven." 

XXV. 
Thus far the woful tale was heard. 
When something in the thicket slirr d. 
Up Hedniond sprung; the villain Ouy, 
(For he it whs that lurk'd so nigh,) 



y^ 



1 




k 



THE FATAL MEETING. 

In the yew grove ray wife I found, 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! —Page 276, Verse xxi. 



I 



7^ 



R K E B Y 



Drew back— he durst not cross his steel 
A riioiiieiil's si>ace witti brave O'Neale, 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
III Moniiiim's iron-banded chests. 
Redmond resumed hi<seat; — he said. 
Some roe was rusihii^ in the shade. 
Bertram laui;h"d srimly when he saw 
His timorous couirade l)ackward draw; 
•' .-^ trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A simile arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me thy caralime— I'll show 
All art that ihou wilt j^ladly know, 
How thou niaysl salely quell a loe." 

XXVI. 

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 

■| ht' spreading birch and hazels through 

Till he had Kedmond full in view; 

1 he sun he levell'd— iMaik like this 

W:is I5ertram never known to miss. 

When fair opposed to aim there sale 

An object of his mortal hale. 

That d:iy youmr Ked nond's de itli had seen. 

But twice .Matilda came t)ei wt-eii 

The c ir.djiiie and Redmond's breast. 

Just ere the spriii? his rin2:(^r press'd. 

A deadly oath the ruttian swore. 

But yet his fell desian Ibrbore : 

"It utj'er," he miittei'd. 'shall be said, 

That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid !" 

T icn moved lo seek more opf^n ;iim, 

Wiit-n to his side Guy Denzil came : 

" IJeriiain, forbear !— we are undone 

For ever, if thou fire the srun. 

By all the fiends, an armed force 

Descends the dell, of foot and h irse ! 

We lensh if tliev hear a shot — 

Madman ! we h.ive :i safer plo' — 

Nay, fiiend. be ruled, and bear thee back ! 

Behold, down yonder hollow track, 

The warlike leader of the band 

Comes, with his broadsword in his hand." 

Bertram look'd up; he Siiw, he knew 

That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true. 

Then cursed his toriune and withdrew, 

'i'hreaded the woodlands undesci led, 

And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 

XXVIi. 
They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
DooinM to captivity or denih. 
Their thousins to one sad subject lent, 
Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 
Heedless and iinc.oncern'd they sate, 
While on the very verge of fate; 
Heedless and un<oncern"d reiiiain'd. 
When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd 
As ships drift darkling down the tide. 
Nor see the shelves o'er winch they glide 
(Ininterru[)ted thus they heard 
Wnat .Mori ham's closms tale declared 
He spoke of wealth as of a load. 
By Fortune on a wretch beslow'd, 
III bitter mockery of hate, 
His cureless woes to a^sravate; 
But yet he pray'd .Matilda's care 
Might save that trea-^ure for his heir— 
His Edith's .son— for still he laved 
As Confident his life wa'^ saved ; 
In frequent vi.sioii. he averr'il, 
He saw his face, his voice he he;ird ; 
Then ai'sued calm — had miirdir been. 
The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 



Some had pretended, too, to mark 
On Windermere a stranger bark. 
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild, 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and press'd, 
Hoiie seem'd to kindle in his bie;isl; 
Though inconsistent, vague, and vain, 
It vvarp'd his judgment, and his brain. 

XXVITI. 
These solemn words his story close : — 
•• Heaven witness for me. that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight. 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
These righted, I flms arms aside. 
And seek my son through Kurope wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman mgh 
Already cass a graspin? eye. 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three vears , 
If none, from me. the treasure claim, 
Perish'd IS .Mortham's race' and name. 
Then let it leave her generous tiaiid. 
And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot; 
So s[poils. .acquired by fiirht afar, 
Shall mitigate dome.stic war." 

XXIX. 
The generous youths, who well had known 
Of Mortham's mmd the powerful tone, 
'To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 
Gave sympaihv h s woes deserved : 
Hut Wilfrid chief, who saw reveal'd 
WhyMortham wish'd his life conceal'd. 
In secret, doubtless, to pursue 
The schemes his wilder'd fancv drew. 
Thoughtful he heard .Matilda tell, 
That she would sli;ire her father's cell. 
His (lartner of ca[>tivily. 
Where'er his prison-house shwuld be , 
Yet srieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 
Dismantled, and forsook by all, 
Open lo rapine and to stealth. 
Had now no safe-gii;ird for the wealth 
Intrusted by her kinsman kind, 
.■^nd for such noble u.se design'd. 
" Was Barnard (Castle then her choice," 
Wilfrid en(]uired with hasty voice. 
••Since there the victor's laws ordain, 
Her father must a sfiace remain?" 
A tlutter'd hope Ins accents shook, 
A flu'ter'd joy was in his look. 
Matilda hasten'd lo reply. 
For aiitrer flaslTd in Redmond's eye ; — 
•• Duty," she said, with sentle sr.ice, 
'•Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place; 
El.se had 1 for my sire assiiru-d 
I'risoii less galliii!; to his mind. 
Than that his wild-vyood haunts which sees 
And hears the murmur of the 'Tees, 
he •allium thus, with every fiance. 
What capiive sorrow can enhance ; 
But v\ here those woes are hiirhest, there 
-Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave. 



tt 



tie i^\\. 1 lie tviiiuiv i-iici;rv mic K"ve. 

And Stood abash'd— then auswei'd grave:— 



'2A 



'T 



A 



tTt 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



'• I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid 

1 have beneath mine own command. 

So wills my sire, a ffallant band, 

And well could send some horseman wight 

To bear the treasure forth by night, 

And so Itestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem" — 

"Thanks, grentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said : 

" O, be it not one day delay 'd ! 

And, more, thy sister-friend to aid, 

Be thou thyself content to hoiil. 

In thine own keeping. Mortham's gold. 

Safest with thee." — VVhile tlius she spoke, 

Arm'd soldiers on I heir converse broke. 

The same of whose approach afraid, 

The ruffians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low. 

Then look'd around as for a foe. 

"What mean'st thou, friend." young VVycliffe 

said, 
" Why thus in arms beset the glade?" — 
"That would I gladly learn from you ; 
For U(i my squadron as I drew, 
To exercise our martial eanie 
Upon the moor of Barninghanie, 
A stranger told you were wavlaid. 
Surrounded, and to death bet ray "d. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A fak'on glance, a warrior's mien. 
He bade me brins yon instant aid ; 
1 doubted not, and 1 obey'd." 

XXXI. 
Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed, 
Tiirn'd short, and on the .speaker uazed ; 
While Redmond every thicket round 
Track 'd earnest as a questing hound. 
And Denzil's carabine he found ; 
Sure evidence, by which I hey knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 
V\ isest it seem'd. with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed, 
Tli.at Hedmond, with Matilda f:iir, 
And fittinsr suard. should home repair; 
At niahtfall Wilfrid should attend. 
With a strong band, his sister-friend. 
To hear with her from Rokehy's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers. 
Secret and safe the banded chests. 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose fix'd, they part. 
Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 



3aoftei)u. 



CANTO FI FTH. 



The sultry summer day is done, 
The western hills have hid the sun, 
But mountain peak and village spire 
Ketain reflection of his fire. 
Old Barnard's towers are [turple still. 
To those that gaze from Tolier-hill; 
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
Like s'eel upon the anvil glows; 
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay. 
Rich with the spoils of parting^ day. 



In crimson and in gold array'd, 
Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
The tints which brighter hours had given. 
Thus aged men, full loth and slow, 
Tlie vanities of life forego. 
And count their youthful follies o'er 
Till Memory lends her light no more. 

II. 
The eve, that .slow on upland fades. 
Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 
Where, sunk within their banks profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
Tiie stalely oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontiile made a twilight brown, 
Impel vious now to fiinter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosMiig crows. 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the s ream ; 
For louder clarnour'd Greta's tide. 
And Tees in deeper voice n^jjlied. 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Hitful in sighs its breath resigrn'il. 
VVilfrid, whose fancy- nnr;n red soul 
Felt in the scene a solt control. 
With lig^liier fooiste[i press'd ihe ground. 
And ofien paused to looiv around; 
And, though his path was to Ins love, 
(^ould no! hut linger in the grove. 
To drink the thrilling interest dear. 
Of awful i)leasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsisient moods have we, 
Even when our passions strike ihe key. 

III. 

.Now, through the wood's dark mazes past. 
The opening lawn he reach'd at last. 
Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray, 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 
7"hose martial terrors long were fled. 
That frown'd of old around lis head: 
The battlements, the turrets grey, 
Seem'd half abandon 'd to decay; i 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foenian's work had done 
Where banners the invader braved, 
7'he harebell now and wallflower waved , 
In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
.Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze, 
On the paved floor the spindle plays; 
The flanking guns dismounted lie. 
The moat is ruinous and dry. 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
Tlie forlre.ss turn'd to peaceful Hall 

IV. 
But yet precautions, lately ta'en, 
Show'd danger's day revived Jigam; 
The court-yard wall show'd marks of care. 
The fall'n defences to repair. 
Lending such strength as might withstand 
The insult of marauding band 
The beams once more were taught to bear 
The tremliling drawbridge into air. 
And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, 
For Wilfrid oped the jealou-; door, 
And when he entered, bolt and bar 
Resumed their place with sullen jar; 



Siff A|ip»?i»ilij 



4ole 2 Z. 



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ROKEBY 



Then, as he cross'd the v:iiilted porch. 

The old grey porter nnsed his torch, 

And vjew'd him o'er, from foot to liead, 

Kre lo the hall his steps he led. 

Ttiat huire old hall, of knightly state, 

Dismantled seemd and de.-olate. 

The riKjoii through iraiisoiii-.'^ifts of stone, 

Which cross'd I he latticed orrels. shone, 

And hy the monrnfiil lisht she gave, 

Tiie Gothic vault seem'i funeral cave. 

I'enuon and haniier waved no more 

O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, 

Nor gliiiiinerins: arms were niarshall'd seen. 

To glance those silvan spoils between. 

'J hose arms, those ensigns, borne a>vay, 

Acccmiplish'ii Kokehy's lirave iirray, 

Bui all were lost on .Marston's day ! 

Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 

Where armour yet adorns tiie wall, 

C;iiiiibrous of size, uncouth to sinht, 

And useless in the modern figiit! 

Like veteran relic of tlie wars. 

Known only by neglected scars. 

V. 
Matilda soon to greet him came. 
And bade them light the evening flame, 
Said, all lor parting was prepared, 
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
But then, reluctant to' unfold 
His father's avarice of sjold, 
lie hinted, that lest jealous eye 
Should on their precious burden pry, 
He judged it best the c;istle gate 
To enter when the night wore late; 
And therefore he had left command 
\\ ilh those he trusted of his band, 
Tiiat they should be at Kokeby met. 
What time the midnight-watch was set. 
JVow Redmond came, whose an.vious care 
Till then was busied to prejjare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With VV ilfnd's care and kindness pieased, 
His cold unready hand he seized. 
And press'd it, till his kindly strain 
Tlie gentle youih return'd again. 
Seem'd as between them this was said, 
'• A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 

VI. 
There was no speech the truce to bind. 
It was a compact of the mind, — 
A generous thought, at once impressed 
On either rival's generous breast. 
Matilda well the secret took. 
From suilden change of mien and look , 
And — for not small had been her fear 
Of jealous ire and danger near — 
Felt, even in her dejected state, 
A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 
And talk'd, and hoped for happier days, 
And lent their spirits' rising glow 
A while to gild impending woe; — 
High privilege of youthful time, 
Worth all the pleisures of our prime ! 
The bickering fagot sparkled bright, 
And g-ive the scene of love to sight. 
Bade Wilfrids cheek more lively glow, 
Plav'd on .Matilda's neck of snow, 



Her nut brown curls and forehead high, 

And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate. 

Without a glance of jealous hate; 

The maid her lovers sat between, 

\\ ith open brow and equal mien ; — 

It is a sight but rarely spied, 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 

VII. 
While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate. 
And ere the tardy porter stirr'd. 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voire of mellow ssvell, 
Bore burden to the music well. 

SONG. 

" Summer eve is gone and past. 
Summer dew is falling fast ; 
I have wander'd all the day. 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 
Take the wandering harper m!" 

But the stern porter answer gave, 

With "Get thee hence, thou strolling knave 1 

The kintr wants soldiers; war, I trow. 

Were ineeter trade .*or such as thoU." 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answer'd the ready Minstrel's strain. 

S O NO RESUMED. 

" Bid not me, in battle-field. 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart. 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful innistrel-slniig." — 

The porter, all unmoved, replied,— 
•• Depart in peace. w,th Heaven to guide, 
if longer by the gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well " 

VIII. 
With somewhat of appealing look. 
The harper's part young VVilfrid took : 
"These notes .so wild and ready thrill. 
They show no vulgar inin-strel's skill ; 
Hard were his task to seek a home 
Jlore distant, since the iiisht is come; 
And for his faith 1 dare engage — 
Your HarpooTs blood is sour'd by age, 
His gate, once readily display'd, 
I'o greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
.Now even to me. though known of old. 
Did but reluc;anily unfold." — 
" O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, 
An evil of this evil time. 
He deems dependent on his c;ire 
The safety of his patron's heir. 
Nor judges meet to ope the tower 
To guest unknown at parting hour. 
Urging his duty to excess 
Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 
For this poor harper, T would fain 
He may relax : — Hark to his strain !"— 

IX. 

S0N3 RESUMED. 

" I have song of war for knight, 
Lay of love for lady bright. 



279 > 



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K 



Fairy tale to lull the heir, 
Goblin grim the maids to snare. 
Park the nig:ht. and long till day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 

" Rokehy's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name ; i 
Legends of their line there be. 
Known to few, hut known to me; 
If you lionour Rokehy's kin. 
Take the wandering harper in ! 

'• Rokebv's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well. 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love tiiat noble kin. 
Take the weary harper in !"— 

" Hark ! Harr-ool parlevs— there is hope," 
Said KediiKind. -Iliatthe gate will ope.'"— 
— •• For all thv brag and boast, I trow. 
Nought knovv'st thou of the Felon Sow,"2 
Quoth Harpool. '■ nor how Gret i side 
She roam'd, -tnd Rokeliv forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Kokeby gave the beast 
To Riclinioiid's trials to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griftinsoii the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
That well could strike with sword amain, 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton. and blithe Sir Ralph ; 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
If thou canst tell it, in yon sh*! 
I'hou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 



Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope." said she, 

'■ From Harpool's love of minstrelsy I 

But, for this harper, may we dare, 

Ftedmond. to mend his conch and fare?"— 

'•O. ask me not!— At miiistrel-.string 

My heart from infancy would spring; 

Nor can I hear its simplest strain. 

But it brings Erin's dream again, 

When placed bv Owen Lysagh's knee, 

( I'he Filea ot O'Neale was he. 3 

A blind and bearded man, whose eld 

Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 

I've seen a ring of rugged kerne. 

With as(iecls shaggy, wild, and stern, 

Enchanted hv the liiaster's lay. 

r,iiiger around the livelong dav. 

Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 

To love, to grief, to ecstacy, 

And feel each varied change of soul 

Obedient to the hard's control — 

Ah, Clandebov ! thy friendly floor 

Slieve Donard's oak shall liglif no more; * 

Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 

Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 

The mantling Inaiiiblps hide thy hearth, 

Centre of hos|iitable mirth: 

All undistinsuisli'd in the glade. 

My sires' Klad home is prostrate laid, 

'I'heir vassals wander wide and far. 

Serve foreiirn lords in distant war. 

And now the .stranger's sons enjoy 

The lovely woods of Clandehoy !" 

He spoke,' and proudly tiirn'd aside, 

The starting tear to dry and liide. 



See Ari>fiulix, Note 3 A. 



XI. 

Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 
Her hand upon his arm she laid,— 
'• It is the will of heaven," she said. 
■' And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 
From ihis h)Ve(l-hoMie with lislitsome heart, 
Leaving to wild neulect wliaie'er 
Even from my infaiiry was dear? 
For in this ralm domestic liouiid 
Were all Matilda's [ileasiires found. 
That heart h. my sire was wont to srace. 
Full soon niav be a stranger's place; 
Tins htdl. 111 which a child I play'd. 
Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 
The bramble and the thoin may braid, 
' Or. pass'd for aye from me and nnne, 
I It ne'er may shelter Rokehy's line. 
Vet IS this consolation given, 
My Hedniond.— 'lis the will of heaven." 
Her word, her action, and her praise. 
Were kindly as in early days; 
For cold reserve had lost its power 
III sorrow's sympathetic hour. 
Young Redmond dared not trust his voice, 
But rather had it been his choice 
To share that melancholy hour, 
i'han. arm'd with all a chieftain's power, 
In full possession to enjoy 
Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandehoy. 

XII. 
The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ; 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak — 
'• Happy in friendship's ready aid. 
Let all mv munnurs here be staid ! 
And R.'kebv's Maiden will not part 
From Rokebv's hall with moody heart. 
This night at least, for Rokehy's fame. 
The hospitable hearth sh;dl flame. 
And. ere its native heir retire. 
Find for the wanderer rest and fire. 
While this poor harper, by the blaze, 
Recounts the tale of oiher days. 
Ihd Harpool o|ie the door with speed. 
Admit him. and relieve each need.— 
Meantime, kind Wyclilfe, wilt thou try 
Thy minstrel skill?— Nay, no reply— 
And look not sad !— I guess thy thought. 
Thy verse with laurels would be bought, 
And poor Matilda, landless now, 
lias not a garland for tliv brow. 
True, I mu.st leave sweet Rokehy's glades, 
Nor wander more in Greta shades; 
j But sure, no rigid jailor, thou 
Will a short prison-walk allow. 
Where summer flowers grow wild at will. 
On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill; 
Then hollv green and lily gay 
Shall twitie in guerdon of thy lay." 
The mournful youth, a space aside. 
To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 
And then a low sad descant rung. 
As prelude to the lay he sung. 



XIU. 



THE C T P H 



W R S -A. T H , 



O. Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress tree ! 



4 11. iJ, Note s i>. 



2 

■A 



R K E B Y 



Too lively glow the lilies iislit. 
The vHi-iiisli'd hollv's all too l.ri-lit, 
Tlie M;iv-tlowe:- ami tlie eiihiiiiiiie 
May sliiide a liiow less s id tli;iii mine ; 
Bui. Lady, weave no wreat.'i for me, 
Or weave it of llie cypress-tree ! 

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
Willi tendrils of the laii?liins vine ; 
'Ihe manly oak. the pensive yew, 
To pal I iot unci to sa?e he due ; 
The myrtle honsh hids lovers live, 
Hit that Matilda will not ^ive: 
Then, l,adv, twme no wreath for iiie. 
Or iv\nie ii of the cypress-tree ! 

Let merry Ensland proudly rear 

Her l)lc-nd('d roses, bought so dear; 

Let Albm hind her botmet blue 

Wi'h heaMi and harebell dipp'd in dew; 

On favoiir'd Erin's crest be seen 

The flower she loves of emerald ?reeii— 

IJat, Lady, twme no wreath (or me. 

Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivv meet for minstrel's hair; 
And, while Ins crown of laurel leaves, 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud iruinp his triumph 'ell ; 
But when you hear the passing bell. 
Then, Lady, twme a wreath tor me, 
And twme'it of the cypress-tree. 

Yes ! twine for me the cypress housrh ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
Stay till a few brief months are past. 
And 1 have look'd and loved my last! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With panzies. rosemary, and rue, — 
Then. Lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 

XIV. 
O'Neale observed the starting tear. 
And spoke Willi kmd and blithesome cheer — 
" No. noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 
When mourns the land thy silent lay, 
Shall many a wreath be freely wove 
By hand of friendship and of love. 
1 would not wish that rigid Fate 
Had doom'd thee to a captive's state, 
Whose hands are bound by honour's law, 
Who weiirs a sword he must not draw ; 
But were it so, in minstrel pride 
The land together would we ride. 
On praiK-ing steeds, like harpers old, 
Boiiiid for the halls of barons bold, 
Each lover of the lyre we'd seek. 
From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 
Survey wild Albin's mountain sirand, 
And roam green Eritt's love-ly land. 
While thou the gentler souls should move. 
With lay of pity and of love, 
And I. thy mate, in rougher strain. 
Would smg of war and warriors sl-iin. 
Old England's bards were vanquish'd then. 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawihornden.l 

1 DruinmonJ of Hawlhornil'-n was ii: the z^-nitli of li 
repuiatioo as a poet during tile Civil Wars He died i 
1619. 

2 See AppHndix, Note 3 E. 3 lliid. Note 3 F. 
4 " But Ihe Spirit of the Lonl departed from Saul, ao 

ui evil spirit from the Lord troubled him. 

24* 



And. silenced on lernian shore. 

Ml uriin's harp should charm no more !"2 

111 livelv mood he spoke, to wile 

From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile. 

XV. 
'• But." said Matilda, "ere thy name. 
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame. 
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 
Thy brother-mir.sirel lo the hall ? 
Bid all the household, too. attend. 
Each in his rank a humble friend ; 
I know their faithful hearts will grieve. 
When their poor Mistress takes her leave ; 
So let the horn and beaker llow 
To mitigate their parting woe." 
The harper came ;— in youth's first prime 
Himself; in mode of olden time 
His garb was fashion'd, to exfiress 
The ancient English minstrel's (lr.:ss,3 
A seemly gown of Kendal green. 
With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 
His harj) in silken scarf was slung. 
And by his side an anlace hung. 
It seem'd some masquer's quaint array. 
For revel or for holiday. 

XVL 
He made obeisance with a free 
Vet studied air of courtesy. 
Ei.jh look and accent, framed to please, 

eem'ii lo affect a playful ease; 
His face was of thai doubtful kind, 
'I'ha^ wins the eye. but not the miml ; 
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 
or brow so young and smooth as this. 
His was the stibile look and sly. 
That, spying ail. seems nought to spy; 
Huund all the group his glances stole. 
1 nmark'd themselves, to mark the whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look. 
Nor coulii the eye of Redaiond brook. 
To Ihe suspicious, or the old. 
Subtile ami dangerous and bold 
Had seem'd this self-invited guest ; 
l^ut young our lovers. — and the rest. 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
.At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blmded to the Castle-hall. 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 

XVII. 
All that expression base was gone. 
When waked the guest his mmslrel tone 
It fled at inspiration's call. 
As erst the demon fled from Saiil.^ 
.More noble glance he cast anmii I, 
.More free drawn breath inspired the sound, 
His pulse beat bolder and luore high, 
In all the pride of nuns' relsy ! 
Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er. 
Slink with Ihe lay that bade it soar! 
His soul resumed, with habit's chaiti. 
Its vices wild and fillies vain. 
And gave the talent, with him born. 
To be a common curse and scorn. 
Such was the youth whom Nokehy's Maid. 
With condescending kindness, pray'd 



281 > 



And Saul said i 
pla 
lo pass, ' 
David lo-ik an liaip, am: 
wa» rerr.-shed, and was ' 
from him."— 1 Samuel, c 



I the "Vit .■ 



IS servants, rroviOc 
a bring him lo me 
it froii, God was up' 
|.l lyed will, his hai 
ell, and the evl' epi 
ap. xvi 14. i7, i3. 



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Here to renew the strains she loved. 
At distance lieard and well approved. 

XVIII. 



THE HARP. 

I was a wild and wayward hoy, 

Mv childhiKid scorn "d each childish toy, 

Ketired from all, reserved and coy, 

To musjngf prone, 
1 woo'd my solitary joy. 

My Harp alone. 

My yonth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
Despised the humble stream and wood, 
VV litre my poor father's cottage stood, 

'I'll fame unknown:— 
What should my soaring views make good T 

My Harp alone ! 

l.ove came with all his frantic fire. 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
'I'he baron's daughter heard my lyre, 

And praised the tone ; — 
What could presumptuous hope inspire? 

My Harp ah me ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble l>ur.st, 
And manhiiod's pride the vision curst. 
And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet spared the spell that lull'd me first 

My Harp alone ! 

Woe came with war. and want with woe 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught alone 
My riclds laid waste, my cot laid low ? 

My harp alone I 

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 
Have rued of penury the smart. 
Have fell of love the venom'd dart. 

When hope was flown ; 
'iet rests one solace to my heart, — 

My Harp alone ! 

Then over mountain, moor, and hill, 
My faithful Harp. I'll bear thee still ; 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is wellnigli gone. 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 

My Harp alone ! 

XIX. 

" A pleasing lay !" Matilda said ; 

But Harpool shook his old grey head, 

And took his baton and his torch. 

To seek his guard-room in the porch. 

Edmund observed; with sudden change, 

Amona: the strings his fingers range, 

Until they waked a bolder glee 

Of military melody: 

Then paused amid the martial sound. 

And look'd with well-feign'd fear around; — 

'• None to this noble house belong," 

He said, "that would a Minstrel wrong, 

W'lose fate has been, through good and ill, 

To love his Royal Master still: 

And with your honour'd leave, would fain 

Kfjoice you with a loyal strain." 



Then, as assured by sign and look, 
The warlike tone again he took; 
And Har[)ool sto[)p'd. and turu'd to hear 
A ditty of the Cavalier. 

XX. 

so N O. 
THE CAVALIER. 

While the dawn on the mountains was misty 

and srey, 
My true love has mounted his steed and away 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er 

down ; 
Heaven shield the hrave Gallant that fights 

for the Crown! 

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate 
to bear. 

He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flow- 
ins hair, 

I'rom his belt to his stirrup his broadsword 
hangs down, — 

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights 
for the Crown! 

F'or the rights of Fair England that broad- 
sword he draws. 

Her King is his leader, her Church is ha 
cause ; 

His watchword is honour, his pay is renown,— 

God strike with the Gallant that strikes for 
the Crown ! 

Thev mav boast of iheir Fairfax, their Waller, 

and all 
The rouiidlieaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's pmuil 

town, ** 

That the spears of the North have encircled 

the Crown. 

Tiiere's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their 

foes ; 
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's 

Montrose ! 
Would you match the base Skippon. and Mas- 

sey. and Brown. 
With the Barons of England, that fight for the 

Crown i 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavaliei . 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless Ins 

spear. 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may 

drown, 
In a pledge to fair England, her Church and 

her Crown. 

XXI. 

" Alas !" Matilda said, "that strain. 
Good harper, now is heard in vain ! 
Tlie time h,is been, at such a sound. 
When Rokehy's vassals gather'd round. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now the stirring verse we hear. 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear ! 
Listless and sad the notes we own. 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause, 
Be he that, sings the rishtful cause, 
Even vvhen the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 



X 



A 



7 



z. 



R K E B Y 



While Rokehy's Heir such power retains, 

Let this slisht guerdon pay tliy pains : — 

And. lend thy harp; I faiii would try, 

If my poor skill can aiisiif supply, 

F.Ve yet I leive my father's hall, 

To mourn llie cause in which we fall." 

XXII. 

The harper, with a downcast look, 
And treiiihlms: hand iier bounty look. — 
As yet, the co[i>chihs pride ot' art 
Had steel'd hini in his treacherous part ; 
A powerfiii Sfirnig. of firce un^ness'd. 
'I h.it hith each gentler mood suppress 'd. 
And ren^n'd iii many a human breast; 
From his that plans' the red campaign. 
'I'd his that wastes the wixKlhind reign. 
Tlie fading wm:;, tiie blooil-shot eye, — 
I'he spoilsm;in marks with apathy, 
Eacli feeling of his vicUin's ill 
Drowii'd in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too. who now no more 
Aspires to he;id the l>aiMe's roir. 
Loves still the triiim|)h of his art. 
And traces on the peiicill'd chart 
Some stern invader's destined way. 
Through blood and rum. to his prey: 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame. 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And sliares the guilt, though not the fame. 
V\ hat pays him for his span of lime 
Spent m premeditating crime 1 
What against pity arms his heart? — 
It IS the consciotis pride of art. 

XXIII. 

But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undetined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost, 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost; 
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour; 
Aiitl, O ! when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share! 
Yet now she roused her— for the pride. 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied. 
Could scarce support him when arose 
I'he lay that mourned Matilda's woes. 

SONG. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Kokeby's woods [ hear, 

I'hey mingle witli the song : 
Dark Greta's voice is m mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loveil and native haunt 

The native Heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom snnlieams daunt, 

Must pait before the (lay 

Soim from the halls my fathers rear'd. 

Their scutcheons may descend. 
A line so long beloved and fear'd 

May soon obscurely end 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid those echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

T lie Lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain. 



XXIV. 

I/et our halls and towers decay, 

Be our name and line forgot. 
Lands and manors pass away. — 

We but share our .Monarch's lot. 
If no more our amiMls show 

Buttles won and banners taken, 
Still In death, defeat, and woe. 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

Constant still in danger's hour. 

Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honours. we;ilth and power, 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and power, and pride ! 

.Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
But let Constaiicv abide. — 

Constancy 's the gift of Heaven. 

XXV. 

While thus ^latilda's Iny was heard. 

A thousand thoughts in Eidmund stirr'd. 

In peasant life he might have known 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 

But village notes could ne'er supply 

That rich and varied melody; 

And ne'er in cottage-maid was seen 

The easy dignity of mien. 

Claiming respect, vet waving state. 

That marks the daughters of the great. 

Yet not. perchance, had these alone 

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown; 

But while her energv of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combined. 

Lending its kindling to her eye. 

Giving her form new majesty.— 

To Edmund's thoughts Matilda seem'd 

The very object he had dream'd ; 

When, long ere guilt his soul had known. 

In Winston bowers he mused alone, 

7'axing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air. the voice divine. 

Of princess fair, by cruel fate 

Reft of her honours, power, and state, 

Till to her rightful realm restored 

By destined hero's conquering sword. 

XXVL 
" Such was my vision !'' Edmund thought ; 
"And have I. then, the ruin wrought 
Of such a maid, that tancv ne'er 
In fairest vision form'd her peer 
w as It my hand that could unclose 
The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith. 
Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 
Have I done this? I ! who have swore. 
That if the glolie such angel bore. 
I would hMve traced its circle broad. 
To kiss the ground on which she trode!— 
And now— O! would that earth would rive 
And clo.se upon me vvhile alive ! — 
Is there no hope ? Is all then lost T— 
Bertram's already on his post! 
Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door, 
I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 
He was to wait my signal strain — 
A little respite thus we gam : 
By what I heard the menials say. 
Young V\'ycliH:e's troop are on their way- 
Alarm precipitates the crime ! 
My harp must wear away the vime." 



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And then, ni ancen's faint and low, 
H« Caller'd Ibrtli a lale of woe. 

X.XVII. 

BALLAD. 

" And whither would yon lead nie, then?" 
Quoth the Knar of orders srev ; 

And the KiiffiMUs twain replied again, 
" By a dying; woman to pray." 

" I see." he s;iid. " a lovely sight, 

A sia:ht bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright, 

With an nifant on lier arm."— 

"Then do thine office. Friar grey, 
And see Miou shrive her (vfe ! 

El.«e shall the sprite, that parts to-night. 
Fling all lis guilt on thee. 

" Let mass he said, and trenlrnis r-ad. 

When thou'rt to convent s^oiu^, 
And bid the bell of St. Bene lice 

Toll out its deepest tune." 

The shrift is dune, the Friar is gone, 

Blindfolded as he raiiie— 
Next inoniin-. all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man, 

The villajje crones can tell; 
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray. 

If lie hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
He'll beard luni in his pride — 

If he meet a Friar of orders grey, 
He droops and turns aside, i 

XX VIII. 
" Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 
Matilda said, " can golilins raise ! 
Wellnigh my fancy can discern, 
Mear the dark porch, a visage stern ; 
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 
I see it !— Redmond, VS'ilfnd. look ! — 
A human form distinct and clear — 
God, for thy mercy I — It draws near !" 
She saw too true. Stride after stride. 
The centre of that chamber wide 
Fierce Bertram eaiii'd ; then made a stand, 
And proudly waviiis: with his hand, 
Thiinder'd — " Be still, upon your lives! — 
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." 
Behind I heir chief, the robber crew 
Forth from the darken'd portal drew 
In silence — save that echo drend 
Returii'd Ilieir heavy measured tread. 
The lamp's unceriaiii lustre gave 
Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 
File after file in order pass, 
Jjike forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 
Then, halting at their leader's sign, 
At once they form'd and curved their line, 
Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their vicMnis, line a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 
l.evell'd at once their muskets came. 
As waiting but I heir chieftain's word. 
To make their fatal volley lieard. 



1 See Api-eiidix, Note 3 ( 



XXIX. 

Back in a heap the menials drew ; 
Yet, even in mortal terror, true, 
Their pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
" O haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried ; 
" Undo that wicket by thy side I 
Bear hence Matilda — Kain the wood — 
The pass may be a while made gooil — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
(J speak not— dally not — but fly !" 
While yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Through the low wicket door they glide. 
Through vaulted passages they wind. 
In Gothic intricacy twined ; 
Wdfnd half led. and half he bore, 
Matilda to the [lostern door. 
And .sate beneath the forest tree, 
The Lady siands at liberty. 
I'he moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 
Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 
" Where's Redmond ]" eagerly she cries : 
"Thou answer'sl not — he dies! he dies! 
And thou hast left him, all bereft 
Of mortal aid — with murderers left ! 
I know it well — he would not yield 
His sword to man — his doom is seal'd ! 
For my scorn'd life, which tlnju hast bought 
At price of his, I thank thee not." 

XXX. 

The unjust reproach, the angry look. 

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 

" Lady," he sanl, " my band so near. 

In safety thou inayst rest Ihee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn 

If mine can buy his safe return." 

He turn'd away — his heart throbb'd high, 

[I'he tear was bursting from his eye; 

The sense of her injustice press'd 

Upon the Maid's distracted breast, — 

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 

He heard, but turn'd him not again ; 

He reaches now the postern-door. 

Now enters — and is seen no more. 

XXXL 

With all the asony that e'er 

Was geiuier'd 'twi.vt suspense and fear, 

.She watch'd the line of windows tall. 

Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 

Distmguish'd by the paly red 

The lamps in dim reflection shed. 

While all beside in w.in moonlight 

Each grated casement glimnier'd white. 

No sight of harm, no sound of ill. 

It is a deep and midnight still. 

Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 

All in the Castle were at rest : 

When sudden on the windows shone 

A lightning flash, just seen and gone! 

A shot IS heard — Asain the flame 

Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came ! 

Then echo'd wildly, from within. 

Of shout and scream the minsrled din. 

And weapon-clash and maddening cry, 

Of those who kill, and those who die ! 

As fill'd the Hall with sulphunMis smoke. 

More red, more dark, the death-flash broke; 

And forms were (ni the lattice cast. 

That struck, or struggleil, as they past. 



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XXXII. 
What sounds upon the iiiiihiiiitil wind 
A[)(ir()a''.h so rapidly bt'liind ? 
It IS, It IS, the tratnp of sieeds, 
Matilda he;irs the sound, she speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
'•(), haste to aid. ere aid he vain! 
Fly to the postern — g.dn the Hall !" 
Fniin saddle spriiia: the troopers all; 
Their (rallaiit steeds, at lilierty. 
J\iin wild alons the tnoonlisrit lea. 
But. ere thev hurst upon the scene. 
Full sruhhi.ni had the conflict been. 
Wlien Ber;rani mark'd .Matilda's fl.ght, 
It srave the signal for the tiffht ; 
And Kokel«ys veterans, seani'd with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 
Their nionientarv panic o'er. 
Stood to the arms which then they bore; 
(For thev were weapon'd, and prepared 
Their Mistress on her way to Ruard.) 
Then cheer'd them to the fi?ht O'Neale, 
Then peai'd the shot, and clash'd tlie steel. 
The war-snioive soon will sahle breath 
Darkeii'd the scene of li|.)od and death, 
While on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, with redoubled Idows, 
And. twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 

XXXIII. 
Wilfrid has fall'n— but o'er him stood 
Youii!? Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood 
Cheerinsr his mates with heart and hand 
Still to make ffood their desperate stand. 
•' Up, comrades, up! In Rokeby halls 
Ne'er be il said our courage falls. 
What ! faint ye for their savage cry. 
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 
These rafters have return'd a shout 
As loud at hokeby's wassail rout. 
As thick a smoke" these hearths have given 
At Hallow-tide or Christinas-eveu.i 
Stand to it vet! renew the fisht, 
For Rokebv's and Matilda's risht! 
These slaves ! they dare not. hand to hand, 
Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 
Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent ! 
Backward they scatter'd as he came, 
Like wolves before the levin flame. 
When, 'mid their howling conclave driven. 
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven 
Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasp'd 
His knees, although in death he gasp'd, 
His falling corpse before him flung. 
And round the trammell'd ruffian dung. 
Just then, the soldiers fiU'd the dome. 
And, shoutin?, charged the felons home 
So fiercely, that, in panic dread. 
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled. 
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 
Thousli heard above the battle's loar; 
While, traiiiplins down the dyins man. 
He strove, with volley'd threat and ban, 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the desperate fight. 

XXXIV. 
Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold. 
Than e'er from battle-thunders roH'd; 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 H. 



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So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindluld srows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! 
'.Mid cries, and clashins; arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rushing flame ; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the Castle is on lire I 
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand. 
Or fianiic Bertram's desperate hand. 
.Matilda saw — for frequent tiroke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
Von tower, which late so clear delined 
On the fair hemisphere reclined. 
That, pencill'd on its azure pure. 
The eye could count each embrazure. 
Now. swiJih'd within the sweeping cloud, 
Seems siant-specire in his shroud ; 
Till, from each loop-hole fl;is!iinir light, 
A spout of tire shines- ruddy bright, 
And, gathering to united glare. 
Streams high into the midnight air; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide 
That waken'd Greta's slumbering side 
Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
And pendant arch, the tire flash'd strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reigii ; 
Startling, with closer cause of dread. 
The females who the conflict fled. 
.\nd now rush'd forth u|ioii the plain, 
FiUing the air with clamours vain. 

XXXV. 
But ceased not yet, the Hall within, 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 
Till bursting lattices give proof 
The flames have caught the rafter'd roof. 
What I wait they till'its beams amain 
Crash on the slayers and the slam ? 
The alarm is caijght— the drawbridge falls. 
The warriors hurry from the walls. 
But, by the conflagration's light. 
Upon the lawn renew the fight. 
Each struggling I'elon down was hew'd. 
Not one could gam the sheltering wood ; 
But forth the affrighted harper sprung. 
And to Matilda's robe he clung. 
Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 
Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted haiid. 
Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 
The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 

XXXVI. 
And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high 
The general flame ascends the sky : 
In gather'd group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent. 
Red from his penal element. 
To plague and to pollute the air. — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair. 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandish'd sword on high he rears. 
Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle truss'd. 
Received and foil'd three lances' thrust; 
Nor these his headlong course withstood, 
Like reeds he snapp'U the tough ash-wood. 
In vain nis foes around him cliing ; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest,— as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way, 



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riiniiish forty foes his paih he made, 
And safely gain'd tlie forest xlade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
Wlien from the postern Redmond bore 
Wilfrid, wlio, as of life bereft. 
Had in the fatal Hall been left. 
Deserted there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw. and tnrn'd asain.— 
Ueneath an oak lie laid him down. 
That m the blaze g:leam'd ruddy brown, 
And then his mantle's clasp undid ; 
Matilda held his drooping head. 
Till, given to Ineathe the freer air, 
Returning; life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy sigh.— 
•' 1 rould have wisii'd even tlius to die!" 
No more he said— for now with speed 
Each trooper had regain'd his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood array'd, 
For Redm(md and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charser bv the rein. 
But ofl Matilda look'd behind. 
As up the Vale of Tees tney wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread. 
The clouded iieaven lower'd bldody red ; 
Beneath, in sombre liglit, the flood 
Appear'd to roil in waves of hlodd. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with tiiunder sound, 
A space the contlagratidn drown'd ; 
Tdl, gathering strength, again it rose. 
Announced its triumph in its close, 
Sliook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk— and Kokeby was no more ! 



aHoftebg. 



CANTO SIXT! 



The summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to add Matilda's bower. 
And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay,— 
That mornng sun has three times seen 
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green, 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, 
But. rising from their silvan screen. 
Marks no grey turrets glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 
That, hissing to the mornins shower, 
Can but with smouldering vapour pay 
Tlie early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labour bound, 
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound. 
Striving, amid the ruiii'd space. 
Each well remember'd spot to trace. 



That length of frail and fiie-scorcli'd wall 
Once screen'd the hospitable liall ; 
When vimder broken arCh was whole, 
'Twas "there was dealt the weekly dole; 
And where yon tottering columns nod, 
The chapel sent the hymn to God.— 
So flits the world's uncertain span! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man. 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
The towers must share the builders docn; 
Ruin is tiieirs, niid his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given. 
And bids the Cliristian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 

II. 
.\ow the third night of summer came. 
Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scarsill brake 
Tlie owlet's homilies awake. 
The biiterii scieam'd from rush and flag, 
The raven slumber'd cm his crag. 
Forth from liis den the otter drew. — 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew, 
As between reed and sedge he peers. 
With fierce mund snout and slmrpeii'd ears, 
Or. prowlhig by tlie moonbeam cool, 
Watches the stream or swims the pool ;— 
Perch'd on his wonted eyrie liigli. 
Sleep seal'd tlie tercelet's wearied eye, 
That all the day had watch 'd so well 
I'he cushat dart across the dell. 
In dubious beam reflected shone 
That lofty clilTof pale grey stone. 
Beside whose base the secret cava 
To rapine late a refuse save. 
The crag's wild crest of co|ise and yew 
On Greta's breast dark shadows threw ; 
Shadows that met or sliuun'd the sight. 
With every change of fitful light; 
As hope aiid fear alternate chase 
Our course through life's uncertain race. 

111. 
Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnieht fold. 
And pauses oft. and cowers dismay'd, 
At every breath iliat stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush,— 
The owl has seen him. and is hush , 
He passes now the dodder'd oak. — 
Ye heard the star led raven croak; 
Lower and lower he descends. 
Rustle the leaves, the bru-hwood bends; 
The otter hears him tread the shore. 
And dives, and is beheld no more; 
And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks. that by the moon we trace 
A well-remember'd form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, 
Comliine to tell a rueful tale. 
Of powers misused, of passion's force. 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'Tis Edmund's eve, at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance around ; 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
'Tls Edmund's form that enters there. 



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IV. 
His flint and steel hnvc sparkled bright, 
A lamp haili lent the cavern lislit. 
Fearful and quick hi¥ eye surveys 
Each an^le of (he i;lii(imy maze" 
Since last he lefl that stern abode. 
It seemd as none i's floor had tiode ; 
Untouch'd ajipear'd the vainnis s(mh1, 
The purchase of his (romradeiH' toil ; 
Masks and dij^guises a:iinrd wuh mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with hloud, 
And all the nameless tools tliat aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade, 
Upon the gloomy walls were hun^, 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still oil the Sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer : 
Fl i?ons and emptied flasks were there. 
And bencli o'erthrown. and shaiter'd chair; 
And all around the semblance show'd, 
As when Hjp final revel glow'd. 
V\ hen the red sun was .setting fast. 
And parting pledge Guy Denzil past, 
•'To U'okeby treasure-vaults!' thev qnaff'd, 
And shoined loud and wildly laugh'd, 
Poiir'd niaddeiiin? from the rocky door, 
And parted— to retiirn no more ! 
They found in R<ikeby vaul s their doom,— 
A bloody death, a burning tomb ! 



There his own peasant dress he sf ies, 

Doff'd to assume tliat quaint disguise ; 

And. shuddering, thought upon liis ylee, 

When prank'd in garb of minstrel.sy. 

"O, be the fatal art accurst," 

He cried, '-that moved my folly first; 

Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 

I burst through God's and Naiure's laws! 

Three summer days are scantly past 

Since I have trod this cavern last, 

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 

But, O, as .vet no murderer ! 

Even now I list my comrades' cheer. 

That general laugh is in ninie ear, 

Which raised my pulse and steel'd my heart. 

As I rehearsed my treacherous part— 

And would that all since then could seem 

The phaiiioni of a fever's dream ! 

But fital Memory notes too well 

The horrors of the dviiig yell 

From my despairing mites that broke, 

V\ hen fl:isird the fire and roU'd the smoke ; 

When the avengers shouting came. 

And hemmd us 'twixt the sword and flame I 

My fran u; flight.— the lififd brand.— 

Tliat angel's inter, osing hind ! 

If, for my life from slaughter freed. 
1 yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
Alay aid" — he turn'd. nor spoke the rest. 

VI. 
Due northward from the rugged hearth. 
With paces five he metes the e;irth. 
Then toil'd with mattock to explore 
The entrails of the cavern floor, 
Nor pau-ed till, deep beneath the ground, 
His search a small steel casket found. 
Jusi as he stoop'd to loose ita hasp, 
His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 
He started, and look'd up aghast, 
Tlien shriek'd !— 'Twos Bertram held him fast. 



"Fear not !"' he said ; but who could hear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear? 

•' Fear not !— By heaven, he shakes as much 

As partridue in the lalcon'.t clinch :"— 

He raised him and unloosed his hold, 

V\'hile from the opening casket ro.l'd 

A chain and religuaire of gold. 

Bertram beheld it with surprise, 

Gazed on its fashion and device, 

Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 

Somewhat he smooth'd his rueged mood : 

For still the youth's lialf-lifted eye 

Quiver'd with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanced, as to explore, 

In meditated flight, the door. 

"Sit."' Bertram said, " from danger free : 

1 h.Hi c.inst not. and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither: hill and plain 

I've sought for refuge-place in vain. 

And tell me now. thou aguish boy. 

What makesttliou here? what means this toy I 

r)enzil and thou, I mark'd. were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unbound vour chain? 

I deem'd. long since on Baliof's tower, 

Your heads were warp'd with sun and shower. 

Tell me the whole— and, mark ! nought e'er 

Chafes me like fal.selio(Kj, or like fear." 

Gatherins his courage to his aid. 

But trembling still, ihe youth obey'd. 

VII. 
•' Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest ihe third sad morrow brought ; 
Our hold dark Oswald VVydifle sought, 
And eyed my comrade long avkance. 
With fix'd and peneiraiinu' glance. 
•Guy Denzil art tlion call'd ?'— ' The same.'— 

• At Court who served wild IJuckinghaine ; 
Thence hanish'd, won a keeper's [ilace. 
So Villiers wiird, in Marwood-chase ; 
That lost— I need not tell thee whv— 
Thou madest thv wits thy wants supply. 
Then fought for Rokebv :— Have I guess'd 
My prisoner right?'—' At thy behest.'— 
He paused a while, and then went on 
With low and confidential tone;— 

Me. as I judffe, not then he saw. 
Close nestled in my couch of straw.— 

• List to me. Guy. Thou know'st the great 
Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
Hence, in their favour oft we see. 
rn.scrup'ed. useful men like ihee. 

Were I disposed to bid thee live, 
What pledge of faith hast thou to give? 

vin. 

" The ready Fiend, who never yet 

Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's'wit, 

Prompted his lie— ' His only child 

Should rest his pledge.'- The Baron smiled, 

And tiirn'd to me—- Thou art his son V 

I bowed— our fetters were undone, 

And we were led to hear apart 

A dreadful lesson of his art. 

Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 

Had fair Matilda's favour won ; 

And long since had their union been, 

But for her father's bigot spleen, 

Whose brute and blindfold partv-ra?e 

Would, force per force, her hand engage 

'l"o a base kern of Irish earth. 

Unknown his lineage and his birth. 



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Save tliat a dyiiii; ruffian boie 
The uifatit luat to Hokeby door. 
Gentle lesliamt, he said, would leud 
Old Hokeby to etdarg:e iiis creed ; 
Bui lair occasion he must, find 
For such restraint well-tneant and kind. 
The Knisht being render'd to his charge 
But as a prisoner at larfje. 

IX. 

" He schooi'd us in a well-forged tale, 

Of scheme the Castle walls to scale. 

To which was leaeued each Cavalier 

That dwells upon the Tyiie and Wear; 

That Kokehy, his parole forgot, 

HMd dealt with us to aid the phit. 

Such was the charge which Denzil's zeal 

Of liate to Rokehy and O'Neale 

Protter'd, as witness to make Rood, 

Even tliough the forfeit were their blood. 

1 scrupled, until o'er and o'er 

His prisoners' safety VVyclitte swore ; 

And then— alas! wiiat needs there more! 

1 knew 1 should not live to say 

The profTer I refused that dav ; 

Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 

I sdii'd me with tiieir infamy !" — 

'• Poor vouth," said Bertram, " wavering still, 

Unfit alike for good or ill! 

But what fell next ?"—" Soon as at large 

Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 

There never yet. on tragic stage, 

Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald's sh(»w'd ! Witli loud alarm 

He call'd liis garrison to arm ; 

From tower to tower, from post to post. 

He hurried as if all were lost; 

Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 

'I'he good old Knight and all his train; 

Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 

Within his limits, to appear 

To-morrow, at the hour of nf)on. 

In tiie high church of Egliston."— 



"Of Egliston! — Even now I pass'd," 
Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast; 
Torclies and cressets gleam 'd around, 
I heard the saw and hammer sound, 
And I could mark they toil'd to raise 
A scalFold, hung with sable baize. 
Which the grim headsman's scene display'd. 
Block, axe. and sawdust ready laid. 
Some evil deed will there he done, 
Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
She loves him not, — 'tis shrewdlv guess'd 
That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 
This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 

But T may meet, and foil him still ! 

How earnest thou to thy freedom T"—" There 

Lies mystery more dark and rare. 

In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigii'd rage, 

A scroll was offer'd by a page. 

Who told, a muflaed horseman late 

Had left it at the Castle-gate. 

He broke the seal— his cheek show'd change, 

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange; 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turn'd to actual agony; 

His hand like summer sa()ling shook, 

Terror and guilt were in his look. 

Denzil he judged, in time of need, 

Fit counsellor for evil deed; 



And thus apart his counsel broke, 
Wliile with a ghastly smile he spoke :— 

XI. 

" ' As in the pageants of the stage. 
The dead awake in this wild age, 
Mortham— whom all men deem'd decreed 
In his own deadly snare to bleed, 
Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. 
He train'd to aid in murdering me.— 
Mortham has 'scaped ! The coward shot 
The steed, but harm'd the rider not.'" 
Here, with an execration fell. 
Bertram leap'd up. nnd paced the cell : — 
"Thine own grey head, or bosom dark," 
He mutter'd, "may be surer mark !'" 
■I'hen sat, and sign'd to Edmund, (lale 
"tVith terror, to resume his tale. 
" Wycliffe Went on :— ' Mark with what ligl ts 
Of wilder'd reverie he writes :— 



T H 



LETT 3 H. 



" ' Rnler of Morthani's destiny ! 

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee 

Once had he all that binds to life, 

A lovelv child, a lovelier wife ; 

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own— 

Thou gavest the word, and thev are flown. 

Mark how he pavs thee I'^To thy hand 

He yields his honours and his land, 

One boon premised ; — Restore his child ! 

And. from his native land exiled, 

Mortham no more returns to claim 

His lands, his honours, or his name; 

Refuse him this, and from the slain 

Thou shall see Mortham rise again.'— 

XII. 
"This billet while the baron read. 
His faltering accents show'd his dread , 
He press'd his forehead with his palm, 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
' Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 
What wot 1 of his spouse or child T 
Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
Unknown her lineage or her name : 
Her, in some frantic fit. he slew; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heaven be my witness! wist 1 where 
To find this youth, mv kinsman's heir, — 
Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy. 
And Mortham's lands and towers resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's line.'— 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer; — 
'Then happy is thy va^al's part,' 
He said, ' to ease his patron's heart! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's jusi and rightful heir; 
Thy generous wish is fully won, — 
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.'— 

xin. 

" Up starting with a frenzied look, 
His clenched hand the Baron shook: 
' Is Hell at work ? or do.st thou rave. 
Or darest thou palter with me. slave ! 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 
Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers' 
Denzil, who well his safety knew. 
Firmly rejoiu'd, '1 tell thee true. 



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ROKEBY 



289 




Thy racks could Rive thee liut to know 

Tlie proofs, wliicli I, uniortiired, show. — 

It chanced upon a wiater nijjht, 

V\ hen early snow made Siaiiniore white, 

That verv iiieht, when first of all 

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 

Ii was my goodly lot to gam 

A reliqoary and a chain, 

'J'wisied and chased of massive pold. 

—Demand not how the prize I hold ! 

li was not given, nor lent, nor sold — 

G It JaMeis to the chain were hung, 

W nil letters in the Irish tonffne. 

I III.! niy spoil, for there was need 

That 1 should leave the land with speed, 

j\iir then 1 deeni'd it safe to hear 

On mine own person gems so rare. 

^mall heed I of the tablets took. 

Bill since have spell'd them by the book. 

When some sojourn in triii's land 

Of iheir wild speech had given command. 

15nl darklin? was the sense; the phrase 

And language those of oilier days, 

Involved of purpose, as to foil 

An mteihiper's prying toil. 

'I'he words, hut nut the sense. I knew 

I'ill furlune gave the guiding clew. 

XIV. 
" ' Three days since, was that clew reveal'd, 
III Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd, 
And heard at full when KoUehy's Maid 
ller uncle's history display 'd ; 
And now I can interpret well 
p:ach syllable the tablets tell. 
Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 
But from her sire and country fled, 
ill secret Mortham's Lord to wed. 
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 
Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore, 
tnioinmg he should make him known 
(I iitil his farther will were shown) 
To Edilh. but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell. 
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well. 

XV. 

"'O'Neale it was, who. in despair, 
Robb'il Mortham of his infant heir ; 
He bred him in their nurture wild. 
And call'd him murder'd Connel's child. 
Soon died the nur.^e ; the Clan believed 
What from their Chieftain they received. 
His purpose was, that ne'er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main ; 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woirJs and wastes of Claiideboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles came, 
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native lowers, his father's lands. 
Unable then, amid the strife, 
To guard young Redmond's rights or life. 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores. 
With goodly gitls and leltere stored. 
With inany a'deep conjuring word. 
To .Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 
Koughl knew the clod of Irish earth. 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 
But deem'd his Chief's commands were laid 
On both, by both to be obey'd. 



Hiiw he was wounded by the way, 
1 need not, and I list not say.' — 

XVL 
'•' A wondrous tale! and. grant it true. 
What,' V\ ycliffe answer'd, ' might I do ? 
Ht-aven knows, as willingly as now 
1 raise the bonnet from rny brow, 
V\ ould 1 my kinsman's manors fair 
Restore to Mortham, or his heir; 
Hut Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
.Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And irain'd in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart!' — They wliisper'd long. 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong: — 
' .My proofs! I never will,' he said, 
'Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose. 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For 1 have mates at large, who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band, 
These tablets are at thy command , 
Nor were it hard to form some train. 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly land.'— 
— ' 1 like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well; 
But here in hostage shall thou dwell. 
Thy sfm, unless my purpose err, 
.May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold Shalt thou have, and that good store, 
And freedom, his commission o'er; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
I'he gibbet frees thee from the jail.'— 

XVIL 

"Mesh'd in the net himself had twined, 

What subterfuge could Deiizil find? 

He told me, with reluctant sigh. 

That hidden here the tokens lie ; 

Conjured my swift return and aid. 

By all he scoff'd and disobey'd. 

And look'd as if the nof>se were tied. 

And I the priest who left his side. 

This scroll for Mortham WyclifTe gave. 

Whom I must seek by Greta's wave; 

Or in the hut where chief he hides, 

Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 

(Thence chanced it. wandering in the glade, 

That he descried our ambuscade ) 

I was dismiss'd as evening fell. 

And reach'd but now ihis rocky cell."— 

■•Give Oswald's letter."— Bertram read. 

And tore it fiercely, shred by shred: — 

"All lies and villany! to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

And train him on from day to day, 

Till he can take his life away. — 

And now, d(^clare thy purpose, youth, 

Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 

If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 

I'll tear the secret from thy heart !" — 

XVIII. 

" It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
" My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fix'd was my purpose to declare 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir; 



^ 



T 







SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 






To tell liini in what risk he stands, 

And yield these tokens to his hands. 

Fix'd' was my purpose to atone, 

Far as I may, the evil done ; 

And fix'd it rests— if I survive 

This niffht, and leave this cave alive." — 

" And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack, 

Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 

What ruth can Denzil claim from him. 

Whose Ihoushtless youth he led astray. 

And damn'd to this unballow'd way? 

He school'd me faith and vows were vain; 

ISow let my master reap his Rain." — 

"True," tuiswer'd Bertram, "'tis his meed; 

There's retribution in the deed. 

But thou— thou art not for our course, 

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse : 

And he. with us tlie gale who braves, 

Must heave such cargo to the waves, 

Or lag with overloaded prore. 

While barks uaburden'd reach the shore." 

XIX. 
He paused, and. stretching him at length, 
Seern'd to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind. 
As half lie sat. and half reclin'd, 
One ample hand his forehead press'd. 
And one was drop()'d across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
His lip of pride a while forbore 
The haughty curve till tlien it wore ; 
The unalter'd fiercene.-ss of his look 
A shade of darkened sadness took, — 
For dark and sad a presage press'd 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone, 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep, 
J.ike distant waves when breezes sleep; 
And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear. 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 

XX. 

•' Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warp'd my patron's mind : 
'Twoiild wake the fountains of the eye 
]n other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool. 
That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool; 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain, 
I'han to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word. 
Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
Say, loo, that Mortham's Lord he prays 
To think but on their former days; 
On Quariana's beach and rock. 
On (kayo's bursting battle-shock, 
On narien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw : — 
Pt^.hance my patron yet may hear 
More that may grace his comrade's bier. 
My soul hath felt a se'cret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate : 
A priest had said, ' Return, repent !' 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 

XXI. 

" The dawning of my youth, with awe 
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 



For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon-name. 
Rdmuiid. thv years were scarcely mine, 
When, challenging the Clans of Tyne, 
To iDnng their nest my brand to prove, 
O'er Hexham'j! altar Iiuiik my glove ; > 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, 1 fired the air! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
Wiien Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Chili's dark matrons long sliall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run. 
Mine be the eve oi tropi<: sun ! 
No pale gradati(nis quench his ray, 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red, 
He rushes to his burning i)ed. 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
I'hen sinks at once — and all is night — 

XXIL 
" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troo|is are laid, 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say. till he reaches Egllston. 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now. fsre-thee-well; for night draws on, 
And I would rest me here alone." 
Despite his ill-dissembled fear. 
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear; 
A tril)Ute to the courage high. 
Which stoop'd not in extremity, 
But strove, irregularly sreat. 
To triumph o'er approaching fate! 
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 
It almost touch'd his iron heart: — 
" I did not think there lived," he said, 
"One. who would tear for Bertram shed." 
He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive eold ; — 
"Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
But this with Risingham remains; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou slialt take. 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 

XXI I L 
The night has yielded to the morn. 
Anil far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who, since the dawn of day. 
Had cursed his messenger's delay. 
Impatient question'd now Jos train, 
" Was Denzil's son return'* again ?" 
It chanced there answer'd of the crew, 
A menial, who young Edmund l^new : 
"No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 
" A peasant boy from Winston glade. 
For song and minstrelsy renown'd. 
And knavish pranks, the hamlets round. "- 
"Not Denzil's son! — From Winston vale! 
Then it was false, that specious tale ; 
Or, worse — he hath despatch'd the vouth 
To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 
Fool that I was — but 'tis too late; — 
This is the very turn of fate ! — 

I 1 See Appendix, JSote 3 I. 



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7" 



R K E B Y 



291 



^ 



The tale, or true oi- (';ilse. relies 
On Deiizil's eviileiice ! — He dn'S '. — 
H..! FrovDsi Marsii^l! instantly 
Lead Uen/.il to llie Rallows-i ree ! 
Allow luni not a parting word; 
Short he the shrift, and sure the cord! 
'Ihen let his Kory liead app;il 
Maraulers from tlie Castle- wall. 
Le.id forth thy guard, ihat duty done, 
Witli best despacli to Esflistoii — 
Basil. U:\l Wiifiid he must straight 
Attend me at the Casile-gate."— 

XXIV. 
•• Al IS !" the old doniesJc said. 
And stiuOfi his vener.iiile head, 
"Alas, my Lord! full ill to-tlay 
M IV tnv vo'iiii; mas er brook the way! 
The lee( h has sj-o.^e wiih gri ave al.ifm, 
O. iiii^e II hurl, of secret liarni. 
Ut SOI row lurking : t ihe heart, 
That mars and lets his healing art '' — 
••Tush, 111 II. 11 ine ! — Horn .n ic boys 
Pi:i(: t ems 'Ives sick for airy toys, 
I w li laid ' u e fo.- VVi1t.i1 -soon ; 
Bi I iiiin loi y is Oil In- boune. 
And q lick !— I ue ir the dull dea'h-drum 
'I\ll Denzil's houi o f .le is come." 
He |i..u.^d Will sioin;ul smile, and then 
Kesumed lii> tram of ihou^i.t ageu. 
•■ Now coil e> my loriune's or sis near! 
Entreaty boots not — instan f^ar, 
iS'o .<.a t-ist-, ,a.i bend .Mai.ld I's pride, 
Or win her lo he Wilfrid's bride. 
But s\h Ml she sees the scatlbid [)laced, 
V\ ith a.xe and bloCK and he.idsman i?raced, 
And wiieii sue (leeiiis. that to deny 
Doouis Reduiond and her sire to die. 
f?he must fjive way.— Then, were the line 
Of Rokeby once combine. 1 with mine, 
I sam the wejither ffair^ of fate ! 
If .Mor. nam c.ime. he Coines too late, 
\^'l^le I. aUit;d liius and prepared, 
Bui linn deliiiiice to Ills heaid — 
— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
To drop ihe ;ixe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 
M ut lam still lives — yon you h may tell 
His tale — and b'aiif.ix loves hun well; — 
KIse, wherefore should I now delay 
To sweep this Kedmond from my way? — 
But she o i'ie:y perfoice 
Must yield —A itiiout there ! Sound to horse. 

XXV. 
'Twas bustle in the court below, — 
'• Mount, iind march lorwaid !" — i'ortli they go 
Steeds neish and trample all around. 
Steel rings, spe^irs gl nimer. trumpets sound. - 
Just then was sung his parting hymn; 
And Denzil turii'd ins eyeballs dim. 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 
Foll.iws the horsemen liowii the Tees; 
And scarcely conscious what be hears, 
The trumpets tin:<le in his ears. 
O'er I tie huis bridge they're sweeping now, 
Tiie van is hid by greenwood bough ; 
But eie the ie:irward had p;iss'd o'er, 
Guy I»enzil heard and saw no more ! 
One stroke, upon the Castle bed. 
To OswalU rung his dying luiell. 

XXVI. 
O, for that pencil, erst profuse 
Oi cliivalry's eniblazon'd hues, 



That traced of old. m Woodsuick bower, 
The p igeaii' of the Leaf and F'louer, 
And hodied forth the tournev high. 
Held for the hand of Em !y ! 
Then might 1 paint tlie tumult broad. 
That to the crowded abbey flow'd. 
And pour'd. as with an ocean's sound. 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then mi'rht I show each varying mien. 
Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 
Indiirerence, with his idiot stare, 
And Syinpa'hy, with anxious air, 
Faint the deje'cted Cavalier. 
Doubtful, disarni'd, and sad of cheer; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
Claim'd conquest novv and mastery; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn oi Fortune's wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and stalioii high 
Yet wliat may such a wish avail? 
' lis mine to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrying, as best I can, along, 
The hearers and the hasty song;— 
Like traveller when :ipproachiiig home. 
Who sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his course delay. 
Or ciioose the fair, but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend. 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 
To bless the l)reeze that cools his broW, 
Or siiatcli a blossom from ttie bougli. 

XX vn. 

The reverend pile lay wild and waste. 

Profaned, dishonoiir'd, and defaced. 

Through storied lattices no more 

111 soften'd light the sunbeams pour, 

Cilding the Gothic sculpture ricli 

Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 

The Civil fury of the time 

Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 

For dark Fanaticism rent 

Aliar. and screen, and ornament. 

And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 

Of Bowes, of Kokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 

And now was seen, unwonted sight, 

III holy walls a scaffold dighi ! 

Where once the priest, of grace divine 

Dealt to his flock the mystic sign; 

There stood the block display'd, and there 

The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 

And for the word of Hope and Faitli, 

Resounded loud a doom of death. 

Ttirice the fierce trumpet's lirealh was heard, 

And ecbo'd thrice the herald's word. 

Dooming, for breach of inariial laws. 

And treason to the Common's cause, 

The Kmght of Rokeby and O'Neale 

To sloop their heads to block and steel. 

The tru-npeis flourish'd hii;li and shrill. 

Then was a silence dead and siill ; 

And silent prayers to heaven were cast. 

And stifled sobs were buisiing fast. 

Till from the crowd begun to rise 

Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 

And from the distant aisles there came 

Deep-mutter'd ttireats, with Wyclilfe's name. 

XXVIII. 
But Oswald, guarded by his band. 
Powerful in evil, waved tiis hand. 
And bade Sedition's voice be dead, 
On peril of the murmurer's head. 



X 






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Then first his glance 8oug:ht Rokeby's Knight ; 

Wild gaZed on the tremendous ^sight, 

As calm as if he came a s:uest 

To liindred Baron's feudal feast, 

As calm as if that truiiipet-oall 

Were summons to the baniier'd hall ; 

Firm in his loyalty he stood, 

And prompt to seal it with his blood. 

With downcast look drew Oswald nigh,— 

He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye I— 

And said, with low and falterina; bivafh, 

"Thou know'st the terms of life and death," 

The Knight then turn'd and sternly smiled; 

"The maiden is mine only child, 

Yet shall my blessing leave her head, 

If with a traitor's son she wed " 

Then Redmond spoke: "The life of one 

Might thy malignity atone. 

On me he flung a double guilt ! 

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine he spilt !" 

Wycliffe had listen'd to his suit. 

Biit dread prevail'd, and he was mute. 

XXIX. 

And now he pours his choice of fear 

In secret on Matilda's ear; 

"All union form'd with me and mine, 

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all this dread array. 

Like morning dream, shall pass away ; 

Refuse, and, by my duty press 'd, 

1 give the word— thou know'st the rest." 

Matilda, still and motionless, 

With terror heard the dread address, 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Tlien wrung her hands in agony, 

And round her cast bewilder'd eye. 

Now on the scaffold glanced, and now 

On WyclifFe's unrelenting brow. 

She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 

Scarce audible,—" I make my choice ! 

Spare but their lives !— for aught beside, 

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 

He once was generous !'' — As she spoke. 

Dark Wyclifle'sjoy in triumph broke: — 

" Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late ? 

Why upon Basil rest thy weight? 

Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand T — 

Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ; 

Thank her with raptures, simple boy 1 

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy?"— 

" O hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 

Of mine thou hast refused thine ear; 

But now the awful hour draws on. 

When truth must speak in loftier lone." 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's hand :— " Dear maid, 

CouUist thou so injure me," he said, 

••Of thy poor friend so basely deem. 

As blend with him this barbarous scheme ? 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain. 

Might well have saved ihis added pain 

But now, bear witness earlli and heaven, 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given, 

So twisted with the strings of life, 

As this— to call Matilda wife ! 

I bid It now for ever part, 

And with the effort bursts my heart!" 

His feeble frame was worn so low, 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe. 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 



He kneel'd— his lip her hand had pfess'd,— 
.lust then he felt the stern arrest. 
Lower and lower sunk his head, — 
They raised him.— but the life was fled ! 
Then, first alarm'd, his sire and train 
Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
The soul, too soft its ills to hear, 
Had left our mortal hemisphere. 
And sought in better world the meed. 
To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 

XXXI. 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 

With Wilfrid all his projects past, 

All turn'd and centred on his son. 

On Wilfrid all— and he was gone. 

" And 1 am childless now," he said ; 

"Childless, through that relentless maid I 

A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd. 

Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 

Here lies my Wilfrid dead— and there 

Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 

Kaser to knit in happy band 

With Rokeliy's heires's Redmond's hand. 

And shall their triumph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laid to work their fall t 

No! — deeds, which prudence might not dare. 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 

I'll change to real that feigned tear! 

They all shall share destruction's shock;— 

Ho ! lead the captives to the block 1" 

But ill his Provost could divine 

His feelings, and forbore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block ! — or 1, or they. 

Shall face the judgment-seat this day I" 

XXXII. 
The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near — 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone. 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed- 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed, i 
Fire from the flinty floor was spurn 'd. 
I'he vaults unwonted clang return'd I — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look I 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scatler'd backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave , 
The first has reach'd the central nave, 
The second clear'd the chancel wide. 
The third— he was at WyclifTe's side. 
Full levell'd at the Baron's head. 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to his long account, and last. 
Without a groan dark Oswald past! 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightning, or a dream. 

XXX III. 
While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels; 



y^ 



But flounder'ii on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the ruler bore, 
And, bursting in the headlon? sway, 
The faithless saddle-^iiihs irave wav. 
'Twas while he tod'd liiiri to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
That from aniazenieiii's iron trance 
AH Wyciilfes soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halberd, nnisket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose; 
A score of pikes, with each a wound, 
Bore down and pinn'd him to the g:round ; 
But still his strujj^lin? force he rears, 
•Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears; 
Thrire from assailants shook him free. 
Once Kain'd his feet, and twice Ins knee. 
By tenfold odds oppress 'd at lenifth, 
Despite his striissles and his strenjfih. 
He took a hundred ninrlal wounds. 
As mute as fox 'moiiirst mansiiiig hounds ; 
And when he died, his pariing s;roau 
Had more of lautjhter than of moan! 
— They gazed, asWhen a litm dies, 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the slain. 
Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
Then blow and insult some renewed. 
And from the trunk, the head bad hew'd, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid :— 
"Fell as he was iri act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak fur winding sheet." 

XXXIV. 
No more of death and dying pang, 
No more of trump and bugle clang, 
Tliough through the sounding woods there 

come 
Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 
Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost need, 



And back'd with such a band of horse. 

As might less ample powers enforce ; 

Po-^sess'd of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 

And yielded to a father's arms 

An iin.'ise of his Edith's charms, — 

Mori ham is come, to hear and see 

Of this strange morn the history. 

What saw he ? — not the church's floor, 

Cuml)er'd with dead and stain'd with gore ; 

What heard he? — not the clamorous crowd, 

'I'hat shout their gratulations loud : 

Redmond he saw and heard alone, 

Clasp'd hini, and sobb'd, " My sou ! my son !"— 

XXXV. 

This chanced upon a summer morn, 

When yellow waved the heavy corn : 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Call'd forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the silvan road 

From Egliston to Mortham show'd. 

A while the hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

.'\nd maids their siCKies fling aside. 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride. 

And childhoo'i's wondering group draws near, 

And from the gleaner's hands the ear 

Drops, while she folds them tor a prayer 

And blessing on the lovely pair. 

' I'was then the Maid of Kukeby gave 

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 

And Teesdale can remember yet 

How Fate to Virtue paid her debt. 

And, for their troubles, bade them prove 

A lengtheu'd life of peace and l<jve. 



Time and Tide had thus their sway, 
yielding, like an April day. 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow I 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

On Barriard's towers, and Tees'i 



stream, <t-r. 
P. 25 



po 



" Barnard Castle," saitii old Leland,"stand- 
eth stately upon Tees." It is founded upon a 
very high bank, and its ruins impend over the 
river, including within the area a circuit of 
SIX acres and upwards This once magniticeiit 
fonress derives its name from its founder. 
Barnard Baliol. the ancestor of the short and 
unfortunate dynasty of that name, which sue 
ceeiled to the" Scottish throne under the pa- 
tronage of Edward I. and Edward III. Ba- 
liol's Tower, afterwards mentioned in the 
poem, is a round tower of sieat size, siiua'ed 
at the western extremity of the building. It 



I bears marks of great antiquity, and was re- 
marlxable for the curious coiisirnciion of its 
vaulted roof, which has been lately sieally 
injured by the operations of some persmis. to 
whom the tower has been leased for the pur- 
pose of niakm? patent shot! The prospect 
from the top of Baiiol's Tower commands a 
rich and masfiiiticent view of the woodi^d val- 
ley of the Tees. 

Barnard Castle often chana-ed ma.sfeis dur- 
ing the middle ages. U|>on the forfeiture of 
the unfortunate John Baliol, I he lirs kin? of 
Scotland of that family. Edward I seized iliis 
fortress aimm? the other English e.-itates of 
I Ins leiVactory vassal. It was aflerwards vested 
I in the Beauchamps of Warwick, and m the 
' Staflfoids of Buckingham, and was also some- 
times in the possession of the Bishops "uf Dur- 



25* 



z 



/ 



7 



Z. 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL 'WORKS 



^- 



h;irn, and sonietiinfts in that of I he crown. 

Richard III is said to have enlarged and 

rwistheiied its fortifications, and to have 



Note C. 



snvr.sthened its fortifications, ana u. nave. The mannns plumes his visaQP hide, 

n, ue for some time h,s principal residence, And the hnff-cont.. inmnvle.lold 

for li.e purfiose of hridlin- and suppressing: Manlks his form s giganltc mould -Y . 2:^5 



_ Laiica-lriau faction in the northern conn 
ties From the Staffonls, Barnard Castle ! 
passed, probably by n;arria!;e, imo tiie posses- 
sion of the powerful Nevilles, Earls of West- 
moreland, and belonged to the last repre- 
sentative of that famdv, when he ensrajred j 
with the Earl of Norihumberland in the ill- i 
concerted insurrection oftlie twelfth of Queen j 
Elizabeth. Upon this occasion, howt^ver. Sir j 
Georse Bowes of Sheailaiii. who held sieat i 
possessions in the neighbourhood, anticipated 
the twd insuigeiit earls, by seizins: upon and 
f-'arrisoiims: Barnard Castle, which he held out 
lor ten days against all their forces, and then 
siirreiulered it upon honourable terms See 
Sadler's State Papers, vol. ii. p. 330. In a 
ballad, contained in Percy's ReliQues of An- 
cient Poetry, vol i., the siege is thus com- 
yiiemorated : — 

" Then Sir Georgn Bowes he strnigtit way rose, 

Afler lliem some npoyle lo make ; 
These nol)le erles lurned hack a;^aine. 

And aye they vowed Ihal kuisht to take. 

" That baron he to his castle fled ; 

Tn Barnard tlasile then fled he ; 
The uttermo-t walles were etahe to won, 

The erles have won them presentlie. 

"The uttermost walles were lime and brick; 

But though they won them soon anone, 
l^ug ere they wan the innermost walles, 

For they were cut in rock and stone " 

By the suppression of this rebellion, and the 
consequent forfeiture of the Earl of West- 
niorelaiid, Barnard Castle reverted to the 
crown, and was sold or leased out to Car, Earl 
of Somerset, the guilty and unhappy favourite 
of James I. It was afterwards granted to Sir 
ilenry Vane the elder, and was therefore, in 
all probability, occupied for the Parliament, 
whose miere'st duiiiig the Civil War was so 
keenlv espoused by the Vanes. It is now, 
with the other estates of that family, the pro- 
perty of the Higiil Hououralile Earl of Dar- 
lington. 



Note B. 



no human ear, 



:\ 



Unshiirpen'd bii reveuue and fear. 

Could e'er distintjuish horse's dunk — P 255. 

1 liave had occasion to remark, in real life, 
the effect of keen and fervent anxiety in 
giving acuteness to the organs of sense. My 
gifted friend, .Miss Joanna Baillie. whose dra- 
matic works display such intimate acquaint- 
ance with the operations of human passion, 
has not omitted tins remarkable circum- 
stance : — 

"DeMonffort. {Off his guard.) 'Tis Rozen- 
velt: 1 heard his well-known foot. 
From the first staircase mounting step i>y step 
Freb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant 
sound ! 
I heard him not. 
(7)e Montjurl looks embarrassed, and is silent.") 



The use of complete suits of armour was 
fallen into disu.se during the Civil War.thoush 
thev were still worn by leaders of rank and 
importance '• In the reign of King James I.." 
says our military antiquary. " no great altera- 
tions were made in the article of defensive 
armour, except that the biiff-roat. or jerkin 
which was originally worn under the cunass, 
now became frequently a substitute forit.it 
having been found that a good buff leather 
would of itself resist the stroke of a sword; 
this, however, onlv occasionally took place 
among the light-armed cavalry and infantry, 
complete suits of armour being still used 
among the heavy horse. Buff coats coni inued 
to be worn by the city trained-bands till 
within the memory of persons now living, so 
that defensive armour may, in some measure, 
be said to have terminated in the same mate- 
rials with which it began, that is. the skins of 
animals, or leather."— Gmsft's Miltlnry Aiiti- 
qwlifs. Lond 1801. 4to. vol. ii. p. 323. 

Of the bulfcoais. which were worn over the 
corslets, several are yet preserved ; and ("ap- 
tain Grose has given an engraving of one 
which was used in the lime of Charles I. by 
Sir Francis Rhodes, Bart of Balbrough-Hall, 
Derbvshire. 'I'hey were usually lined with 
silk or linen, secured before by buttons, or by 
a lace, and often richly decorated with gold or 
silver embroidery. From the following cu- 
rious account of a dispute respecting a buff- 
coat between an old roundhead captain and 
a justice of peace, by whom his arms were 
seized after the Re.storation, we learn, that 
the value and importance of this defensive 
garment were considerable: — ".A party of 
horse came to niv house, commanded by Mr. 
Peebles ; and he told me he was come for my 
arms, and that I must deliver them. 1 asked 
him for his order He told me he had a better 
order ihnn Oliver used to give; and. clapping 
his hand upon his sword-hilt, he said, tliat 
was h:s order 1 told him. if he had none hut 
that, it was not sufficient to take my arms ; 
and then he pulled out his warrant, and 1 read 
it. It was signed by Wentworth Armitage, a 
general warrtrnt to search all persons they 
suspected, and so left the power to the sol- 
diers at their pleasure. They came to us at 
Coallev-Hall, about sunsetting; and I caused 
a candle to be hghted, and conveyed Peebles 
into the room where mv arms were My arms 
were near the kiichen fire; and there they 
took away fowling-pieces, pistols, muskets, 
carbines, and such like, better than 20/ I'hen 
Mr. Peebles asked me h)r nn' buff-coat; and I 
told him they had no order to take away my 
apparel. He" told me I was not to dKs|)ute 
their orders; but if I would not deliver it. he 
would carry me away prisoner, and had me 
out of doors. Yet he'let me ahme unio the 
next morning, that I must wait upon Sir Jotin. 
at Halifax; and. coming before him. he threat- 
ened me, and said, if I did not send the coat. 
for it was too good for me to keep I told hint 
it was not in his power to demand my appa- 
rel ; and lie, growing into a fit, called ine rebel 



b^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



and traitor, and said, if I did not send tlie coat 
with all speed, he would send nie where I did 
not like well. I told him I was no rebel, and 
he did not well to call nie so before ihese sol- 
diers and {reullemen, to make ine the mark 
for every one to shoot at. I departed the 
room; yet, notwithstandma all the threateii- 
niKs, did not send the coat. But ihe next day 
he sent John Lyster, the son of Mr. 'I lionias 
Lyster. of Shipden Hall, for this coat, with a 
letter. verbatim thus:— 'Mr Hod.son, I admire 
you will play the child so with me as you have 
done, in writitiia: such an inconsiderate letter. 
Let me have the buff-coat sent forthwith, 
otherwise you shall so hear from me as will 
not very well plea.se you.' I was not at home 
when this messenser came; hut I had or- 
dered my wife u<;t to deliver it, but, if they 
would take it, let them look ro it : and lit tctok 
it away; and one of Sir John's brethren wore 
it many years after. They sent Capiain Butt 
to comp"(.'Uiid with my wife about it ; hut I 
sent word 1 would have my own acrain : but 
he advised me to take a price for it, and make 
DO more ado. I said, it was hard to take my 
arms and apparel too ; I hiid laid out a great 
deal of money for them ; I hoped they did not 
mean to destroy me, by taking my soods ille- 
gally from me. He said he would make up 
the matter, if 1 pleased, betwiil us; and, it 
seems, had brought Sir John to a price for my 
coat. I would not have taken 10/. for it; he 
would have given about 4/. ; but, wanting my 
receipt for the money, he kept both sides, and 
I had never satisfaction " — Memoirs of Captain 
Hodgson. Edui. 1806, p. 178. 



Note D. 

On his dark face a scorching chme, 

And toil, had done the work of time. 

Death hail he seen bv sudden blow. 

By wasting plague, by tortures slaw.— P. 255. 

In this character, I have attempted to sketch 
one of those West Indian adventurers, who, 
during the course of ttie seventeenth century, 
were popularly known by the name of Buca- 
niers. The successes of the Knglish in the 
predatory incursions upon Spanish America, 
during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been 
forgotten; and. from that peiMd downward, 
the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imi- 
tated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with 
equally desperate valour, by small bands of 
pirates, gathered from all nations, hut chiefly 
Frencli and English. The engrossing policy 
of the Spaniards tended greatly to increase 
the number of these freebooters, from whom 
their commerce and colonies suffered, in the 
issue, dreadful calam ty. The Windward 
Islands, which the Spaniards did not deem 
worthy their own occupation, had been gra- 
dually senled by adventurers of the French 
and English nations. But Frederic of Toledo, 
who was despatched in 16o0. with a powerful 
fleet against the Dutch, had orders from the 
Court of .Madrid to destroy these colonies, 
whose vicinity at once offended the pride and 
excited the jealous suspicions of their Spanish 
neighbours This order the Spanish Admiral 
executed with sufficient rigour ; but the only 



consequence was, that the planters, being 
rendered desperate by persecution, began, un- 
der the well-known name of Bucaniers. t(» 
commence a retaliation so horridly savage 
that the perusal makes the reader shuddei. 
When they carried on their depredations at 
sea, they boarded, without respect to disparity 
of number, every Spanish ve.ssel that came m 
their way; and. demeaning themselves, both 
in the battle and after the conquest, more like 
demons than human beings, they .-ucceeded iii 
impressing their enemies with a sort of super- 
stitious terror, which rendered them incapable 
of offering effectual resistance. From piracy 
at sea, they advanced to making predatory 
descents on the Spanish territories; iu which 
they displayed the same furious and irresisti- 
ble valour, the same thirst of spoil, and Ihe 
same brutal inhumanity to their captives. 
The large treasures wliich they acquired in 
their adventures, they dissipated by the most 
unbounded licentiousness in gaming, women, 
wme.and debauchery of every species. When 
their spoils were thus wasted, they entered 
into some new association, and undertook new 
adventures. For farther particulars concern- 
ing these extraordinary hnnditti. the reader 
may consult Raynal.orthe common and po- 
pular book called the History of the Bucaniers 



Note E. 



295 > . 



0)1 Marston htnth 



Met, front to. front, the ranks of death. — ?. 256. 

The well-known and desperate battle of 
Loug-Marston Moor, which terminated so un- 
fortunately for the cause of Charles, com- 
menced under very different auspices. Prince 
Rupert had marclied with an army of 2n.0(X) 
men for the relief of York, then besieged by 
Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of the Par- 
liamentary army, and the Earl of Leven. willi 
the Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he so 
completely succeeded, that he cuuipelied the 
besiegers to retreat to Marston .Moor, a large 
open plain, about eight miles di.stant from the 
city. Thither they were followed by the 
Prince, who had now united to his army the 
garrison of York, probably not less than ten 
thousand men strong, under t he gallant .Mar- 
quis (then Earl) of Newcastle. W'iiitelocke 
has recorded, with much !mparliality. the fol- 
lowing particulars of this eventful day: — 
"The right wing of the Parliament was com- 
manded by Sir Thomas Fairfax, and consisted 
of all his horse, and three regiments of the 
Scots horse; the left wing was commanded 
by the Earl of .Manchester and Colonel Crom- 
well. One body of their foot was commanded 
by Lord Fairfax, and consisted of his foot, and 
two brigades of the Scots foot lor reserve ; 
and the main body of the rest of the foot was 
commanded by General Leven. 

"The nght wmg of the Prince's army was 
commanded by the Earl of Newcastle; the 
left wmg by the Prince himself; and the main 
bodv bv General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, 
and' Major-General Porter. Thus were both 
sides drawn up into battalia. 

" July 3d, 16U. In this posture both armies 
faced each other, and about seven o'clock in 



T^ 



r 296 

^ Hip nr 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



*v 



fhe morning; the fipht began between them 
The Prince, wiih his left win?, fell on the 
Parliament's right wins, routed them, and 
pursued iliem a great way ; tlie lilte did Gene- 
ral Goring. Lucas, and Porter, u|ion the Par- 
liament's main body. Tlie three generals, 
giving all for lost, hasted out of t|,ie field, and 
many of their soldiers fled, and tlirew down 
their arms; the King's forces too eagerly 
followmg them, the victory, now almost 
achieved by them, was again snatched out of 
their hands For Colonel Cromwell, with the 
brave regiment of his countrymen, and Sir 
Thomas Fairfax, having rallied some of his 
horse, fell upf)n the Prince's right wing, where 
the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them; 
and the rest of their companions rallying, they 
fell altogether upon the divided bodies of 
Rupert and Goring, and totally dispersed 
them, and obtained a complete victory, after 
three hours' fight. 

•'From this battle and the pursuit, some 
reckon were buried 7(.M)0 Kni-'lishmen ; all 
agree that above 3000 of the Prince's men 
were slain in the battle, besides those in the 
chase, and 3000 prisoners taken, many of their 
chief officers, twenty five pieces of ordnance, 
forty-seven colours, 10.000 arms, two waggons 
of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, 
and all their bag and baggage."— Whileloche^s 
Memoirs, fol. p. 89. Lond. 1682. 

Lord Clarendon informs us, that the King, 
previous to receiving the true account of the 
battle, had been informeil, by an express from 
Oxford. " that Prince Rupert had not only 
relieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, 
with many particulars to confirm it, all which 
was so much believed there, that they had 
made public fires of joy for the victory." 



Note F. 

Monckton and Milton told the 7ten>s. 

Hvw troops of Roundheails choked the Ouse, 

And many a bonny Scot, a<jhast, 

Sinirrmg his paljrey iwthwnrd, past, 

Cursing the day when zeal or meed 

First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.— P. 257. 

Monckton and Mitlon are villages near the 
river Ousc, and not very ilistant from the field 
of battle. The particulars of the action were 
violently disputed at the time ; but the follow- 
ing extract, from the Manuscript History of 
the Baronial House of Somerville. is decisive 
as to the flight of the Scottish general, the 
Earl of Leven. The particulars are given by 
the author of the history on the authority of 
his father, then the re()reseiitative of the 
family. This curious manuscript has been 
published by consent of my noble friend, the 
present Lord Somerville. 

"The order of the great batlell, wherein 
both armies was neer of ane equall number, 
consisting, to the best calculaiione, neer to 
three score thousand men upon both sydes, 1 
shall not take upon me to iliscrye ; albeit, from 
the draughts then taken upon the place, and 
information 1 receaved from this gentleman, 
who being then a volunteer, as having no com- 
mand, had opportunitie and libertie to ryde 
from the one wuig of the armie to the otlier. 



to view all tlier several squadrons of horse and 
batlalhons of foot, how formed, and in what 
manner drawn up, with every other circum- 
stance relating to the fight, and that b'lth as 
to the King's armies and that of the Parlia- 
ment's, amongst whom, until the engadge- 
ment, he went from statione to slat k me to 
observe ther order and forme: but that the 
descriptione of this battell, with the variou.s 
success on both sides at the beginning, with 
the loss of the royal arn*ie, and the sad effects 
that followed that misfortune as to his Majes- 
tie's interest, hes been so often done already 
by English authors, little to our commenda- 
fione how justly I shall not dispute, seina the 
truth is, as our principal generall fled that 
night neer fourtie niylles from the place of the 
fight, that part of the armie where he com- 
manded being totallie routed ; but it is as true, 
that much of the victorie is attributed to the 
good conduct of David Lesselie, lievetennent- 
generall of our h<u-se Cromwell hii self, that 
miiiione of fortune, but the rod of God's wrath, 
to punish ettirward three rebellious ii.rKins, 
disdained not to t;ike orders from him, albeit 
then in the same qiialitie of command for the 
Parliament, as being lievetennent-general to 
the Earl of Manchester's horse, whom, with 
the assistance of the Scots horse, haveing 
routed the Prince's right wing, as he had clone 
that of the Parliament's These two com- 
manders of the horse upon that wing wisely 
restrained the great bodies of their horse from 
persuing these bmcken tioups. but, wheellmg 
to the left-hand, fails in upon the naked flanks 
of the Prince's main battalhon of toot, carry- 
ing them doune with great violence ; nether 
mett they with any great resistance uiitill they 
came to the Marques of Newcastle his battal- 
lione of White Coats, who, first peppering 
them soundly with thershott, when they came 
to charge, stoutly bore them up with their 
picks that they could not enter to break them. 
Here the Parliament's horse of that wing re- 
ceaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for 
sometynie putt to ther hoped-for victorie ; and 
that only by the s'oui, resistance of this gallant 
baltalione, which ci.nsi.sted neer of four thou- 
sand foot, until at length a Scots regiment of 
dragouns, conmianded by Collonell Frizeall, 
with other two, was brought to open them 
upon some hand, which at length they did, 
when all the ammunitione was spent. Having 
refused quarters, every man fell in the same 
order and ranke wherein he had foughien. 

"Be this execuiion was done, the Prince 
returned from the pursuite of the right wing 
of the Parlianienfs horse, which he had 
beatten and followed too farre.to the losse of 
the battell. which certanely, in all men's 
opinions, he might have caiyed if he had not 
been too violent upon the pursuite; which 
gave his enemies upon the left-hand opportu- 
niiie to disperse and cut doune Ins infantrie, 
who, haveing cleared the field of all the 
standing bodies of foot, wer now. with many 
of their oune. standing ready to 
receave the charge of his allmost spent, horses, 
if he should attempt it; which the Prince 
observeing, and seeing all lost, he reireated to 
Yorke with two thousande horse. Notwith- 
standing of this, ther was that night such a 
consteinatione in the Parliament armies, that 
it's believed bv most of tliose that wer there 



z 



^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



297 > 



present, that if ihe Piinre, haveing so e:re!it a 
nody of horse irifeire, had made ane oiifidl 
tliat night, or the ensuing mor?iing he-tyme, 
he had carryeil the victorie our of thei- hands; 
for It's ceriane, by the morning's light, he had 
rallved a body of ten thousand men. wherof 
ther was neer three thousand galhuit horse. 
These, with the assistance of the toune and 
garnsonne of York, might have done much to 
liave recovered the victory, for the losse of this 
balteli in effect lost the king and his interest 
in the three kingdomes; his Majestie never 
being able eftir this to make head in the north, 
but lost his garrisons every dav 

'•.■\s tor General! Lesselie. in the beginning 
of this tlight haveing tnat part of the army 
qiii'e hrocken, whare he had placed liimself. 
l.y the valour of the Prince, he imagined, and 
vvas confermed by the opimone of others then 
upon llie place with liim, iliai the liatiell vvas 
irn;CMverably lost, seeing they wer fleeing upon 
all hands; theirfore tliey huiiihlie mtreated 
his excellence to reteir "and wait his better 
fortune, which, without ftrder advyseing, he 
did; and never drew bridle uiitill he came the 
leiith of Leads, having ridden all that night 
With a cloak of drap de berne about him. he 
longing to this gentleman of whom I wri'e. 
then in his retinue, wiih many 'ther officers 
of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next 
day beiore they had the certainty who vvas 
niasierof Ihe field, when at length therariyves 
ane expre.-se. sent liy David Lesselie, to ac- 
Quaint the General they had obtained a most 
fclorious victory, and ihat the Prince, with Ins 
brocken troupes, was tied from \orke This 
intelligence was somewhat amazemg to these 
gentlemen that had been eye witnesses to the 
disorder of ihe armie before ther retearing. 
and had then accnmpanyed Ihe General in his 
flight; whii, bt'ing much wearyed that even- 
ing of the batlell wnh ordering of Ins armie. 
and now quite spent with his long journey in 
the night, had casen himselfe doune upon a 
bed lo rest, when tli.s gentleman comeing 
quyetly into his chamber, lie awnke, and 
ha-tily cryes out, ' Lieveiemient-collonell. 
what'newsT'— • All is safe, may it please your 
i-xcellence; the Parliament's armie lies ob 
lamed a great victory ;' ami then delyvcrs the 
letier. 'J'he Generall. upon the heaniig of 
this, knocked upon his bre;ist, and sayes, ' 1 
would 10 God I had died U(ioti the place"!' and 
then opens the Iciter, winch, in a few lines, 
gave ane account ot the victory, ami in the close 
pres--ed Ills speedy re. urne to the ai line, which 

he did the nexi day, being ace panted some 

invlles back liy tins geirlernan, vvho then takes 
his leave of him, and receav. d at parting many 
expressions of kyudnesse. with promises that 
he would never i)e unmyndful of Ids care and 
rt'spect. towards him ; and in the end he in- 
treats him to present his service to ail his 
friends and acquaintances in Scotland. Ther- 
efiir the General sets lorward in his journey 
for the armie. as this gentleman did for 

, in order lo his Iraiisporlatione for 
Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes efiir 
the hglit of .MfStouiie .\luir, and gave the first 
truM acc'.unt and descriptione of that great 
balteli. wherein the Coven.inters then gloryed 
soe much, that they impious. y boasted the 
l.onl hail now signally appeared for his cause 
and people ; .t being ordinary fur them, duremg 



the whole time of this warre. to attribute the 
greatnes of their success to the goodnes and 
iistice of ther cause, untill Divine Justice 
trysted them with some cross dispensatione. 
and then you might have heard this language 
from them, 'That it pleases the Lord to give 
his oune the heavyest end of the tree to bear, 
that the saints and the people of God must 
still be suflTerers while they are here away, 
that the malignant party was God's rod to 
punish them for their unlhankfuliiess, which 
in the end he will cast into the fire ;' with a 
thousand ol her expressions and scripture cita- 
tions, prophanely and blasphemously uttered 
by them, to palliate ther villaime and rebel- 
lion." — Meinoiresu/ the SomervUles. Edin. 1815. 



Note G. 

With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings sny. 
Stout Cromwett has redeem'd the day — P. 258. 

Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, 
had a principal share in turning the (ate of 
the day at Marston Moor; which was equally 
matter of triumph to the Independents, ami 
of grief and heart-burning to the Preshyte- 
liuis and to the Scottish. Principal Baillie 
expresses his dissatisfaction as follows : — 

"The Independents sent up one quickly to 
assure that all the glory of that night was 
theirs; and they and their Major-General 
Cromwell had done it all there alone: but 
Captain Stuart afterward shovve<l the vainly 
and falsehood of their disgraceful relation. 
God gave us that victory wonderfully. There 
were three generals on each side, Lesley, 
Fairfix. and .Mancliesler ; Rufiert. Newcastle, 
and King. Within half an hour and less, all 
SIX took them to their heels; — i his to you 
alone. The disadvaiiiaL'e of the ground, and 
violence of the flower of Prince Rupert's horse, 
carried all our right wingdown ; only tlglinton 
kept ground, to ins great loss; his lieutenant- 
crowner, a brave man, I fear shall die. and 
his son Robert be mutilated of an arm. 
Lindsay had the greaiest hazard of any; but 
the beginning of the victory wms from David 
Lesly, who beiore w.is miicii suspected of evil 
designs: he, with the Scots and Oomwdl's 
horse, having the advantage of ttie ground, did 
dissipate all before iheni."' — Bail/ie's Letters 
and Journals. Edin. 1765. 8vo, n. 30. 



Note H. 

Do not my native daks prolonij 

Of Fercy Rede Ihe tiotjic sonq, 

Train'd loiwnrd to his bluody fall. 

By Girsoiifitld, that treacherous Hall 1—?. 2.58. 

" In a poem, entitled " The Lay fif the K'eed- 
waler Minstrel," Newcastle, 18()9, this tale, 
with many others peculiar to the valley of the 
Reed, is commemorated :—" I he pariiculars 
of the traditional story of Parcy Reed of 
I'roughend, and the Halls of Girsonrield, the 
author had from a descendant of the family of 
Keed. From his account, it appears that IVr- 
cival Reed, Lsquire, a keeper of Reedsdaie. 
was betrayed by the Halls (hence denoimna..cd 



K 



A 



^ 298 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



A 



the false-hearted Ha's) to a ban<l of moss- 
troopers of the name of Crosier, who slew him 
at Batliinuhope, near the source of tlie Reed 

" The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy 
Reed, held in such universal al)horrence and 
contempt by the inhMhitanls of Reedsdale, for 
I heir cowiirdly and treacherous behaviour, 
thai they were obliged to leave the country. " 
In atiotiier passase. we are informed that the 
Rhost of the nijured Borderer is supposed to 
haunt tiie hanks of a brook called the Prinsrle. 
These Redes of Trou^hend were a very 
ancient family, as may he conjectured frorii 
their derivin? their siirn.Tnie from the river on 
which they had their ttiansion. An epitaph 
on one of their tombs affirms, that the family 
held their lands of Trou^hend. which are 
situated on the Reed nearlv opposite to Otter- 
'"urn. fur the incredible space of nine hundred 
years. 



Note I. 

And near the spot, that ynvf me name, 
Tlif numlf'd mimntl of Risimjhnm, 
Where Reed upnn her mriruin srrs 
Sweet Woodhuriif's roltmjes mid trees. 
Some ancient Sculptor's art has shown 
An oull'jw's imaije on l/ie stone.—?. 258. 

Risinafham, upon the river Reed near the 
beautiful hamlet of Woodburn. is an ancient 
Roman station, formerly called Hahilancurn. 
(Camden says, that iti his time the po|)ular ac- 
count bore, that jt h;id been the aliode of a 
deity, or Riant, called Mairoii; and .ip.ieals. in 
support of this tradition, as well as to the 
etymology of Risin?liain, or Keiseidiam. whicli 
sii^iiities. m (iermaii, I he habitation of the 
fiiants, to two Roiniui altars taken out of the 
river, inscribed, D'o Mouonli Outennrum. 
About half a mile distant iVom KisiiiKliain, 
upon an emiiieiK-e covered with scatieied 
birch-trees and fragments of rock, there is 
cut uiion a larse rock, in alto relirvn. a re 
markable fisrure, called Rohm of Risinsham, 
or Robm of Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, 
with tiis bow raised in one hand, and in the 
other what seems to he a hare. There is a 
quiver at ihe hack of the hi^ure, and he is 
dressed in a Ion? coat, or kirtle. coming down 
to the knees, and meeting close, with a girdle 
bound round hiin. Dr. Horsely. who saw all 
nioiiuments of antiqu ty vvilh Rom;m eves, 
inclines to think this fii;ure a Roman archer: 
and certainly the bow is rather of the anrient 
size than of that which is so formidable in the 
hand of the English ai(^heis of the middle 
axes. But the rudeness of the wlude tigure 
prevents our founding sironirly ufion mere in- 
accuracy of proportion. Tlie" po()ular tradi- 
tion is, that It represents a sjiant, whose bro- 
ther resided at Woodburn, and he himself at 
Ri-iiiisham. It adds, that they subsisted by 
bunlmir, and that one of them, finding the 
Kame become tort scarce to support them, 
poisoned his companion, in wliose iriemory the 
monument was eiif^raved What strauL'e and 
traiiic circumstance may be concealed under 
this lei^end, or whethiu- it is altou:ether apoc- 
rypnal, il is nu « imitossible to tliscuver. 



The name of Robin of Redesdale was eiven 
to one of the Umfravilles. Lords of Frudhoe. 
and afterwards to one Hilliard. a friend and 
follower of the kin? making Earl of Warwick. 
This person comman led an army of .Northamp- 
tonshire and northern men, who seized on and 
beheaded the Rnrl hivers, father to I dward 
the Fourth's queen, and his son. Sir John 
Woodville. — See Holinshed, ad annum, U69. 



Note K. 

Do thou revere 

The statutes of the Bucatiier .—? . 258. 

The "statutes of the Biicaniers " were, in 
reality, more equitable than could have been 
expected from the state of society under which 
they had been formed. They chiefly related, 
as may readily be conjectured, to the distribu- 
tion and the inheritance of their plunder 

When the expedition was completed, the 
fund of prize-money acquired was thrown to- 
gether, each party taking his oath that he had 
retained or concealed no pMrt of the common 
stock. If any one transg^ressed in this import- 
ant particular, the punishment was, his liein? 
set ashore on some desert key or island, to 
shift for himself as he could. The owners 
of the vessel had then their share assigned for 
the expenses of the outfit. Tliese were gene- 
rally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, 
St. Domingo, or some other French or English 
settlement. The surgeon's and carpenter's 
.salaries, with the price of provisions and am- 
munition, were also defrayed. Then followed 
the compensation due to the maimed and 
wounded, rated according to the damage they 
had sustained ; as six hundred pieces of eight, 
or SIX slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and 
so in pro|)ortion. 

•• After this act of justice and humanity, the 
remainder of llie booty was divided iiito :is 
many shares as there were Bucaniers. The 
commander could only lay claim to a single 
share, as the rest; but they complimented h:iu 
with two or three, in proportion as he had ac- 
quitted liimself to their satisfaction. When 
the vessel was not the property of the whole 
comjiany, the person who had fitted it out, and 
lurnished it with necessary arms and ammu- 
nition, was entitled to a third of all the prizes. 
Favour had never any influence in the division 
of the booty, for every share was determined 
by lot Instances of such rigid justice as this 
are not easily met with, and ihey ex' ended 
even to the dead. Their share was given to 
the man who was known to be their com|.a- 
nioii when alive, and therefore their heir. If 
the person who had been killed had no inti- 
mate, his part was sent to his relations, wlien 
they were known. If there were no friends 
nor relations, it was distributed in charily to 
the poor and to churches, whicii were to I'iray 
for the person in whose name these benefac- 
tions were given, the fruits of inhuman, but 
nece.ssary piratical plunders " — Raynal's His- 
tory of European Settlements in the East and 
West Indies, by Justamond. Loud. 1776, 8vo, 
ui p. il. 



^ 



7 



/L 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBl 



NOTK L. 

The course of Tecs -P. 200. 

The view rr<»m Barnard Castle coniriiamls 
the rich and maemfirent, valley of Tees Iin- 
iiiediately adjacent to the river, the hanks are 
very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they 
are more o[ien ami cultivated; bur, hein? in- 
terspersed wirli hed-;e rows, and with isolated 
trees of <;reat size and aue. they still retain 
the rir'iiiess of woodland scenery. The river 
Itself flows ill a deep trench of solid rook, 
chieflv limestone and marhle. The finest view 
of itjj roiiniitic course i,s from a handsome 
modern hnilt hnd^e overthn Tees, by the la'e 
Mr .Morrilt of Kokeby. In Lelaud's time, the 
marble q'Kirrifs seem to have been of some 
value. "Hard under the cliff by HJs:liston. is 
fomul on eche side of Tese very fair marl)le, 
wont lo be taken U|) booth by marbelers of 
Barn.irdes Caslelle and of Effliston.and partly 
to have been vvrousfht by them, and parihsfilil 
«>iiwrous:ht to olhers." — Ilmirari/. Uxfoid, 
176j5,8vo. p 88. 



Note M. 

EijUston's grey ruins. — P. 261. 

The rums of this abbev, or priorv. (for Tan- 
ner calls It tli(! former, and Leiaiid'ihe latter.) 
are beautifully situated upon llicanale. formed 
by a little dell called Tliorsgill. .-it its junction 
with the Tees. A Kood part of the relii;ious 
house IS still in some deurce habilabie. IhiI Ihe 
churcli is ill ruins Eghstoii was dpclirated to 
St. Mary and St. John the Baptist, and is sup- 
posed to have been founded by Ralph de Mill- 
ion about the end of Henry the Second's re\s.H. 
There were formerly the tombs of the families 
of Kokeby. Bowes, and Fitz-Husli. 



Note N. 

the mound, 

Rnisni by IhnI LfQimi Imw renowii'il. 

Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 

Of piotts, fnithtid. conqueiing fame. — P. 261. 

Close behind the Georse Inn at Greta Bridse, 
there is a well-preserved Kom;in encampment, 
surrounded with a triple ditch, lyms: between 
the river Greta and a brook called the Tntta. 
'I'he four entrances are easily to be discerned. 
Very many Roman altars and monuments 
have been found in the vicinity, most of which 
are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. 
Morntt. Anions: others is a small votive altar, 
with the inscription. LEG. VI. VIC P. F. F., 
whicli has been rendered, Legio. Sexla. Vic- 
trix. Put. Furtis. Fititlis. 




.^essed from the Conquest downwaid, and who 
are at difl'eient times distiiieuislied in historv. 
It was the Baron of Rokeby who finally ile- 
feated Ihe insurrection of the Earl r)f'.\or- 
l humherland, ifffipore //e«. /K.. of which llo- 
linslied pives the following account: — 'The 
Kinsr, advertised hereof, caused a great armie 
to be assembled, and came forward with the 
same towards his enemies; but yer the Kiiin 
came to Nottingham. Sir Thomas, or (as other 
haue) Sir Kafe Rokeshie, Sliiritte of Yorkeshire, 
asseinbled the forces of the coiintrie to resist 
the Earleand his power; coming to Grimbaut- 
briss, beside Knaresborough, there to .stop 
them the passage; but they returning aside, 
got lo Weatherbie. and so to T.idcaster. and 
finally came forward unto Bramham-moor, 
near to Haizlewootl. where thev chose their 
ground meet to li^ht upon The Shnifie was 
as readie to giue battell as the bJrle to receiue 
it ; and so with a standard of S Geor^'e spread, 
set fiercely vpon the Eaiie. who, vnder a stan- 
dard of Ins owne amies, eiicxiunteit.d his ati- 
nersaries with sreat manhoo<l. There was a 
sore iiicoiiiiter and cruel! conflict berwixt the 
parties, but in the end the victorie fell to the 
Shiriffe. The Lord Bardolle was taken, but 
sore wounded, so that he shortly after died of 
the hurts. As for the Earle of Nonhumbei- 
land. he was slain outright: so that now the 
prophecy was fulfilled, which iruue an inkling 
of this his heauy hap long belore, namelie, 

• Stirps Pereitina periet coufusa ruiua.' 

For this Earle was the stocke and maiiie root 
of all that were left aliue, called by the name 
of Persie ; and of manie more' by diuers 
slaughtei-s dispatched. For whose misfortune 
the people weva not a little sorrie. making re- 
port of the seiitleman's valiaiUnes.se. renowne, 
and honour, and applieing vn'ti him certeiiie 
lamentable verses out of Lucaiue, saieiig, 

'Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tautum vulnera nootri 
AfTecere scnis : quantum gestala per urbem 
Ora Uucis, quae transAxio derormia pilo 
Vidimus.' 

For his head, full of siluer horie haires. hem? 
put upon a stake, was openlie carried throiitrh 
London, and set vpoa the bridge of the same 
citie : in like manner was the Lord Bardolfes." 
— Holinshed's Chronicles. Lond. 1808. 4lo, iii. 
I 45. The Rokeby. or Rokesby family, continued 
I to be distinguished utitil the great Civil VVar, 
when, having embraced the cause of Charles 
L. they suflered severely by fines and confis- 
cations. The estate then passed from its an- 
cient possessors to the family of the Robinsons, 
from whom it was purchased by the father of 
my valued friend, the present proprietor. 



Note 0. 

Rokehy's turrets high.- 



-P. 261. 



^ 



This ancient manor long gave name to a 
(aiiiily by whom it is said to have been pos- 



NOTE P. 



A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 
As e'er the fool of Mitistrel trode.- 



-P. 261. 



What follows is an attempt to describe thp 
romantic glen, or rather ravme. throusjh winch 
the Greta finds a passage between Rokeby and 
Mortham ; the former situated upon the left 
bank of Greta, the latter on the right bank, 
about half a mile nearer to Jts junction with 



V 




^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



kick 
V negl 



the 'lees. The river runs with very s:reat ra- , 
pidity over a bed of soliu r'jci<, broken by many I 
siielvins ilescents. ilown wliich the stream 
diishes with g:reat. noise and impetuosity, vin- 
dicatinsrits etymolosy, which lias l)een derived 
from the Gdiiic, Gndan, to clamour. Tlie 
banks pyrlake of the same wild and romantic 
character, being chiefly lofty cliffs of limestone 
rock, whose grey colour contrasts admirably 
with the various irees and shrubs which find 
root anions their crevices, as well as with the 
iiue of the ivy, which cliiifrs around them in 
profusion, and hanss down from their projec- 
tions 111 long sweeping tendrils. At other 
points the rocks srive place to precipitous banks 
(»f earth, bearing large trees intermixed with 
copsewood. Ill one spot the dell, which is 
elsewiiere very narrow, widens for a space to 
leave room for a dark grove of yew trc es, in- 
terinixed here and lliere with aged pines of 
niicominipii size. Directly opposiie to ihis 
sombre thicket, the clitfs on the other side of 
tlie Greta are tall, white, and fringed with all 
kinds of deciduous shrubs. The whole sce- 
nery of this spot is so much adapted to the 
ideas of supersflion, that it has acquired the 
name of Blockula, from the place where the 
Swedish wiiches were supposed to hold their 
Sabbath. The dell, however, has superstitions 
of its own growth, for it is supposed to be 
haunted liy a female spectre, called the Dobie 
of Morthani. The cause assigned for her a[)- 
jiearaiice is a lady's bavins been whilom mur- 
dered in the wood, in evidence of which, her 
l)lood IS shown upon the stairs of the old 
tower at Mortham. But whe her she was 
slain by a jealous husband, or by savage ban- 
ditti, or by an uncle who coveted her es'ale, 
or by a rejected lover, are points upon which 
the traditions of Rokeby do not enable us to 
decide. 



Note Q. 

How whislle rash bids tempests roar. — P. 262 

That this is a general superstition, is well 
known to all who have been on ship hoard, or 
who have conversed with seamen. The most 
formidable whistler that I remember to have 
met with was the apparition of a certain Mrs. 
Leakey, who, about 1636, resided, we are told, 
at .Vlynehead, in Somerset, where her only son 
drove a considerable trade between that port 
and Waterford. and was owner of several ves- 
sels This old gentlewoman was of a social 
disposition, and so accepiable to her friends, 
that they used to say to her and to each other, 
it were pity such an excellent good-natured 
old lady should die ; to which she was wont 
to reply, that whatever pleasure they might 
find in her company just now, they would not 
greatly like to see or converse wiih her after 
death, which nevertheless she was apt to think 
might happen. Accordingly, after her death 
and funeral, she began to appear to various 
lersons by night and by noonday, in her own 
louse, in the town and fields, at sea and upon 
shore. So far had she departed frimi her 
former urbanity, that she is recorded to have 
kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite 
negligence in omitting to hand her over a stile. 



h 



It was also her humour to appear upon the 
quav, and call for a boat. But especially so 
soon as any of her son's ships approached ihc 
hai boiir, " this ghost would appear in the same 
garb and likeness as when she was alive, and, 
standing at the mainmast, would blow with a 
whistle, and though it were never so great a 
calm, yet immediately there would arise a niwst 
dreadful storm, that would break, wreck, and 
drown ship and goods." When she had thus 
prof^eeded until her son had neither credit to 
freight a vessel, nor could have procured men 
to sail in it. she began to attack the persons 
of his fainilv, and actually strangled their only 
child in the cradle. The rest of her story, 
showing how the spectre looked over the 
shoulder of her daughter-in-law while dress- 
ing her hair at a looking-glass, and how Mrs. 
Leakey the younger took courage to address 
her, and how the beldam despatched her to 
an Irish prelate, famous for his crimes and 
misfortunes, to exhort him to repentance, and 
to apprize him that otherwise he would be 
hanged, and how the bishop was satisfied with 
replying, that if he was born to be hansed, he 
should not be drowned; — all these with many 
more particulars, may be found at the end of 
one of John Dunton's publications, called 
Alheiiianism, London, 1710, where the I ale 
is eiisirossed under the title of I'he Apparition 
Evidence. 



Note R. 

Of Erich's cap and Elmo's liy fit.— P. 262. 

"This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time 
was held second to none in the magical art ; 
and he was so familiar with the evil spirits, 
which he exceedingly adored, that which way 
soever he turned his cap, the wind would pre- 
sently blow that way. From I his occasion he 
was called Windy Cap; and many men be- 
lieved that Regnerus, Kins of Denmark, bv the 
conduct of this Ericus, who was his nephew, 
did happily extend his piracy into the most re- 
mote parts of the earth, and conijuered many 
countries and fenced cities by his cunning, anil 
at last was his coadjutor; that by the con.seiit 
of the nobles, he should he chosen Kins of 
Sweden, which continued a long time with 
him very happily, until he died of o)d age."— 
Olaus, ut supra, p. 45. 



Note S. 

77ie Demon Frigate.- 



-P. 262. 



This is an allusicm to a well-known nautical 
superstition concerning a fantastic vessel, 
called by sailors the Flying Dutchman, and 
supposed to be seen about the latitude of the 
Cape of Good Hope. She is disiinsuished 
from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail 
when all others are unable, from stress of 
weather, to show an inch of canvass. The 
cause of her wandering is not altogether cer- 
tain ; but the general account is, that she was 
originally a vessel loaded with great wealth, 
on hoard of which some horrid act of murder 
and piracy had been committed; that the 
plague broke out among the vvicked crew who 



y^ 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



301 



had perfjetraled the crime. ai»d that tliey 
sailed in vain from port to (lorf, offorinji. as the 
price of shelter, the wliole of their ill-gotten 
wealih; that they were exolnded from every 
liariionr, for fear of the contagion whir.h was 
devoiirine them ; and that. ai> a puni.shineiit 
of their crimes, the apparition of the s'np s"ill 
rontiiiues to haunt tliose seas in wlucli ihe 
catastrophe took place, and is considered liy 
llie manners as llie worst of ail possihle 
omens. 

My hite lamented friend. Dr. John Leyden. 
has mtniduced this [jiieiiomeunn into his 
Scents <if liilaucy. impiirin?. with poetical 
iimeiiiiity. the dreadful judgment to the first 
.Slip wliich commenced Ihe slave trade : — 

'• >loul w IS Ihf ship, from Renin*s balmy shore 
Tliul lir^l ih<- \vt t-ht of harterM raplivcs b"re ; 
B 'il ini.iM with lilooil, the sun with shrinking beams 
B' IilIiI tn-r hniiiicliiii; oVr ihe ocean streams; 
But ere the moon her silver horus huti lear'd, 
Ami.: thetrew the speckle-J plague appear'd, 
Kaini and (le>pairint{. on their watery bier, 
To every fncmlly !<hore the sailors steer; 
Rep liM from ; orl to port. Ihei sue in Vi.in. 
AiiJ tra.k with slnw nnsteaily sail the mnin. 



Wl 



ani 



\ 



To si e.ik with wu.derina foam the sea weeds green. 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree, 
Till selfimpellM atnid the waveless sea; 
Whe.e summer breeze> ne'er w. le heard to sing, 
Nor h'Veriug snow -b ids spread the downy wing, 
FixM as a rn< k amid Ihe b(-ni dless i lam. 
The yellow str. am pollutes the slagnanl main. 
Till far through night the funeral Hames aspire, 
As Ihe red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

•' Si ill doom'd by fate on weltering billows roli'd 
Along the deep their restl ss louise to hold, 
81 enting the storm, the shadowy sailrirs guide 
The prow with sail* opposed 10 winil and tide 
The Spei-tre Ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
«>lare« baleful on the shudderna watch at night, 
Uuble.^t of «od and man : — Till time shall end. 
lltt view strange horror to the storm sliali lend." 



Note T. 

By some desert isle or key — P. 262. 

What contributed much to the security of 
the Bncaniers ahotit the Windward Islands. 
was the ffieat iiumher of little islets, called in 
thiit country kfiis. These are small sandy 
pattrhes, a[)f)earms just above the surface of 
the oce;in, covered only with a few bushes 
and weeds, hut somel lines aft'ordms sprmss of 
water, and, in general, much frequented by 
turtle Such little uninhabited spots att'oided 
the |;irales good harbours, either for relilting 
fir for the purpose of ambush : they were oc- 
c.;isionally the hidinn-place of their tre;isure. 
and iilten afforded a shelter to themselves. 
As many of the atrocities which they practised 
on their prisoners were committed in such 
spo's. there are some of these keys winch 
even now have an iiiditferent reputation 
among seamen, and where ihey are with ditli- 
culiy previulet] on to remain ashore at niiiht. 
on :icc(iunt of the visionary terrors incident to 
places which have been thus contaminated. 



Note U. 

Before Ihe gate of Mortham stood —P. 2G3. 

The castle of Mortham. which Lelaiid terms 
Mr. Rokesby's place, in ripa citer, scant a 



quarter of a mile from Greta Bridge, and not 
a quarter of a mile beneath into Tees," is a 
picturesque tower, surrounded by buildings of 
diti'erent ages, now converted into a farm- 
house and "offices. The battlements of the 
tower Itself are singularly elegant, the archi- 
tect having liroken them at regular intervals 
into different heights; while tliose at the cor- 
ners of the tower project into octangular tur- 
rets. They are also frtjm space to space 
covered with stones laid across them, as in 
modern embrasures, the wliole forming an 
uncommon ami beautiful effect. The sur- 
rounding biiikimgs are of a less happy form, 
being pointed into high tind siee[) roofs. .A. 
wall, wii.li embrasures, encloses \.\m'. southern 
front, where a low portal arch affords an entry 
10 what was the castle-court At some dis- 
tance is most happily placed, between the 
stems of two masmticent elms, the monument 
alluded to in the text. It is .said to have been 
brought from the ruins of Kglisioti Priory, and 
from the armoury with which it is richly 
curved, appears to have been a tomb of the 
Fitz-Huahs. 

I'he situation of Mortham is eminently 
beautiful, occupying a high bank, at the bot- 
tom of which tlie Greta winds out of the liark, 
mirrow, and romantic dell, which the text has 
attempted to de.scrihe, and flows onward 
through a more open valley to meet the Tees 
about a quarter of a iiiile from the castle. 
Mortham is surrounded by old trees, hajipily 
anil widely grouped with Mr. Morntt's new 
plantations. 



Note V. 

There di(j. and tovili your precious heap ; 
Aiid bid the dead your treasure keep. — P. 263. 

If time did not permit the Bucaniers to 
lavish away their plunder in their usual de- 
baucheries, they were wont to hide it. wiMi 
many superstitious solemnities, in the desert 
islands and keys which they frequented, and 
where much treasure, who.se lawless owners 
perished without reclaiming it. is still siip- 
piLsed to be concealed. The most cruel of 
mankind are often Ihe most su|>erstitious ; 
and these pirates are said to h ive had recourse 
to a horrid ritual, in order to secure jin un- 
earthly guaiilian to their treasures. They 
killed a Negro or Spaniard, and buried hiiii 
with the treasure, believing that his spirit 
would haunt the spot, and terrify tiway all 
intruders I cannot produce any other au- 
tliority on which this ciisloiii is ascribed to 
them than ihat of maritime tradition, which 
is, however, amply sufficient for the purposes 
of poetry. 



Note W. 



The power 



'i'hnt unsulidiwd and lurkiuQ lies 
To take the felon hy surfmse. 
And force him. as by mayic spell. 
In his despite his uuilt to tell.— P. 2&4 

All who are conversant with the administrr»- 
011 of criminal justice, must reinembei many 



T 



A 



t7^ 

' 302 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



\ 



orcMsions in wliicli nialt^factors appear to have 
coiulucteil tliemselves with a species of itifa- 
tiiafion, either by iTi;ikiiig uiiiieeessary coiili- 
(leiices respecting their %w\\\., or by sudden 
and involuntary allusions to circumstances by 
wliich it could not fail to be exposed. A re- 
iiiJirkMhle instance occurred in the celebrated 
case of Eu«:ene Aram. A skeleton beinsr 
found near Knaresboroush. was supposed, by 
the persons who gathered around tlie spot, to 
he the remains of one Clarke, who had disap- 
peared some years before, under circum- 
stances leudin? to a suspicion of his havin? 
been murdered. One Houseniiin, who li;id 
nnnsled in tlie crowd, suddenly siiid. while 
looking at the skeleton, and lieanns: the 
opinion which was buzzed around, " 'I li;ii is 
no more Dan Clarke's bone than it is mine!" 
— a sentiment expresse(l so positively. .\w\ 
with such peculi;irity ofin inner. ;is to Uad ;ill 
who heard him to infer tli;it he must ntcesMi- 
niy know where the real body had been in- 
terred. Accordingly, being apfireheniled, he 
confessed having assisted Eugene Arum to 
murder Clarke, and to hide his body in Smnt 
Robert's Cave. It iiappened to the author 
liimself, while conversins with a person ac- 
cused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose 
of rendering him professional assiNtance upon 
his trial, to hear the prisoner, after the most 
.solemn and reiterated i)rotes;ations that he 
was guiltless, suddenly, and. as it were, invo- 
luntarily, in the course of his communications, 
m.ike such an admission as was altogether in- 
coin|iatible with innocence. 



Note X. 

Brarkenhury's dismal tower. — P. 265. 

Tins tower hits been already mentioned. It 
l>i sitii:ited near the iiortli-easiern extremity 
of the wall wliich encloses B;irnard I'astle, 
and IS traditionally said to have been the pri- 
son. Hy an odd coincidence, it hears a name 
winch we naturally connect with imprison- 
ment, from its liems that of Sir Kobert Brack- 
enbury. lieutenant of the Tower of London, 
nniier'E<|waid IV. and Richard III. There is. 
nuleed, some reason to conttliide. that the 
tower may actually have derived the name 
from that family, flir Sir Robert Brackenluiry 
himself possessed considerable properly not 
far from Barnard Castle. 



Note Y, 

Cobles mid knidhls. so prmid nf late, 
Mxisl fine for freedom and cslale. 

Riijlit heavy shall his rnusom he. 

Unless that maid compound with thee ! — P. 266. 

After the battle of Marslon Moor, the Earl 
of Newcastle retired beyond sea in disgust, 
and many of his followers laid down their 
arms, and made the best composition they 
conk' with the Committees of Parliament. 
Pines were imposed upon them in [iropfulioii 
to Iheir estates and degrees of delinqueiaty, 



I and these fines were often bestowed upon 
such persons as had deserved well of the 
Commons. In Sf)nie circumstances it hap- 
pened, that the oppressed cavaliers were tain 
to form family alliances with some powerful 
person amonc the triumphant party. The 
whole of Sir Robert Howard's excellent co- 
medy of The Commiltre turns upon the plot of 
Mr and Mrs. Day to enrich their family, by 
compelling Arabella, whose estate was under 
sequestration, to marry their son Abel, as the 
price by which she was to compound wiMi 
Parliament for delinquency; that is, for at- 
tachment to the royal cause. 



Note Z. 

Thfi Indian, prnwlina for his prey. 

Who hears the settlers track his way. — P. 266. 

The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity, 
exerted by the .North American Indians, when 
in pursuit of plunder or vengeance, is the 
most distiiisuished feature in their character ; 
and the activity and address which they dis- 
play in their retreat is equally surprisinsj. 
Adair, whose absurd hypothesis and tiirgul 
style do not allect the ceneral authenticity of 
his anecdotes, has recorded an instance which 
seems iiicreilihle 

'■ V\ hen the Chickasali nation was engaged 
in a former war with the Muskolise. one of 
their young warriors set off asrainst them to 
revenge the blood of a near relation. » • ♦ 
He went through the most unfrequented and 
thick parts of the woods, as such a danaerous 
enterprise reqinred, till he arrived opposite to 
the great and old beloved town of refuse. 
Koosah. which stands high on the eastern 
side of a bold river, about 2.50 yards broad, 
that runs hy the late danserous Albehama- 
Port. down to the lilack poisoning Mobile, and 
so into the Gulf of .Mexico There he con- 
cealed himself under cover of the top of a 
fallen pine-tne. in view of the ford of the o!d 
trading-path, where the enemy now and then 
pass the river in theirliu'ht poplar canoes. All 
his war-store of provisions consisied of three 

'stands of barbicued venison, till he had an 
opportunity to n^venge blood, and return 
home. He waited with watchfulness and pa- 
tience almost three days, when a young man, 

i a woman, and a sirl, [lassed a little wide of 

I him an hour before sunset. The former he 
shot down, tomahawked the other two, and 
scalped each of them in a trice, in full view 
of the tovMi. By way of bravado, he shaked 
the scalps before them, sounding the awful 
death whoop, and set oS" along the traihng- 
pa'h, trusting to his heels, while a great many 
of I he enemy ran to their arms and ^ave chase. 
Seven miles from thence he entered the great 
blue ridee of the Apalahche Mountains. About 
an hour before day he had run over seventy 
miles of that mountainous tract; then, afier 
sleeping two hours in a sitting jiosture, leaning 

i his back against a tree, he set oft" again with 
fresh speed. As he threw away the venison 
when he found himself pursued by the eiiemv. 
he was obliged to support nature with such 
herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp eyes, with 
a running glance, directed him to snatch up 



'^ 



^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



in his course. Th()iia:li I often hnve rode that, 
u a -path alune, wlien delay might liave proved 
d uig rous, and with as tine and strong horses 
as any m Anienca. it took me five d lys to ride 
from the afore-aid Koosah to Ihjs spri:;lilly 
wairior's phire in the Chicitasah country, itie 
distance of 300 Computed miles; yel he ran i'. 
and got home safe and well at about eleven 
3'clock of the third day. which was only one 
day and a half and two nis;hts."— ^ftor's His- 
tory of the American Indians. Loud. 1775, 4to , 
p. 395. 



Note 2 A. 

7/1 RedFsdnfe his youth had heard 

Each nrl hir wily ilaUsmni dured. 

Whin Rixikfn tdiic, ami Redswair hjtjh. 

To bm/le rung and blood-hound's cry. — P. 266. 

"What manner of ra'tie stealers they are 
that inhabit these valleys in the marches of 
both kinifdoms, John Lesley, a Scotche man 
hinistilf, and Bishop of Ros.s] will inform you. 
They sally ouf of their own borders in the 
night, in troops, through unlrequenied by-ways 
and many intncatewmdiniis All the day-time 
they reiresh themselves and their horses in 
Inrkin? holes they had pitched upi-n before, 
till they arrive in the dark in those places they 
have a design upon. As soon as tney have 
Seized upon the bootv. they, in like manner, 
reiiirn home in the niKJit. through blind vvavs, 
and fetclnns many a compass. 'I he more 
skilful any captain is to pass Ihrouiih lh«)se 
w Id deserts, crooked turnings, and deep pre- 
cipices, in the thickest n.ists, his reputation is 
the ffieater. and he is locked upon as a man 
of an e.xcelleni head. And they are so very 
ciiniiinL'. that they .-eldom have I heir bo^.tv 
taken from them, unless sometimes when, by 
the help of blood hounds tollowmg them ex- 
actly upon the tract, they may chance to fall 
into ihe hand of their adveis tries. VVi en be- 
ing taken, they have so much persuasive elo- 
quence, and so many smooth insmuatuii; words 
ai command, thai it ihey do not move their 
judiies. nay. and even their adversaries, (no- 
withstaiuling the severiy of their natures } to 
have mercy, yet they incite them lo adiuirauou 
and comiiassion."— Camden's Britannia. 

The mhaljiiatits of the valieys ot Tyiie and 
Keed were, in ancient tiMies, so inonii.ately 
adiJicted lo ttiese defiredaiions that in ].6i, 
the Incorporated .Merchant-adventurers of 
Newca.stle made a law that none born in 
these districts should be admitted apprentice 
The inhabitants are slated to be so uenerally 
addicted to rapine, that no faith should be re- 
liiised III those proceeding from '" such lewde 
and wicked prosfenitin-s " Tiiis regulation 
Continued to stand unrepealed until 1771 A 
hesgai, in an old play, describes himself as 
"born in Redesdale, in Northumberland, and 
come of a wight-ridinff surname, calietl the 
Kobsons. soo«l honest men and \ratt, savmc/ a 
little shifting for lUf^ir livino. God htlp thnn .'"'— 
a description which would have applied to 
most Bnrderers on both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it 
^ives name, [see Border Mmstrelsy, vol. li p. 
15 J IS on the very edge of llie Carter-lell, 



which divides England from Scotland. The 
Rooken is a place upon Reedwaler. Bertram, 
being descr.bed as a native of these daks, 
where the habits of hostile depredaiion long 
survived the union of the ciovmis. may have 
been. Ill some degree, prepared byeducaiion 
for the e.xercise of a similar trade in the wars 
of the Bucaniers. 



Note 2 B. 

Hiding his face, lest foenun spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. — P. 266. 

After one of the recent battles, in which the 
Irish rebels were defeated, one of their most 
active leaders was found in a bog. in which he 
was immersed up to the shoulders, while his 
head was concealed by an impending ledge of 
turf. Being deiecteil and seized, lu.twiih- 
standing his precaution, he became solii-itous 
to know how his retreat had been discovered. 
'•1 caught," answered the Sutherland High- 
lander, by whom he was taken, "the sparkle 
of your eye." 'I'hose who are accustoiued to 
mark hares upon their form usually discover 
iheni by tlie same circumstance. 



Note 2 C. 

Here stood a wretch prepared to chantjp 
His soul's rtdcmplionjor revenge! — P 2G7. 

It is agreed by all the writers upon ina-'ic 
and witchcraft, that revenge was the most 
common motive for the pretended Compact be- 
tween Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity 
of Reginald Scot has very happily slated how 
such an opmion came lo root ilseif not only la 
the inmds of the public and of the judges, but 
even in that of the poor wretches themselves 
who were accused of sorcery, and were olleu 
firm believers in their own power and their 
own guilt. 

'• One sort of such as are siid to be witches, 
are women which be commonly old, lame, 
hle.ar-eyed. pale, foul, and full of wrinkles; 
poor, sullen, superstitious, or papists, or such 
as know no religion ; in whose drowsie minds 
the devil hath gotten a fine seat; so as what 
mischief mischance, calamity, or slaughter is 
brought to pass, they are easily perswaded the 
same IS done by themselves, imprinriiig m their 
minds an earnest and constant imagination 
tliereof. .... These go from house to 
house, and from door to door, for a pot of milk, 
vest, drink, potinge, or some such relief, with- 
out the which they could hardly live; neither 
obtaining for their service or pains, ikm- yet by 
their art, nor yet at the devil's hands, (wiih 
whom they are said to make a perfect and vi- 
sible bargain.) either beauty, money, promo- 
tion, wealth, pleasure, honour, knowledge, 
learning, or anv other benefit whatsoever. 

"It falleth out many a time, that neither 
their necessities nor their expectation is an- 
swered or served in those places where liiey 



N; 



^ 



V 



z. 



7 



:^ 



804 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



beg or borrow, hut rather tlieir lewdness is by 
their neislibours reproved. And farther, in 
trant of lime the witch waxeth odious and te- 
dious to her nei^lihours, and they asain are 
despised and despited of iier ; so as sometimes 
she cur>eth one, and sometimes another, and 
that from the master of the house, iiis wife, 
children, cattle, &c., to the httie pig that lieih 
in the stic. Thus, in process of time, they 
have all displeased her. and she hatli wished 
evil luck unto them all ; perhaps witli curses 
and Imprecations made in form Doub le-s (at 
length) sKiiie of her neigliboins die or fall sick, 
or some of their children are visited with dis- 
eases that vex them strangely, as apoplexies, 
epilepsies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, ifec. 
wliicli. by ignorant parents, are supposed to be 
llie vengeance of wiiciies .... 

'• 'The witch, on the other side, expectin'r 
I'.er neighbours' nnscliances. and seeing liuiigs 
.*>metinies come to pass accoidiiiic to her 
wishes, curses, and incantations, (for B(Klin 
himself confesses, that not above two in a 
hundred of their witchlngs or wishiiiKS take 
effect,) being called before a justice, by due 
examination of the rircumstaru es, is driven 
to see her imprecations and desires, and her 
neighbours' harms and losses, to concur, and, 
as it were, to take effect; and so coiifesseth 
that she (as a goddess) liath brought such 
things to pass Wherein not only she. hut the 
accuser, and also the justice, are foully de- 
ceived and abused, as being, through her con- 
fession, and other circumstances, perswaded 
(to the injury of God's glory) that she hath 
done, or can do. that which is proper only to 
God himself. ' — Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft. 
Lond, 1655, fol. p. 4, 5. 



Note 2 D. 

Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of CaLverky and Bradford downs. — P. 2(58. 

The troops of the ICing. when they first took 
the lielil. were as well disciplined as could lie 
expected from circumstances. But as the cir- 
cums ances of Charles became less favourable, 
and his funds for regularly [)aymg his forces 
decreased, liabiis of miliiaiy license prevailed 
among them in greater excess. I.acy the 
player, who served his master during the Civil 
War. brought out. after the Kestoratioii, a 
piece called The Old Troop, in which he 
seems to have commemorated some real inci- 
dents winch occurred in his military career. 
'I he names of the officers of the Troop siifii- 
cientlv e«X|iress iheir habits. We have Flea- 
flint Plmidei-Mastcr-General. Ca|.tain Ferrei- 
farm. and yiiaiter-Master Burn-drop The 
officers of the I'roop are in league wilh these 
worthies, and connive at their plundering the 
country for a suitable share in the booty. All 
this was uiRhnibtedly drawn from the life, 
which Lacy liad an opportunity to s'lidy. I'he 
moral of the whole is ccmiprehended in a re- 
buke given to the lieutenant, wliose disorders 
in the country are said to prejudice the King's 
cause more than his courage in the field could 
recompense. The piece is by no means void 
uf furcicul humour. 



\ 



Note 2 E. 

BrignnlVs woods, and ScaroUVs wnvp, 

E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. — V. 268. ■ 

The t)anks of the Greta. belc'W Rutherford 
Bridge, abound in seam> of greyish shre, winch 
are wrought in some places to a very great 
depth under ground, thus forming artificial 
caverns, which, when the seam has been e.v- 
hausied. are gradually hidden by the under- 
wood which grows in profu.sion upon the lo- 
niantic hanks of the river In times of pulilic 
coiirusioii. they might be well adapted to Llie 
purposes ot banditti. 



Note 2 F. 

When Spain waged warfare with our land. 

P. 270. 

There wa.s a short war with Spain in 162.')-6, 
which will he found to agree pretty well with 
the chronology of the poem. But prol)ably 
Bertram held an opinion very common among 
the maritime heroes of the age. thai '■there 
was no peace beyond the Line." Tne Spanish 
guarda-costns were consiairlly emi)loyed m ag- 
gressions upon the trade and settlements of 
the Knglish and French ; and, by tlieir own 
severit.es, gave room for the system of buca- 
niering, at first adopted in self-defence and re- 
taliation, and afterwards persevered in from 
habit and thirst of plunder. 



Note 2 G. 

Our -comrade's strife. — P. 270. 

The laws of the Bucaniers, and their suc- 
cessors the Pirates, however severe and equi- 
table, were, like other laws, ofieii set aside by 
the stronger party. Their quarrels about Ihe 
divis on of the spoil fill their history. ;ind they 
as frequently arose out of mere fri)lic. or the 
i tyrannical humour of their chiefs. An anec- 
j do e of Teach, (called Blackbeaid.) shows that 
I their habitual indltfereni^e for human lile ex- 
tencleii to their companions, as well as tlieir 
enemies and captives. 

•'One night, drinking in his cabin with Hands, 
the pilot, and another man. Blacl» beard, with- 
out any provocation, privately draws out a 
small pair of pistols, and cocks them under 
the table, which, being perceived by the nian, 
he withdrew upon deck, leaving Hands, the 
pilot, and the captain together. When the 
pistols were ready, he blew out the candles, 
and crossing his hands, discharged them at his 
company. Hands, the master, was shot through 
the knee, and lamed for life; the other pistol 
did no execution." — Johnson's History of Pi- 
rates. Lond. 1724, 8vo, vol. i. p. 38. 

Another anecdote of this worthy may bo 
also mentioned. "The hero of whom we are 
writing was thoroughly accomplished this way, 
and some of his frolics of wickedness were so 
extravagant, as if he aimed at making his mtii 
believe he was a devil incarnate; f<>r, being 



y^ 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



one day at sea, and a little fluslied witli diink. 
'Ciinie,' says lie, 'let us make a liell ot' our 
own. and try how long' we can bear it.' Ar- 
ciirdinsly, he. with two or ihree others, went 
down info the lioM, and. olosine: up all the 
hatches, filled several pots lull of briirisione 
and other ronilmsfihle matter, and set it on 
fire, and so conimued till they were almost 
siitibcated, when smne of the men cried out 
for air. At lenstli he opened the hatches, not 
a little pleased that he held out the longest." — 
Ibid, p. 90. 



Note 2 H. 



my ranncrs qo 

Even now to hack a milk-whitt doe. — P. 270. 

"Immediately after supper, the huntsman 
.•should go to his master's ehainher, and if he 
serve a kiiiHr. then let him so to the master of 
the p:ame's chamber, to kiK>w in whai quarter 
he deierinineUi to hunt the day following, that 
he may know his own quarter; that done, he 
may so to bed. to the end that he may rise the 
earlier in the mornins, according to the time 
and season, and accord in? to the place where 
he must hunt : then when he is up and reai' 
let hiin driiike a j^ood draiislit, and fetch 1 
hound, to make him lireako his fast a littl 
and let him not forset to fill his bottel with 
good wine: that done, let him take a littl 
vinegar into the palme of his hand, and put it 
in the naslrils of his hound, for t<i make him 
snurte. to the end his scent maybe the per 

feeler, then let him g;o to the wond 

V\ hen the huntsman perceiveth ihat it is time 
to iiegin to beat, let him i)Ut his hound before 
him, and beat the outsides of springs or 
thickets; and if he find an hart or deer that 
likes him, let him mark well whether it be 
fresh or not, which he ni;(,V know as well by 
the nianer of his hounds drawiiis, as also bv 
the eye When he haih well con- 
sidered what maner of hart it may be, and 
hath marked every thins: to jiidse by. then let 
him draw nil he come to the couert where he 
is Koiie to ; and let him harbour hiin if he can, 
still markiiijLf all his tokens, as well by the 
slot as by fhe eiuries. foyles. or such-like. 
That done, let him piasli or bruse down small 
twigges. some alofi and some below, as the 
art reqtiireth, and therewiiliall. while.st his 
liound IS hole, let him l)e.it llie ouisides, and 
niahe his ring walkes. twice or thrice about 
the wood." — The Noble Art ot Vtturte, or 
Hunting. Li)nd. 1611, 4to, p. 76, 77. 



' It was a" for our righlful king 
Thai wp left r.ir Srotlaml's si rand. 
It was a' for our riL'hiful king 
That we e'er saw Irish laii<l, 
My dear, 
That we e'er saw Irish land. 

can do, 

, adieu ! 




must rross the main 



dear. 



must cro8.s the i 



Song- 



NOTE 2 I, 
■Adieu Jar evermore. — P. 271. 



The last verse of this sons is taken from the 
frasment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I 
only lecoUected two verses when the first 
ed tiou of Kokeby was published. Mr Tlioina.- 
Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an eiitiie 
coiy of this beautiful sons:, which seems to 
express the fortunes of some follower of the 
Stuart family ;— 



" He turn'd him round and right about. 
All on the Irish shore. 
He gave his hridle-reiiis a shake, 
With, Adieu for evermore, 

My dear! 
Adieu for evermore ! 

" The soldier frae the war relurll^^, 
And the mer.hani frae Ihe m..in. 
But I hae parted wi' my lov., 
And ne'er to meet aguin, 

My dear. 
And ne'er to meet again. 

" When day is gone and n ghl is rome. 
And a' are boiin' lo sleep, 
I lliinli on them that's far awa 
The lee lang night, and we. p, 
Mvd.-ar, 
The leelang night, and weep." 



Note 2 K. 

Rere-cross on Stnnmore — P 271. 

This is a fragment of an old cross, with its 
pediment, surrounded by an intrencliMient, 
upon the verv summit of I he waste ridee of 
S anmore. iie ir a small house of eniertain- 
meiu called the Spittal. It is called Kere- 
cro.ss. or Ree-cioss. of which Holmshed gives 
us the followin? explanation : — 

•'At len?th a peace was concluded lietwixi 
the two kings vnder these conditions, that 
Malcolnie should enjov that i^art of N'oithiim- 
berland which lieth betwixt Tweed. Ciimlier- 
land, and Staininore, :ind doo homage to the 
Kinge of England for the .same. In the midst 
of Stainmore there shall be a crosse set up, 
with the Kinge of Enslaiid's iniase on the cue 
side, and the Kinge of .'"cutland's on the other, 
to signifie that one is to mairh to Enu'laiid. and 
ihe other to Scotland. This crosse was called 
the Roi-cross, that is. the crosse of Ihe King." 
—Ilolinsked. Loud. 1803. 40, v. 280. 

Holinshed's sole authority .seems lo have 
been Boethius. But it is not improbable that 
his account may be the true one, aliliougii 
the circumstance does not or-cur in Win'mjus 
Chronicle The situation of the cross and ihe 
pains taken to defend it. seem to intlicae that 
it was intended for a land-mark of inipurance. 



Note 2 L. 

Hast thou lodged our deer 1 — P. 272. 

The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first 
to lodge or harbour the deer ; j e to discuver 
his retreat, as described at length in note. 2 H, 
and then to make his report to Ins prince 
master : — 



26^ 



U 



A 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



• the King I come report to make. 
Then husht and priice for noble Trisliame'a sake . . 
My liege, I went this morning on my quest. 
My hound did stick, and secm'd to vent some beast. 
I held him short, and drawing after him, 
I mieht l)ehold the hart was feeding trim : 
His head was hinh, and large in each degree. 
Well paulmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
Of colour browne, he liearelh eiglil and lenne, 
or stately height, and long he seemed then 
His beam seein'd great, in good proportion led. 
Well barred and round, well pearled neare his head. 
He seemed fayre tweene blaeke and herrie brouude; 
He seemes well fed by all the signes I found. 
For when I had well marked him with eye, 
1 slept aside, to walch whire he would lye. 
And when I had so way ted full an houre, 
That he might be al layre an<l in his boure, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure ; 
My hound by sent did me thereof as.sure . . . 
" Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
I say the slot or view was long on ground ; 
The toes were great, the joynt bones round and -hort. 
The sbinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port ; 
Short ioynled was he, hollow-footed eke. 
An hart to hunt as any man c an seeke " 

The AH uf Yenerii, ul supra, p 97. 



Note 2 M. 

Wfifn Denmnrk's rnvrn sonr'il on htoh, 
Tiiuviphayit throuijh Nnrihumbnnn sky. 
Till. luweriiiQ iiivn. her fnlnl croak 
Bnile Regcd's Britons dread the yoke. — P. 



Abi)Ut. the year of God 866. tiie Dnnes. 
under their celehrated leaders IriKiiar (more 
{iroperly Aatiar) and Hiililia. sons, it i.s said, of 
the still more celehrated Re°:nar l.odhros. in- 
vaded Norlhiimlierland, hnnsing: with them 
the magical standard, so often mentioned in 
poetry, called Reafni, or Ruinfan, from its 
bearins I he figure of a raven : — 



Wrought bv the sisters 


of the Danish king, 


Of furious Ivar in a m 


dnight hour: 


While the sick moon. 


t the r enchanted song 


Wrapt in pat- tempesl 


labour'd through the clouds. 


The demons of deslru. 


l.on then, they sav. 


Were all abioad, and n 


ixing with the woof 


Their biileful power : The sisteis ever sung. 


' Shake, standard, shak 


c this ruin on our foes.'" 




Thomsun and Mallei's Alfre 



\ 



The Danes renewed and extended fheir in- 
cursions, and began to colonize, estahlisliing a 
kind of capital at York, from which they 
spread their conquests and incursions in every 
direction. Staiiinore. which diviile.s the moun- 
tains of Westmoreland and CumlierhiiK]. was 
prol)al)ly the boundary of the Danish kmsdoni 
in that direction. The district to the west, 
known in ancient British history by I he name 
of Reged, had never been conquered by the 
Saxons, and continued to maintain a precarious 
independence until it was ceded to Malcolm, 
Kinir of Scots, by William the Conqueror, 
probably on account of its similarity in lan- 
guage and manners to the neighbouring British 
kinsfdom of Strath-Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danish 
sovereignty in Northuinberl.iiul, the curious 
may consult the various authorities quoted in 
the Gista el Vestiijia Dnnorum extra Dajiiarn, 
torn. ii. p. 40. The most powerful of their 
Ndrthunibritin leaders seems to have been 
Ivat, called, from the exent of his conquests. 
Widjam, that is, 'ike Slndtr 



Note 2N 

Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Vix'd on each vale a Runic name. — P. 272. 

The heathen Danes have left several traces 
of their religion in the upper part of Teesdale. 
Balder-garth, which derives its name from the 
unfortunate son of Odm. is a tract of waste 
land on the verv ridge of Slanmore : and a 
brook, which fdls into the Tees near Barnard 
Castle, is named after the same deity A field 
upon the banks of the Tees is alsf) termed 
Woden-Crofr. from the supreme deiiv of the 
l-^lda. Tliorsgill, of which a descri|)tion is 
attempted in stanza ii.. is a beautiful litUe 
brook and dell, running up behind the rums 
of Eglislon Abbey Thor was the Hercules 
of the .Scandinavian mythology, a dreadful 
giant-queller. and in tlia't capacity the cham- 
pion of the gods, anil the defender of A.sgard, 
the northern Oiyinpiis. ng^aiiisf the frequent 
attacks of the inhalntaiits of .lf)tunheni. There 
IS an old poem in the Edda of Soimund. called 
the Son? of Thiym. which turns upon the less 
and recovery of the Mace, or Hammer, which 
was Thor's principal weapon, and on which 
much of his power seems to have depended. 
It may be read to great advantage in a ver.-ion 
equally spiried and literal, among the Miscel- 
laneous Translations and Poems of the Hon- 
ourable William Herbert. 



Note 2 0. 

Wht has not heard how brave O'Neafe 

In English blood imbrued his steel .?— P 273. 

The O'Neale here meant, for mm'e than one 
succeeded to the cliieftainship during the 
reign of Elizabeth, was Hush, the grtiiidscm 
of ("on O'Neale, called Con Bacco. or the 
Lame. His father. Matthew O'Kelly. was ille- 
gitimate, and. beiiiK the son of a blacksmiih"s 
wife, was usually called Matthew the Bl;ick- 
sniith. His father, nevertheless, destined his 
succession to him; and he was created, by 
Elizabeth, Baron of Dungannon Upon the 
death of Con Bacco, this Maithew was slain 
by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the 
stime fate, and was protected by the English. 
Shiine O'Neale. his uncle, called Shane Dyinas. 
was succeeded by Turloiigh I.ynogh O'Neale; 
after whose death Hugh, having assumed the 
chieftainship, became nearly as formidable to 
the English as any by whom it h;id been pos- 
sessed He rebelled repeatedly, and as often 
made submissions, of which it Was usually a 
condition that he should not any longer 
assume the title of O'Neale ; in lieu of which 
he was created Earl of Tyrone. But this 
condition he never observed longer than until 
the pressure of superior force was withdrawn. 
His baffling the gallant Earl of Essex in the 
field, and overreaching him in a treaty, was 
the induction to that nobleman's trage ly. 
Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugai.ng 
O'Neale; but'it was not till the succession of 
James, to whom he made personal submi.ssion, 
and was received with civility at court. Yet, 
according to Morrison, "no respect to iiim 
could containe many women in those parl>-, 



^ 



T 



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APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



Sn7 



^ 



who had IdSt hushaiRles an(1 children iti the 
Irish wjirres, fnmi fiiiisjmsdurt and stones at 
the earle as he passed, and from reuiiiiis him 
with hitler words; yea, when the earle had 
been at court, and I here ohtairnn? his inujesti's 
direction for his pardon and [lerforniance of 
all coiulilKiiis [inmiisHd him tty the Lord 
Mimnljoy, was about September to rei urne, he 
durst not pass by ttiose parts without direc- 
tion to the shiriffes, to convey him wiih troops 
of horse from place to place, till lie was salely 
inihiirUed and put to sea for lieluiiU." — 
iLlueruiy. p. 296. 



Note 2 P. 

But rhirf nrnsc his victor pride. 
When thai brave Marshal Jouyht and died. 
V. 273. 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained 
over the Knelish was in a battle fouy:ht near 
Black water, while he besieged a fort garrisoned 
by the English, vvhicii commanded the passes 
into his Country. 

'• This capiain and his few warders did with 
no less courage suffer hunger, and, having 
eaten the few horses they had, lived vpon 
liearbes growing in the ditches and wals. suf- 
fering all extremities, till the lord-lieutenant, 
ill the moneth (»f August, sent Sir Henry Bag- 
nal, niarshall of Ireland, with the most choice 
companies of foot and horse-troopes of the 
English army to victual this fort, and to raise 
the rebels siege. When the English entered 
the place and ihicke woods beyond Armagh, 
on the east side, Tyrone (with all the rebels 
assembled to him) pricked forward with rage, 
enuy, and settled rancour against the mar- 
shall, assayled the English, and turning his 
full force again.st the marshall's person, had 
the successe to kill him, valiantly fighting 
among the thickest of the rebels. Whereupon 
the English being dismayed with his death. 
the rebels obtained a great victory against 
them. I lerme it great, since the English, 
from their first arriual in that kingdome, neuer 
had received so great an ouerlhiow as this, 
commonly called the Defeat of Blackewater ; 
thirteene valiant captames and loOO common 
souldiers (whereof many were of the old com- 
panies which had serued in Brittany viider 
General Norreys) were slam in the fiehl Tlie 
yielding of the fort of Blacuewaier followed 
tins disaster, when the assaulted guard saw 
no hope of relief; but especially vpon itles- 
sagessent to Capiain VS'iUiamsfrom our broken 
forces, retired to Armagli, professing that all 
their safety depended vpon his yielding the 
fort into the hands of Tyrone, without which 
danger Captaine Williams professed that no 
want or miserie should have mduc.eil him 
thereunto." — Fynes Mori/son's Itinerary. Lon- 
don. 1617, fol part n. p. 24. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a per- 
sonal animosity against the knighi-maishal. 
Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he accused of de- 
taining the lettei-s wliich he sent to Queen 
Elizabeth, explanatory of his conduct, and 
i>fferi- c teru>s of submission. The river, called 
by the ]Jnglish, Black water, is teiined in Irish, 



Avon-Duff, which has the same signification. 
Both names are mentioned by Spenser m his 
"Marriage of the Thames and the Medway " 
But I understand that his verses relate not lo 
the Blackwater of Ulster, but to a river of the 
same name in the south of Ireland : — 



Note 2 Q. 

The Tanisl he to great O'Ncale.—P. 273. 

"Euilox. What is that which you call Taiiist 
and Tanistry .' These be names and terms 
never heard of nor known to us. 

"Imi. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, 
that presently after the death of one of their 
chiefe lords or caiitaines, they doe presently 
assemble themselves to a place generally ap- 
pointed and knowiie unto them, to choose an- 
other in his stead, where they do nominate 
and elect, for the most part not the eldest 
Sonne, nor any of the children of the lord de- 
ceased, but the next to him in blood, that is, 
the eldest and worthiest, !us commonly the 
next brother unto him, if he have any, or the 
next cousin, or so forth, iis any is elder in that 
kindred or sept ; and then next to them doe 
they choose the next of the blood to be Tanist, 
who sliall next succeed him in the said cap- 
tainry, if he live thereunto. 

"Eudox. Do they not use any ceremony in 
this election, for all barbarous nations are 
commonly great observers of ceremonies and 
supersti'jous rites ? 

••Ire7i. They use to place him that shall be 
their captaine upon a stone, always reserved 
to that purpose, and placed commonly upon a 
hill In some of which I have seen formed 
and engraven a foot, which they say was the 
measureof their first captaine's foot ; whereon 
hee standing, receives an oath to preserve all 
the ancient former customes of the countrey 
inviolable, and to deliver up the succession 
peaceably to his Tanist, and then hath a wand 
delivered unto him by some whose proper 
office that is; after which, descending from 
the stone, he turneth himself round, lluice 
forwards and thrice backwards. 

"Eudvx. But how is the Tanist chosen ? 

*'lren. They say he setteth but one foot 
upon the stone, and receiveth the like oath 
that the captaine did " — Spenser's View of the 
State of Irebind, apud Works, Lond. 180.'), 8vo. 
vol viii. p. 306. 

The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the 
heir-apparent of his power. This kind of suc- 
cession appears also to have regulated, in very 
remote times, the succession to the crown of 
Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if 
not impossible, to have asserted a minor s 
right of succession in those stormy days, when 
tne principles of policy were summed up lu 
my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines : — 

"the good old rule 

Sufflceth ttiem : the simple plan, 
Thai Ihey shoold take wt. > have the power. 

And they should keep who cau." 



T 



A 



7 



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308 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



Note 2 R. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread, ^-c.—P. 273. 



I marvailde in my mynde. 




and Iliereupoii did muse, 




To see a bri.le of heavenlie hewa 




an ouElie fere to chuse. 




This bride if is the soile. 




the bridegroome is the karne. 




Wilh writhed gtibbes. lilie wicked 


spirits, 


wilh visage rou^h and stcarne; 




With wulles upon their poalles, 





1 concii to sleep in. Tlierem he vvntiipeili Imii- 
self round, and couclietli liirnself slioiiu'ly 
I against the gnats, which, m that country, doe 
mure annoy the naked rebels while they keep 
ff 1 o..,.ih^ fi,o the woods, and doe more sliarply wound tlieni, 
5 here an attempt to descnhe the ^^ ^ . enemies swords or speares 

ancient rish dress, of which a poet of Queen ■ ^,^^^,^ ^_^^^ ^^,j,,^,, ^..„^,g „,^,l, ,,^^,„ . y^,,, „„,. 
Ehziheth's day has given us the wlwwnig , ^^^1^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ mantle serveth them when 
particulars : — | ii,ey are neere driven, being wrapped about 

their left arme, instead of a target, for it is 
hard to cut thorough with a sword ; besides, it 
is hght to beare, light to throw away, and be- 
ing (as they commonly are) naked, it is tn 
them all in all. Lastly, for a ihiefe it is so 
handsome as it mav seem it was first invented 
for him ; for under it he may cleanly convey 
any fit pillage that cometh handsomely in Ins 
wav, and when he goeth abroad in the night 
in freebooting, it is his best and surest friend 
for lying, as they often do, two or three nigliis 
together abroad to watch for tlieir booty, with 
tliat they can (.rettily shroud themselves un- 
der a bush or bankside till they may conve- 
niently do their errand : and when all is over, 
he can in his mantle passe through any town 
or company, being close hooded over his head, 
as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom 
he is indangered. Besides this, he or any man 
els that is disposed to inisi-hief or villany.niay. 
uniler his mantle, goe privily armed without 
suspiCKm of any, carry his head-i)iece. his 
skeaii, or pistol, if he please, to be always in 
re-Miiwuiis/'— Spenser's View oj the Stale of Ire- 
land. a()ud Works, ut supra, viii. o67. 

Ihe javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which 
they threw with great dexterity, appear. Iroin 
one of the prints already mentioneil. to have 
been about four feet long, with a strong steel 
head and thick knotted shaft. 



instead of civill cappes; 
With speares in hand, and swordes besydes, 

to beare off after chippes ; 
With ja-ikeiles long and 1 irge, 

which shroud simplicite, 
Though spilfuU darts which they do beare 

imporle iniqu.lie. 
Their hiiirtes be very strange, 

nol reaehing past the Ihie; 
With pleates on plentes thei pleated are 

as thick as pleales may lye. 
Whose sleaves hang trailing doune 

almost unto the shoe; 
And with a mantell commonlie 

Ihe Irish karne do goe. 
Now some amongst the reste 

do use another weede ; 
A roate I int^ane, of strange devise, 

which fancy lirst did breade. 
His skirts be very shortc, 

wilh pleates set thick about, 
And Irish trouzes moe to put 

their strange prot.ictours < 

Derrick's ImnKe of Irelanl, 
Ediu. l«l)9, 4to , vol 



Somers' Tracts 



Some curious wooden engravings accom- 
pany this poem, fioiii uhicli it would seem 
that the ancient Irish dress was (the bonnet 
ext^epted) very similar to that ot the Scottish 
Highlanders. The want of a covering on the 
head was supplied by the mode ot [ilaiting 
and arranging the hair, which was called the 
ylibbe. 'i'liese glibbes, according to Spenser, 
were fit marks for a thief, since, when he 
wished to ilisgui-^H hanself. he could either cut 
it olf eiitueiy, or so puil it over his eyes as to 
render it very hard to recosidze him. 'I'liis, 
jver, IS nothing to the reprobation with 



Note 2 S. 

With mid. majestic port and tone. 

Like envoy nj some barbarous throne.—?. 273. 

The Irish chiefs, in their inlercoiirse with 
the h:nglish, and with each o!her. were wont 



:;::;^I Uie saule poet-regard^^thar .a;t.u^;e , to ttssim.e the l-'f-'^^ -'t.^^^^lTe^.jS^ 
.art of the Irish dress, the mantle. _ , ! l'e"J^"i.';ey:: ^y-..^ "^,^? J^^in n ^c ,^ 



■ It IS a fit house fiu- an on law, a meet bed su 
for a rebel, and an apt cloke for a thief tai 
First, the ouiliw being for his many crimes 
and villanyes Imiiished from the townes and 
houses ot honest men. and wandring in waste 
places far from danger of law, makel 
iiiant 



and under it covereth hiin- 



rone to a neighbouring ch 

^„ Inch runs ill the following term> : — 

••6'NealeC(.mineiidethhim unto you, Morish 

Fiiz-Thomas; O'Neale requesteth you, in 

God's name, to lake part with hiin, and fight 

for your conscience and right; and 

O'Neale ' 



in so do- 
ll spend to'see'you riglited 



a> 



the wrath of heaven, f.oi.i the » ""V^'^r •''«'''r**,\'?''^,^;'L''*'*';yV'V ..,'^1'?, ''^.{"^ 
olteiice of Ihe earth, and irom ihe sight of men. come not at U'Neale betwixt this and to-moi- 
VV i^it ram^^^^^^^ '■'ir^'*^'-^^'^^"['l'^'i'"•l^"::"f'?:nSS 

bloweth it is Ins tent; when it freezeth, it is O'Neale is not behoWing to you, and will tloe 

his taleiacle In summer he can uear it to the uttermost "f /''^,P"::;*'.r " ''-|- '^^ 

loose, in winter he can wrap it close ; at all you.if you come not to him «Vl"J nm, • v„e m 

times' he can use it: never heavy, never rum- tuiday at iiooiie ^"-"i"' .^' ^''^^'Ig^J^ '" 

bersome Likewise for a rebel it is as service- Calrie. the fouri h of tebi uaiy, Ijyy. 

able! T;r in his wane that he maketli, (if at -O'Neale requesteth you to t..me speaKe 

least It deserve the name of wane.) when he wi;li him, and doth giue you his 

Slid rtveth from his foe. and lurkeih in the shall rei^eive no harme neithei 

U.icke woods and straile passages, waiting for nor going from him. whether you be tiiei.d 

vantages, it is his bed. yea and almost Ins 
liousehoid siulf. For the wood is his hou.se 
against all weathers, and his man le is his 



rd thai 
1 com 



not, and bring with you loO'iNeale Oeiat Hiz- 
'erald. _,-, „ 

(Subscribed) '•ONEALfc;. ' 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



309 



N >r did the royalty of 0'Ne;tle consist in 
wor Is idone. Sir John Harriuutoii paid him ii 
visit at th« time of Ins iriire with Essex, and, 
lifter iiientionmsr his "fern lalilo. and fern 
forms, spread under tiit- st.Ttely canopy of 
heaven."' he notices what constitutes the real 
power of every monarch, the love, namely, 
an.l allegiance of his subjects. " His guards, 
for I lie most part, were beardless boys without 
shirts; who in the frost w;tde as familiarly 
throiish rivers as water-spaniels With what 
cli irm such a master makes them love him, I 
know not ; but if he bid come, tliey come ; if 
po they do go ; if he sav do this, they do it."— 
'NiujOR Anliqvuz. Loud. 1784, 8vo., vol. i. p. 251. 



Note 2 T. 

His fnster-fnlher was his guide. — P. 274, 

There was no tie more sacred anion? the 
Irish than that which connected the foster- 
father, as well as the nurse heiself, with the 
cliild they brought up. 

•' Foster-fathers spend much more time, 
money, and affection on their foster-cliildren 
than their own; and in return take from them 
clothes, money for their several jirofessions, 
and arms. and. even for any vicious purposes, 
fortunes and cattle, not so much by a claim of 
right as by extortion ; and they will even carry 
those things off as plunder. All who have 
been nursed by the same person preserve a 
greater mutual affection and cimfidence in 
each other than if they were natural brothers, 
whom they will even hate for the sake of 
these. When chid by their parents, they fly 
to their foster-fathers', who frequently encou- 
rage them to make open war on their parents, 
train them up to every excess of wickedness, 
and make them most abandoned miscreants ; 
as. on the other hand, the nurses make the 
young women, whom they bring up for every 
excess. If a foster-f;hild is sick, it is incredible 
how .soon the nurses hear of it, however dis- 
tant, and with what solicilude they attend it 
by dav and night." — Giraldus Cambrensis, 
quoted by Camden, iv. 368. 

This custom, like many other Irish usages, 
prevailed till of late in the Scottish Highlands, 
and was cherislied by the chiefs as an easy 
mode of extending their iiilluence and con- 
nexion ; and even in the Lowlands, during the 
last century, the connexion between the nurse 
and foster-child was seldom dissolved but by 
the death of one party. 



Note 2 U. 

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine.—?. 274. 

Neal Xaighvallach.orOf the Nine Ho.stages, 
is said to have been Monarch of all Ireland, 
diirin? the end of the fourth or beginning of 
the fifth century. He exercised a jiredatory 
warfare on the coast of England and of Bre- 
tagne, or Armorica ; and from the latter coun- 
try brought off the celebrated Saint Patrick, a 
youth of sixteen, among other captives, whom 
he transjwrted to Ireland. Neal derived his 



epitiiet from nine nations,--<ir tribes, whom he 
held under his subjection, and from whom he 
took hostages. From one of Neal's sons were 
derived the Klnel-eoguin, or Race of lyrone. 
whifh afforded monarclis b;)th to Ireland and 
to Ulster. Neal (according to O'Flaherty's 
Osjysia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, in 
otie of his descents on the coast of Bretagne. 



Note 2 V. 

Shone-Di/mns wild. — P. 274, 

This Shane-Dynias, or John the Wnntnn. 

held the title anil power of U'Neale ifi the 

earlier part of Elizatieth's reign, against vviiom 

he rebelled repeatedly. 

"This chieftain is handed down to us as the 
most proud and profligate man on earth. He 
was immoderately addicted to women and 
wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of wine 
at once in his cellar at Dandram, but usque- 
baugh was his favourite liquor. He spared 
neither ase nor conditii)n of the fair sex. 
Aliho' so illiterate that he could not write, he 
was not destitute of address, his understand- 
ing was strong, and his courage daring. He 
had 600 men for his guard; 4000 foot, 1000 
horse for the field. He claimed superiority 
over all the lords of Uister, and called him- 
self king thereof. When commissioners were 
sent to treat with him. he .said. ' That, tho' (he 
Queen were his sovereign lady, he never made 
peace with her but at her Indgiruj ; that she 
had made a wise Earl of Macartymore, but 
that he kept as good a man as he; that he 
cared not for so mean a title as Earl ; that his 
blood and power were better than the best ; 
that his ancestors were Kings of Ulster; and 
that he would give place to none ' His kins- 
man, the Earl of Kildare. having persuaded 
him of the folly of contending with the ciowu 
of England, he resolved to attend the Queen, 
but in a style suited to his princely dignity. 
He appeared in London with a magnificent 
train of Irish Galloglasses, arrayed in the 
richest habiliments of their country, their 
heads bare, their hair flowing on their shoul- 
ders, with their long and open sleeves dyed 
with saffron. Thus dressed, and surcharged, 
with military harness, and armed with ba'tle- 
axes, they afforded an astonishing spectacle to 
the citizens, who regarded them as the in- 
truders of some very distant part of the globe. 
But at Court his versatility now prevailed ; 
his title to the sovereignty of Tyrone was 
pleaded from English laws and Irish institu- 
tions, and his allegations were so specious, 
that the Queen dismissed him with presents 
and assurances of favour. In England this 
transaction was looked on as the humiliation 
of a repenting rebel : in Tyrone it was con- 
sidered as a treaty of peace between two po- 
tentates." — Camden's Britannia, by Gough. 
Lond. 1806. fol. vol. iv p. 442. 

When reduced to extremity by the English, 
and forsaken by his allies, this Shane- Dymas 
fled to Clandeboy. then occupied by a colony 
of Scottish Highlanders of the family of Mac- 
Doiiell. He was at first courteously received ; 
but by degrees they began to quarrel about 
the slaughter of some of their friends whom 
Shane- Dymas had put to death, and advancing 



"T 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 






from wonls to fleeils. fell upon hirn with their 
briiiidswords, and out him to pieces. After his 
'iHiith a hiw was made that none should pre- 
sume to take the natne and title of O'lNeale. 



Note 2 W. 

Geraldine—T. 274. 

The O'Neales were closely allied with this 
powerful and warlike family; for Henry Owen 
O'Neale married the danshter of Thomas 
Earl of Kildare. and their son Con- Move mar- 
ried his cousm-german. a daughter of Gerald 
Karl of Kildare. This Con-More cursed any 
of his posterity who should learn the En8;lish 
laiifjuage, sow corn, or build houses, so as to 
invite the Enslish to settle in their country. 
Others ascribe this anatliema to his son Con- 
Bmcco. Fearflatha O'Gnive. hard to the 
O'Neales of Claniiaboy, complains in tlie 
same spirit of the towers and ramparts with 
which the strangers had disfiuvred the fair 
sporting: fields of Erin.— See Walker's Irish 
Bards, p. 140. 



Note 2 X. 

He chose that hoiwur'dflag to bear. — P. 275 
Lacy informs us. in the old play already 
quoted, how the cavalry raised by ilie country 
gentlemen for Charles's service were usually 
officered. '• You, cornet, have a name that's 
proper for all cornets to be called by. for they 
are all beardless boys in our army. The most 
part of our horse were rai.>^ed thus: — The 
honest country g;entlemaii raises the troop at 
his own charge; then he gets a Low-coMiiiry 
lieutenant to fight his troop safely; then he 
sends for his son from school to he Ins cornet : 
and then he puts off Ins child's coat to put on 
a hurt-coat : and this is the constitution of our 
army." 



Note 2 Y. 

hispaQr, the tiext deoree 

In that old time to chivalry —P. 275. 
Originally, the order of chivalry embraced 
three ranks:— 1. The Page; 2 The Squire; 3. 
The Knight; — a gradation which seems to 
have been imitated in the mystery of free- 
masonry. But, before the reisn of Charles I , 
the custom of serving as a squire had fallen 
into disuse, though the order of the page was 
still, to a certain degree, in observance. This 
state of servitude was so far from inferring 
any thing degrading, that it was considered as 
the regular school for acquiring every quality 
necessary for future distinction. Tne proper 
nature, and the decay of the institution, are 
pointed out by old Ben Jonson. with his own 
forcible morarcolouring. The dialogue occurs 
between Lovell. ''a compleat gentleman, a 
soldier, and a scholar, known to have been 
pase to the old Lord Beaufort, and so to have 
followed him in the French wars, after com- 
panion of his studies, and left guardian to his 
son." and the facetious Goodstock, ho.'^t of the 
Light Heart. Lovell had offered to lake Good- 



stock's son for his page, which the latter, in 
reference to the recent abuso of the esiahlish- 

lent, declares as "a de.speraie course of 

fe :"— 

" Lovell. Call you that desperate, which by 

a line 
Of institution, from our ance.slors 
Hath been derived down to us. and received 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, 
Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, 
And all the blazon <>f a gentleman ? 
Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence. 
To move his body gracefiillv ; to speak 
His laiiffiiage purer; or to tune his miml. 
Or manners, more to the harmony of nature, 
Than in the nur.series of nobility ? 
'•Host. Ay. that was when the nunnery's 

self was noble. 
And only virtue made it. not the market, 
That titles were not vented at the drum. 
Or common outcry. Goodness gave the great- 
ness. 
And greatness worship : every house became 
An academy of honour ; and those parts 
We see departed, in the practice, now, 
Quite from the institution. 

'• Lovell. Why do you say so? 
Or thmk so enviously 1 Do they not still 
Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of 

Thrace. 
To ride ? or. Pollux' mystery, to fence? 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and 

spring 
In armour, to be active in the wars? 
To study figures, numbers, and proportions, 
.May yield them great in coun,»iels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised ? 
To make their English sweet upon their 

tongue. 
As reverend Chaucer savs? 
•'Host. Sir. you mistake; 
To play Sir Pandarus. mv copy hath it. 
And carry messases to Madame Cressida; 
Instead of backing the brave steed o' mornings. 
To court the chambermaid ; and f(n- a leap 
O' the van! ling horse, to ply the vaulting house : 
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice. 
Or two or three packs of cards to show the 

cheat. 
And nimbleness of hand ; mistake a cloak 
Upon my lord's hack, and pawn it; ease his 

pocket 
Of a superfluous watch ; or geld a jewel 
Of an odd stone or so ; twinge two or tl ree 

buttons 
From off my lady's gown : These are the arts 
Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
Of pagery, or rather pasanlsm. 
As the tides run; to which if he apply him. 
He mr,y perhaps take a degree at Tyburn 
A year the earlier: come to take a lecture 
Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Watering's, 
And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle !" 
Ben Jonson' s New hm. Act L Scene III. 



Note 2 Z. 

Seem'd half abandon d to decay — P. 278. 

The ancient castle of Rokebv stood exactly 

upon the site of the present mansion, by which 



y 



z 



7" 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



31 



a pjirl of its walls is eticlosed. It is sur- 
rounded hy a profusion of fine wood, and the 
park in which it, stands is adorned by the 
junction of the Greta and of the 1'ees. The 
title of Baron Hokehy of Armasrh was, in 
1777, conferred on the Right Reverend Kichaid 
Koliinson, Primate of Ireland, descended of 
the Robinsons, formerly of Kokeby, iii York- 
shire. 



Note 3 A. 

Rnkpfn/'s lonls of martini, fame, 

I can count them name by name. — P. 280. 

The followin-^ brief pedisree of this very 
Miicient and once powerful faniil)', was kindlv 
sMp|)lied to the author by Mr' Rokehy of 
Niirthimptoiisliire. descended of the ancient 
Barons of Rokeby :— 

" Pedigrff of llv House of Rokeby. 

1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. married to Sir 

Hump. Liftle's"' daughter. 

2. Ralph Rokeby. Esq. to The. Lumley's 

daughter. 

3. Sir 1 ho. Rokeby, Knt. to Tho. Hubborn's 

daughter. 

4. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Biggofs 

daughter. 

5. Sir Thos. Rokebv, Knt. to Sir John de 

Melsass' daughter of Bennet-Hall, in 
Holderness. 

6. Ralph Rokeby, E.sq. to Sir Brian Stapleton's 

daughter of Weighill. 

7. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. t-o Sir Ralph Dry's 

daughter ^ ' 

8. Ralph Rokeby, E.sq to daughter of Mans- 

field, heir of Morton. 3 

9. SirTho. Rokeby, Knt. loStroode's daughter 

and heir. 

10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir James 

Strangwaves'ilaughter. 

11. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John Ho- 

tliani's daughter. 
12 Ralph Rokehy. Esq. to Danhy of Yafforth's 
daughter and heir.* 

13. Tho. Rukebv, Ksq. to Rob. Constable's 

daughter of Cliif. serjt. at law. 

14. Christopher Rokebv. Esq to Lasscells of 

Brackenburgh's daughter.5 

15. Thos. Rokeby. Esq. to the daughter of 

Thweiig. 
16 Sir Thonius Rokebv, Knt. to Sir Ralph 
Lavvson's daughter of Brongh. 

17. Fraiis. Rokeby. E.sq to Faucelt's daughter. 

citizen ol' Lonilon. 

18. Thos Roket.v. E.s(|. to the daughter of 

VVicklilfe of Gales. 

Hijh Sheriffs of Yorkshire. 

1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph Hastings and Thos. de 
Rokeby. 

1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro sept. [ 
annis. i 

1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rokeby. Justici- 
ary of Ireland for six years; ! 
died at the castle of Kilki. ' 



1407. 8 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokehy Miles, defeated 
and slew the Duke of .Nor- 
th umberland at the battle 
of Biamhani Moor. 
1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokebv -Miles. 

1486 Thomas Rokebv. E.sq. 

1539 Robert Holgate, Bish of Lan- 

daif, afterwards P. of York, 
Ld. President of the Council 
for the Preservation of 
Peace in the ?vorth 
1564. 6 Eliz. Thomas Younge. Archbishop 
of Vorke, Ld. President. 
30 Hen. 8. Tho. Rokeby, LL.D. one of 
the Council. 
Jn Rokeby, LL.D. one of the 
Council. 
1572. 15 Eliz. Henry Hastings, Earl of 
Huntingdon. I.d. President.. 
Jo Rokeby, Esq. one of tlie 

Council. 
Jo. Rokeby. LL.D ditto. 
Ralph Rokehy, Esq. one of 
the Secretaries. 
1574. 17 Eliz. Jo Rokebv. Precentor of 
York. ■ 
7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby. Knt. one of 
the Justices of the King's 
Bench. 
The family of De Rokeby came over with 
the Conqueror. 

The old motto belonging to the family is In 
Bivio Dexl.ra. 

The arms, argent, chevron sable, between 
three rooks proper 

There is somewhat more to be found in our 
family in the Scoiiish history about the affairs 
of Dun-Bretton town, bur what it is, and in 
what time. I know not, nor can have conve- 
nient leisure to search. But Par-son Blnck- 
wood. the Scottish chaplain to the Lord of 
Shrewsbury, recited to me once a piei-e of a 
Scottish song, wherein was mentioned, that 
V\'illiam Wall is, the great deliverer of the 
Sco's from the English bondage, should, at 
Dun-Bretton, have been brought up under a 
Rokebv, captain then of the place; and as he 
walked on a cliff, should thrust him on a 
sudden into the sea, and thereby have gotten 
that hold, which. I think, was about the 33d 
of Edw. I. (u- bef(>re. Thus, leaving our an- 
cestors of record, we must also with them leave 
the Chronicle of .Malmesbury Abl)ey. called I :u- 
logiuni Hisioriarum, out of wliich .Mr. Lelaiid 
reporteth Ibis history, and coppy down un- 
written story, the which have yet the testimony 
of later times, and the fresh memory of meii 
yet alive, for their warrant and creditt. of 
whom I have learned it. that in K. Henry the 
7ili's reigii. one Ralph Rokeby. Esq. was owner 
of Morton, and I guess that this was he that 
deceived the fryars of Richmond wiih his 
felon swine, on which a jargon was made " 

The above is a quotation from a maniiscrifit 
written by Ralph Rokeby; when he lived is 
uncertain. 

To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson 
Blackwood alluded, it would be now in vmn 
to enquire. But m Blind Harry's Hisinrv of 



^: 



^ 



Lisle. -i Temp. Edw. 2<Ii. 3 Temp. KaIw. 3lii. | 5 From him J? Ilie house of Holha 
IVmp Heiir 7mi, auU from hiin ie the house of Skyers, brother Ihat had iseue. 
fourth brother. i 



, and of Iht Bt< 



A 



-7 



N. 



312 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Sir VV'illiiitn Wallane, we find a legentl of i>ne 
Kiikliie. whom lie niiikes keeper of Stirlins: 
Castle ntitler the Enalisli usurpation, and 
whom Wallace slays with his own hand : — 

" In the grent press Wallnrt ami Rukbie met, 
With his noml sword h stroke upon him set i 
Derfly lo death the old Riikbie he draVe, 
Bui liis two sons escaped among the lave." 

These sons, arrordins: to the romantic Minstrel, 
surrendered Ihecastleon coiidiiions. and went 
back to England, but returned to Scotland in 
the days of Bruce, when one of them became 
ai-'ain keeper of St irliiia: Castle. Immediately 
after this achievement follows another en- 
gagement, between Wallace and those We.st- 
erii Hishlaiideis who embraced the EnRJish 
interest, at a pass in Glendonchart, where 
tiiany vvere precipitated into the lake over a 
precipice. These circumstances may have 
f)eeii confused in the narrative of Parson 
Blackwood, or in the recoliection of Mr. 
Kokehv. 

Ill the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is 
mentioned, anions tlio I^'nslish warriors, "Sir 
RafF the ivclie Knsrbe," which may apply to 
Sir Ralph Rokeby. the tenth baron in I he pe- 
digree. The more modern copy of the ballad 
runs tiius: — 



This would rather seem to relate to one ot the 
Nevilles of Rahy. Hut. ;is the whole ballad 
is romantic, accuracy is not lo be looked for. 



Note 3 B. 

The Feln?i Sow.- 



-P. 280. 



The ancient minstrels had a comic as well 
ns a serious strain of romance; and although 
the examples of the latter are by far the most 
numerous, they are. perhaps, the less valuable. 
The comic romance was a sort of parody upon 
the usual suhjecfs of minstrel poetry. If the 
latter descr bed deeds of heroic achievement, 
and the events of the battle, the tourney, and 
the chase, the former, as in the Tournament 
of Tottenham, introduced a set of clowns de- 
bating in the field, with all the assumed cir- 
cumstances of chivalry : or, as in the Hunting 
of the Hare, (see Weber's Metrical Romnncrs, 
vol. iii.,) persons of the same description fol- 
lowing the cha.se, with all the grievous mis- 
takes and blunders incident to siicii unpractised 
sportsmen. The idea, therefore, of Don Quix- 
ote's frenzy, although inimitably embodied and 
brought out, was not, perhaps, in the abstract, 
altogether original One of the very best of 
these mock romances, and which has no small 
portion of comic humour, is the Hunting of 
the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the Friars of 
.Richmond. Ralph Rokeby, who (for the jest's 
sake apparently) bestowed this intractable 
animal on the convent of Richmond, seems 
to have flourished in the time of Henry VII., 
which, since we know not the date of Friar 

1 Both the MS. and Mr Whitaker's copy read ancestors, 
evidently a corruption of amtters, adventures, as corrected 
by Mr. Evans.— 2 Sow, according to provincial pronuncia- 
tion. --3 So; Yorkshire dialect. — 4 Felp, many ; Sax. — 

lion o( quell, lo bill.— 6 More, greaier.~7 Went. 

--9 Along llie side of Greta. —10 Barn, child, 



Theobald's waidenship, to which the poem 
refers us, may indicate that of tlie composition 
itself. Morton, the Mortham of the text, is 
mentioned as being this facetious baron's place 
of residence ; accordingly, Leland notices, that 
"Mr Rokeby liatli a place called Mortham. a 
little beneath Grentey bridge, almost on the 
mouth of Grentey." I'hat no information may 
be lacking which is in my power to supply, I 
have to notice, that the Mistress Rokeby of the 
romance, who sochahtablv refreshed the sow 
after she had discomfited Friar Middleton and 
his auxiliaries, was, as appears from the pedi- 
gree of the Kokeby faniilv, daughter and heir 
of Danby of Yaffohh. 

This curious poem was firstpiiNished in Mr. 
Whitaker's History of Craven, but, from an ■ 
inaccurate manuscript, not corrected very 
happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to 
the new edition of his Ballads, with some 
well-judged coiijectuial improvements. I have 
been induced lo give a more authentic ami 
full, though still an imperfect, edition of this 
humoursome composition, from being furnish- 
ed wi h a copy from a manuscript in the (los- 
sessiiin of ^Ir. Rokeby, lo who:ii I have ac- 
knowledged my obligations in the last Note. 
It has three or four stanzas more than that of 
Mr. Whitaker, and the language seems, where 
they differ, to have the more ancient and ge- 
nuine readings. 

The Felon Sow of Rokeby and the Friars of 

Richmond. 
Ye men that will of aunters' winne. 
That late within this land hath beene, 

Of one I will you tell ; 
And of a sew2 that was seaS stranff, 
Alas ! that ever she lived sae lang, 
For fell* folk did she whell.S 

She was mare6 than other three, 
The grisliest beast that ere misrht be, 

Her head was great and gray : 
She was bred in Rokeby wood. 
There were few that thither goed,'' 

That came on live^ away. 

Her walk was endlong^ Greta side ; 
There was no bren"> that durst her bide, 

That was froe" heaven to hell ; 
Nor never man that had that might, 
That ever durst come in her sight, 

Her force it was so fell. 

Ralph of Rokeby, with good will. 

The Fryers of Richmond gave her till, 12 

Full well togarrei-i them fare. 
Fryar Middleton by his name. 
He was sent to fetch her hame. 

That rued him sineH full sure. 

With him tooke he wicht men two, 
Peter Dale was one of thoe. 

That ever was brim as l)eare ;is 
And well durst strike with sword and kniCe, 
And fight full manly was fiis life, 

What time as mister ware.ie 

man in general.— 11 From.— 12 To. — 13 Make —14 Since. 
— 15 Fierce as a bear. Mr. Whitaker's copy reads, per- 
haps in consequence of mistaking the MS , " T'other was 
Bryan of Bear." — 16 Need Were, Mr. V/hitaker reaiU 
mustert. 



■/■ 



7 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



313 



TiieBe three men went at GoJ's will, 
This wicked sew while Ihey came till, 

Lis:!(ai|i under a tree; 
Ri)-;!? ;iiid rusty whs her haire ; 
She raise up with a felon fare,'* 

To tiirht a;,'aiust the three. 

She was so ?risely for to meete. 
She rave the earth up with her feete, 

And bark came fro the tree : 
Wiien Pryar Middleton her sauffh.3 
U'eet ve well he might not laugh, 

l-'ull earnestly look't hee. 

These men of aunters that was so wight,* 
'I'liey boiiiid them hauldly* for to figlil, 

And strike at her full sare : 
Until a kiln they garred her flee, 
vVold God send them tiie victory, 

Tiic wold ask him noa mare. 

The sew was in the kiln hole clown, 
As thev were on the halke aboon,6 

For hurtin? of their feet; 
They were so saulteds wiih this sew. 
That among them was a slalworth stew, 

The kiln began to reeke. 

Durst noe man U'igh her with his hand, 
But put a rape^ down with his wand. 

And haltered her full meete; 
'IMiey hurled her forth against her will, 
Whiles they came into a hill 

A little fro the street. i» 

And there she made them such a fray. 
If they should live to Doomes-day, 

They tharniw h it ne'er forgett; 
She hraded '^ upon every side, 
And ran on them gaping full wide. 

For nothing would she Iett.13 

She gave such brades n at the band 
I'liat Peter Dale had in his hand, 

He might not hold his feet. 
She chafed them to and fro, 
The wight men was never soe woe, 

Tlieir measure was not so meete. 

She bound her boldly to abide \ 
To Peter D;de she came aside. 

With many a hideous yell ; 
She ga^<ed soe wide and cried soe hee. 
The Fiyar seid, " I conjure thee,'* 

Thou art a feiud of hell. 

"Thou art come hither for some traine,i« 
I conjure thee to go againe 

Where thou wast wont to dwell." 
He stiyned'^ him with crosse and creede, 
T(»ok forth a book, began to reade 

In St. John his gos()ell. 

I Lying.—? K fierce counlf nance or manner —3 Saw.— 
4 Wight, brave. The Rokeby M8. reads incoK/i/ers, and 
Mr. Whitaker. tMncnlort —5 Boldly —6 On ttie beam 
above —7 To preveul. — 8 Ass.iulied. —9 Rope.— 10 Wat- 

liiig Street, See the sequel. — 11 Dare — 12 Rushed 

IS l^ave it. — 14 Pulls. — 15 Thi.s line is wantine in Mr. 
Whiiaker'8 ropy, whence if has been conjectured that 
•omelhing is wanting aller this stanza, which now there 
if no occasion to suppose. — 16 Evil device — 17 Blensed, 
Fr.— 16 Lost his colour. — 19 Sheltered himself— 20 Fierce. 



T he sew she would not Latin heare, 
But rudely rushed at the Frear, 

That blinked all his blee; '« 
.\uil when she would have taken her hold, 
'1 he Fryar leaped as Jesus wold, 

And healed him 19 with a tree. 

She was as brim 20 as anv beare. 
For all their meete to labour there,'! 

To them it was no booie : 
Upon trees and bushes that hv her stood, 
She ranged as she was wood.22 

And rave them up by roote. 

He sayd, " Alas, that 1 was Frear! 
And I shall be nigged 23 in sunder here 

Hard is my destinie I 
Wist 24 my brethren m this houre. 
That I was sett in such a stoure,25 

They would pray for me." 

This wicked beast that wrought this woe, 
Tooke that rape from the otlier two, 

And then they fledd all three; 
They fledd away by Watlitig-street, 
They had no succour but their feet. 

It was the more pity. 

The feild it was both lost and wonne ; 2« 
The sew went hame, and that full sotme, 

To .Morton on the Gieene ; 
W'hen Ralph of Rokehy saw the rape,2T 
He wist2« that there had been debate. 

Whereat the sew had beene. 

He bad them stand out of her way, 
For she had had a sudden fray,— 

'• 1 saw never so keene ; 
Some new things shall we heare 
Of her and Middleton the Frear, 

Some battell hath there beene." 

But all that served him for nought 
Had they not better succour sought. 

They were served therefore loe. 
Then .Mistress Rokeby came anon. 
And for her brought shee meate full soone. 

The sew came her unto. 

She gave her meate upon the flower, 

• ••*»«» 29 

[Hiatus valde defiendus.^ 

When Fryar .Middleton came home, 
His brethren was full fain ilkone,30 

And thanked God of his life; 
He told them all unto the end. 
How he had foughten with a fiend. 

And lived through mickle strife. 

" We gave her battell half a day. 
And sithin3i was fain to fly away. 



^: 



^ 



To them it was no boot." 
Besides the want of connection between the last line and 
the two former, the second has a very modern sound, and 
the reading of the Rokehy MS. with the slight alteration 
in the text, is much better. 

1:2 Mad —23 Torn, pulled. —21 Knew —25 Combat, pe- 
rilous fight —26 This stanza, with ihe two fol'owing, and 

- the fragment of a fourth, are not m Mr. Whitakcr's edi- 

31 The MS reads, <o /.tdoar weere The text seems to I tion —27 The rope about the sow's neck. —38 Knew — 
can, that all their labour to obtain their inten.ied meat I 29 This line is almost illegible. — 30 Each oue. — 31 Sioca 
iJi of no use Co them. Mr Whitaker reads, ' then, after thai. 



^ 



A 



814 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



"^ 



For saviiiK of our life ; i 
And Peter Dale would never blinn,2 
But as fast as lie could ryii,3 

Till he c.inie to liis wife." 

The warden said, "I am full of woe, 
That ever ye should be torment so, 

But wee with you Iiad heene ! 
Had we heeii there your brethren all. 
Wee should have starred the warle ■* fall, 

'I'hat wrought you all this teyne."* 

Kryar Middieton said soon, " Nay, 
In faith you would have tied away, 

When most mister 6 had beene; 
V(;n will all speake wordi: at hanie, 
A man would dine' you every ilk ane, 

And if it be as I weiiie." 

He look't so sriesly all tbat night. 
'I'lie warden said. " Yon man will fight 

If yon say oiiijirt but tfood ; 
Yon guest « hath grieved him so sare. 
Hold your tongues am} speake noe niure. 

He looks as he were woode." 



The warden waged ^ on the niorne. 
'I'wo boldest n>ei> that ever were borne, 

I weine. or ever shall be ; 
The one was Gil)bert Griffin's son, 
Full niickle worship has he wonne, 

Both by land and sua. 

The other was a bastard son of Spain, 
Many a Sarazin hath he slam, 

His dint 10 hath gart them die. 
These two men the battle undertooke, 
Asain.st the sew, as says the booke, 

And ssealed secufity. 

'/'hat they .should boldly bide and figlit. 
And skomfit lier in maiiie and might, 

(»r therefore should they die. 
The warden sealed to them againe, 
And said, " In feild if ye be slam, 

This condition make I : 

" We shall for you pray, sing, and read 
To doomesday with hearty speede. 

With all our progeny." 
Then the letters well was made. 
Bands bound with seales brade.'l 

As deedes of amies should be. 

These men of armes that weere so wight, 
With armour and with brandes bright, 

They went this sew to see ; 
She made on thein slike a rerd,''-' 
That for her they were sure afer'd. 

And almost bound to flee. 

She came roveing them esaine , 
That saw the bastard son Of Spaine, 

1 The above lilies are tvantiiig in Mr. Wtiiialier's copy. 
— a Cease, stop. — 3 Run —4 Warlock, or wizard.— 
6 Harm —6 Neeil.— 7 Beat. The copy in Mr. Whitaker's 
History of Craven reads, perhaps better,— 

" The fiend would ding you down illt one." 
8 •' Yon guest," mcy be yon gest, i.e., that adventure ; or 
ly mean yon ghaist, or apparition, which in old 
g 18 applied sometimes to what is Kupenialurally 
bidcouB The printed copy reads,—" The beast hath," Ac. | 



I le braded '' out his brand ; 
Full jipiteously at her he strake. 
For ail the fence that he could make. 

She gat sword out of hand ; 
And rave in sunder half Ins shielde. 
And bare him backward in the feilde. 

He might not her gainstand. 

She would have riven his privich geare, 
But Gilbert with his sword of werre. 

He strake at her full strong. 
On her shoulder till she held the sword ; 
Then was good GiUiert sore afer'd. 

When the blade brake ii> throng. '^ 

Sinc« in his hands he liath her tane. 
She tooke hmi bv the shoulder bane,'* 

And held her hold full fast; 
She strave so stifRy in that slower,*' 
That through all tus rich arnjour 

'I'he blood came at the last. 

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare. 
That he rave otf both hide and haire, 

The fiesh came fro the bone; 
And with all force he felled her there, 
And wann her worthily in werre, 

And band her him alone 

And lift her on a horse sea hee, 
Into two paniers well-made of a tre. 

And to Kichniond they did hay : " 
When they saw her come. 
They sang merily Te Deum, 

The Fryers (ni that day. is 

They thanked God and St. Francis, 
As they had won the best of pris.i* 

And never a man was slaine : 
There did never a man more manly, 
Knight Marcus, nor vett Sir Gui, 

Nor Loth of Loutliyane.so 

If ye will any more of this. 
In the Fryers of Richmond 'tis 

In parchment good and fine; 
And how Fryar Middleion that was so 

keiid,2i 
At Greta Bridge conjured a feind 

In likeness of a swine. 

It is well known to many a man. 

That Fryar Theobald was warden than. 

And this fell in his time ; 
And Christ them bless both farre and near*. 
All that lor solace list this to hea.'-e. 

And him that made the rliime. 

Ralph Rokehy with full good will. 

The Fryers of Richmond he gave Jier till, 

This sew to mend their fare : 
Fryar Middieton by his name. 
Would needs bring the fat sew hame. 

That rued him since full sare. 



—9 Hired, a Yorkshire phrase. -10 Blow.— II Brcrad. large. 
—12 Such like a roar.— 13 Drew oat.— 14 In the comhal — 
15 Bone. — 16 Meeting, battle. — 17 Hie, hasten. — lb The 
MS reads, mistakenly, every day. — 19 Price. — 20 The 
father of Sir Gawain, in the romance of Arthur and Mer- 
lin. The MS. is thus corrupted — 

More loth of l.outh Ryme. 

21 Well known, or perhaps kimt, well disposed. 



y^ 



■^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



Note 3 C. 

The Film of O'Nmle was he.-^P. 280. 

The Filea. or Ollamh Re Dan, was the pro- 
banl. or, as the 



Willi them; yet they had one use whinh I 
knew WHS well used in their rtintre. ami that 
Was, they dvtle were no hrerhes; I r;lUs^■(I 
brcches of jynen (iothe to he made for them 
^ „ », ,. ,, , . ,, . i, I Whyie I was with them I caused them to 

per barn. or. as the name literally in.plies, | Icaue many rude thviw;., as well in clothvmr 
poet. Each rhieftain of distn^Mon had one or as m other cau.ses.' .Morl.e ado I had at the 
more m his service, whose office wns nsiially ; fyrst to cause them to weare eownes of .sylke, 
hereditary. I he late ingenious Mr. Cooper furred with mrnenere and Riav; for before 
Walker has as.semhled a curiou.s collection of th^e kynse.i ihonsht tliemselfe well appn- 
pai-licnlars noncernin? this order of men. in relied when thev had on a mantel!. 'I h.y 
his Hislorical Memoirs of the Insh Bards. ! rode uKvayes without saddles and stvror.rJ, 
I here were itinerant bards of less elevated [ and with great pavi.e t made them to .ide 
rank, bnt all were held in the highest venei-a- Jitter our nsajfe." -LonZ Bfrnera' Froissarl. 
tion The Ensrhsh, who considered them as j Loud. 1812. 4to Vol. il p. 621. 
rliief siipfKHters of the spirit of national inde- i The influence of these hards upon their pa- 
penilence. were much disposed to nro.scrihe \fnr,a ■. n.i ii,<.ir o.i..,iM„.i ,u- •■ 
this race of poets, as Edward I. 



J said to have 
done in Wales. Spenser, wliile he admits the 
merit of their wild poetrv, as "savoiirins: of 
sweet wit and good invention, and sprinkled 
with some prettv flowers of their natural de- 
vice." yet rigorously condemns the whole ap- 
plic.ati<m of tlieir poetry, as abased to 'the 
frracniR of wickedness and vice " The hou.se* 
hold minsMel was admitted even to the feast 
of the prince whom he served, and sat at the 
same table. It was one of the customs of 
which Sir Richard .'^ewry. to who.se charee 
Kichard II. committed the instruction of four 
Irish monarchs m the civilizatirm of the period, 
foinid it most difficult to break his royal dis- 
ciples, thonsh he had also much ado to sub- 
ject them to other Enelish rules, and particu- 
larly to reconcile them to wear breeches. 
"The kynsr. my soiiereviffne lord's enlent was, 
that in maner, comifenaunce, and apparel of 
clothyn?. they sholde use according to the 
maner of Enslande. for the kvii^e thouirht to 
make them all four knyghtes : they had a 
fayre house to lodge in. in Duvelyn. and I was 
charged to abyde styll with them, and not to 
departe : and so two or three daves 1 suffered 
them to do as thev Ivst, and sayde nnthyng to 
them, but foliiwed their owne appetytes : they 
wolde sitte at the table, and make countenance 
neither good nor fayre. Than I thought I 
shuhie cause them to chaiinge that maner; 
they wolde cause their mvnstrells, their ser- 
uantes, and varlettes, to .sy'tte with them, and 
to eate in their nvvne dyssche. and to drinke 
of their ciippes; and they shewed me that the 
usage of their cuntre was good, for they sayd ' 
in all thyngs (except their beddes) they were 
and lyved as comen. So the fourthe day I or- 
dayned other tables to lie couered in the hall, 
arter the usage of Englande, and I made these 
four knyghtes to sytte at the hvghe table, and 
there myn.strels at another horde, and their 
seruaunies and varlettes at another bvneth 
them, whereof bv semvnge thev were' dis- 
pleased, and beheld each other, atid wolde not 
eate, and sayde, how I wolde take fro them 
their good usage, wherein they had been no- 
rished. Then I answered them, smvlvng. to 



apeace them, that it 
their estates to do a 



as not iionfiurablf 
they dyde before. 



matters of the weigh' iest concern, niav he 
also proved from the behaviour of one of them 
at an interview between Thcmias Fitz-erald, 
son of the Earl of Kildare. liien about to re- 
nounce the English allegiance, and the Lord 
Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and 
goodly oration to dissnade him from his f)nr- 
pose. The young lord had come to the coun- 
cil "armed and weaponed." and attended by 
seven score hnrsemen in their shirts of mail; 
and we are assured that the chancellor, having 
set forth his <iiation •• wiih such a lamentable 
action as his cheekes were all beblulibered 
with teares. the horsemen, iiamplie. such as 
understood not English, began to (liiiine what 
the lord-chancellor meant with all this long 
circumstance; some of them reporting that 
he was preaching a sermon, others said that 
he stood making of some heroicall (loefrv in 
the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus a.s 
every idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise 
charicellor his discourse, who in efffect had 
nonght else hut drop pretious stones before 
hogs, one Bard de Nelan. an Irish rithmour, 
and a rotten sheepe to infect a whole flocke, 
was chatting of Irish verses, as though his 
toong had run on pattens, in commendation of 
the Lord Thomas, investing him with the title 
of Silken Thomas, bicans his horsemens j.icks 
were gorgeously imhroidered with silke: and 
in the end he told him that he lingered there 
oner long; whereat the Lord Thomas being 
quickened," i as Holinshed expresses it. bid 
defiance to the ch:incellor. threw down con- 
temptuously the sword of office, whicti, in his 
father's ab.xence. he held as deputy, and rqsiied 
forth to engage in open insurrection. 



Note 3 D. 

Ah, Clandeboy! (hi/ friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no morp 

P 280, 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly 
possessed by the sept of the O'Neales. and 
romantic mountain in the 
The clan was ruined after 



for Slieve-DonaVd, 
^nd same province. 



Uiat they must eave It. and use the custom of Tyrone's great rebellion, and their places of 
Englande and that it was the kynge's pleasure 1 abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, wil.l 
they shulde so do. and how he was charged so and uncnltivated in other respects, did not 
to order them. When they har.le that, thev yield even to their descendants in practising 
Siiffred it, bvcause they had puite themselfe the most free and extended hospitality; and 

under the obesvance of the Kynge of England, ' - . 

and parceuered in the same as long as I was ' 



1 Holinshed Loud 160§, 4to 



p. 301 



A 



^ 316 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



donbiless the Imnls mourned the dec;iy of the 
»iiai.si(») of their chiefs in strains similar to 
Mie verses of the British Uywarr.h Hen on a 
similar oncHsion, which ni-e affecting-, even 
throno-h the discouraging medium of a literal 
translation; — 

•'Silent-breathing; gale, long wilt thou be 

heard ! 
There is scarcely another deserving praise, 
Since Urien is nn more. 

Manv a do? that scented well the prey, and 

aerial hawk. 
Have been trained on this floor 
Before Erlleon liecame polluted. 

This hearth, ah, viill it not be covered with 

nettles ! 
Whilst its defender lived. 
.More cdimemul to it was the foot of the needy 

petitioner. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with green 

sod! 
Tn the lifetime of Owain and Elphin. 
its ample cauldron boiled the prey taken from 

the foe. 

This hearth, will it not be covered with toad- 
stools! 

Around the viand it prepared, more cheering 
was 

The clat'ering sword of the fierce dauntless 
warrior. 

This hearth, will it not be overgrown with 

spread ine brambles ! 
Tdl now, loes of burning wood lav on it. 
Accustom "d to prepare the gifts of Reged ! 

This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns I 
More congenial on it would have been tlie 

mixed eronp 
Of Owain's social friends united in harmony. 

This hearth, will it not be coveted with ants! 
More adapted to it would have been the bright 

torches 
And harndess festivities! 

This hearth, will it not he covered with dock 

leaves ! 
More consetiial on its floor would liave been 
The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd 

warriors. 

This hearth, will it not be turned up by the 

swine! 
More congenial to it would have been the 

clamour of men. 
And the circlin? horns of the bnnquet." 

Havir Elfoies of Llvwarx Mfn, bi/ Owen. 
Lond 1792, 8vo, p. 41. 

"The hall of Cvnddvlan is gloomy this night, 

WithdUt fire, without bed — 

I must weep a while, and then be silent! 

The hall of Tynddvlan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without candle — 
Except God doth, who will endue me with 
patience ! 

The hall of Cynddvlan is gloomy this night. 

Without fire. witli()ut beiu? lighted — 

Be thou encircled with spreading silence! 



The liall of f'ynddyltin, eloomy seems its roof 
Since the sweet smde of humanity i.s no more — 
Woe to him that saw it, if he neglects to do 
good ! 

The hall of Cynddvlan, art thou not bereft of 

tliv appearance ? 
Thv shield is in the grave ; 
Whilst he lived there was no broken roof! 

The hall of Cynddvlan is without love this 

night. 
Since he that own'd it is no more — 
Ah, death ; it will be hut a short time he will 

leave me! 

The hall of Cvnddvlan is not easv this night. 
On the top of tlie rock of Hydwyth, 
Without its lord, without company, without 
the circling feasts! 

The hall of Cynddvlan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without songs — 
Tears afflict the cheeks! 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without family— 
My overflowing tears gush out ! 

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it, 
Without a covering, without fire — 
My general dead, and 1 alive myself I 

The hall of Cyriddylan is the seat of chill 

grief this night. 
After the respect I experienced ; 
Without the men. Without the women, who 

reside there ! 

The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night, 

After losing its master — 

The great merciful God, what shall 1 do!" 

tlid: p. n. 



Note 3 E. 

M'Cnrtiii's harp —P. 281. 

"MacCnrtin. hereditary Ollamh of North 
Munster. and Filea to Donnugh, Earl of Tho- 
mond, and President of Munster. This noble- 
man was amongst those who were prevailed 
upon to join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it waa 
known that he had basely a'^andoned the 
interests of liis country. MacCurtin presented 
an adulatory poem to MacCarthy. chief of 
South Munster, and of the Eugenian line, who, 
with O'Neil, O'Donnel, l.acy. and others, were 
deeply eneaged in proteciin? their violated 
country In this poem he dwells with rapture 
on the courage and patriotism of MacCarthy; 
but the verse tliat should (according to an 
established law of the order of the bards) be 
introduced in the praise of O'Brien, he turns 
into severe satire : — ' How am I afflicted (says 
he) that the descendant of the great Brion 
Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme 
worthy the honour and glory of his exalted 
race!' Lord Thomond, hearing this, vowed 
venseaiice on the spirited bard, who fled for 
refuge to the county of Cork. One day ob- 
serving the exasperated nobleman and his 
equipage at a small distance, he thought it 
was in vain to fly, and pretended to be sud- 
denly seized witli ttie pangs of death ; direct- 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



in? his wife to lament, over him. and tell his 
lordship, that the sight of him. by awalteninij 
the sense of his inirraiiMide. had so mucli 
affected him tliat he could nut support it ; and 
desired her at the same time to tell his lord- 
ship, that he entreated, as a dyin? request, his 
forjriveness Soon as Lord 'I'lioinond arrived, 
the feigned tale was related to him. Thai 
iiohlemari vv:u$ moved to compassion, and not 
only declared that he most heariily forgave 
him, hut. opening his purse, presented the fair 
niouiner with siime pieces to inter him. This 
instance of Ins lordstiip's pity and generosity 
gave i;i>uiag6 to the Iremhlirig bard; who. 
suddenly spimging up, recited an extempora- 
neous ode in praise of D>>nough. and reenier- 
ing into his service, became once more his 
favourite. ' — Wa//cer's Memoirs of the Irish 
Bards. Loud. 1786, 4to. p. lH. 



Note 3 F. 

The ancient English minstrel's dress. — P. 281. 

Among the entertainments presented to 
Eiizaheih ai Kenilworth Castle, was the intro- 
duction of a person designed to represent a 
travelling minstrel, who entertained her with 
a solemn story out of the acts of King Arthur. 
Of this person's dress and appearance Mr. 
Laneham has given us a very accurate account, 
transferred hy Bishop Percy to the preliminary 
Pis.>;ertation on .Mmstreis, prefixed to his 
ReLiques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i. 



Note 3 G. 

Littlecote Hall.— P. 284. 

The traditicm from which the ballad is 
founded, was supplied by a friend, (the late 
Lord Webb Seymour.) whose account I will 
not do the mju»itice to abridge, as it contains 
an admirable picture of an old English hall :— 

" Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely 
situation. On three t^iiles it is surrounded by 
a park that spreads over the adjoining lull ; on 
the fourth, by meadows which are watered 
by the river Kennet Close on one side of the 
house is a thick grove of lofty trees, along the 
verge of which runs one of the principal 
avenues to it through the park. It is an 
irregular building of great antiquity, aud was 
probably erected about the time of the termi- 
nation of feudal warfare, when deteiwe came 
no longer to be an object in a country mansion. 
Many circumstances, however, in the interior 
of the house, seem appropriate to feudal times 
The hall is very spacious, floored with stones, 
and ligiited by large transom windows, taat 
are clothed with casements. Its walls are 
hung with old military ac-coutrements, that 
have long been left a prey to rust. At one end 
of the hall is a range of coats of mail and 
helmets, and there is on every side abundance 
of old-fashioned pistols and guns, many of 
them with matchlocks. Immediately below 
the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins. 
made in the form of a shirt, supposed to have 
been worn as armour by the vassals A large 
oak table, reaching nearly from one end of the 

27» 



room to the other, might have feasted the 
whole neighbourhood, and an appendage to 
one end of it made it answer at other times 
for the old game of shufflehoard. The rest 
of the furnituie is in a suitable style, particu- 
larly ail arm-chair of cumbrous workmanship 
constructed of wooJ. curiously turned, with a 
high back and triangular seat, said to have 
been used by Judge Popham in the reign of 
Elizabeth. Tne entrance into the hall is at 
one end, by a low door, communicating wiih a 
passage that leads from the outer do(jr in the 
front of the house to a quadrangle * within; 
at the other, it opens upon a gloomy staircase, 
by which you ascend to the firstfloor. and. 
passing the doors of some bedchambers, enter 
a narrow gallery, which extends along the 
back front of the house from one end to the 
other of it. and looks upon an old garden. 
This gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly in 
the Spanish dre.«ses of the sixteenth century. 
In one of the bedchambers, which vou pass in 
going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with 
blue furniture, which time has now made 
dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of 
one of the bed curtains you are shown a place 
where a small piece has been cut out and sewn 
in again. — a circumstance which serves to 
identify the scene of the following s'ory :— 

•' It was on a dark rainy night in the month 
of Nfivember, that an old midwife sat musing 
by her cottase fire-side, when on a sudden she 
was startled by a loud knocking at the door. 
On opening it slie found a horseman, who told 
her that her assistance was required imme- 
diately by a person of rank, and that she siponld 
be handsomely rewarded ; hut that there were 
reasons for keeping the affair a strict secret, 
and. therefore, she must submit to be blind- 
folded, and to be conducted in that condition 
to the bedchamber of the lady. With some 
hesitation the midwife consented ; the horse- 
man bound her eyes, and placed her on a 
pillion behind him. After proceeding in silence 
for many miles through rough and dirty lanes, 
they stopped, and the miiiwife was led into a 
house, which from the length of her walk 
through the apartments, as well as the sounds 
about her, she discovered to be the seat of 
wealth and power. When the bandage was 
removed from her eyes, she found herself ni 
a bedchamber, in which were the lady on 
whose account she had been sent for, and a 
man of a haughty and ferocious aspect. I he 
hidy was delivered of a tine h'«y. Immediately 
the niaii commanded the midwiie to give liim 
the child, and catching it from her. he hiirrieil 
across the room, and threw it on the back of 
the fire that was blazing in the chimney The 
child, however, was strong, and. by its strug- 
gles, rolled itself upon the hearth, when the 
rutfian again seized it with fury, and, m s|)ie 
of the intercession of the midwife, and the 
more piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust 
It under the grate, and, raking the live coals 
upon It. soon put an end to its life. The mid- 
wi 6, after spending some time in affording all 
the relief in her power to the wretched 
mother, was told that she must be gone. Hrr 
former conductor appeared, who again bound 
her e-. es. and conve>ed her behind him to her 



317 > 

1 ti,« ^ 



1 I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not 



"T 



y4 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



own home ; he then paid her hamlsfimely, 
and departed. The midwife was sirongly 
airiiKted liy the horrors of the preceding nighf. ; 
and slie iriiniediately made a deposition of the 
fads before a magistrate. Two circumstances 
afforded hopes of detecting the lionse in 
which the crime had been committed ; one 
was, that the midwife, as she sat l)y the bed- 
side, had with a view to discover the place, 
cut out a piece of the bed-curtain, and sewn 
it ill again; the other was. that as she had 
descended the staircase she had counted the 
steps. Some suspicions fell upon one Darrell. 
at that time the proprietor of Litilecote House, 
and the domain around it. 'I'he house was 
examined, and identified by the midwife, and 
Darrell was tried at Salisbury for the murder. 
By corruptingr his judge, he escaped the sen- 
te'ncc of the law ; but broke his neck by a fall 
from his horse in hunting, in a few months 
afier The place where this happei-'ed is still 
known by the name of Darrell's Siyle,— a spot 
to lie dreaded by the peasant whom the 
shades of evening have overtaken on liis 
way. 

"Litilecote House is two miles from Hun- 
irerford, in Berksliire. through which the Bath 
roiid passes. The fact occurred in the reign 
of Klizal>eth. All the important circumstances 
1 have given exactly as they are told in the 
country; some trifles only are added, either 
to render the whole connected, or to increase 
the impression." 

To Lord \\'ebb's edition of this singular 
story, the author can now add the following 
nttcount, extrLieted from Aubrey's Correspon- 
dence. It orcurs among other "particulars re- 
specting Sir John Poiiham : — 

"Sir * * * Dayrell, of Litilecote, in Corn. 
Wilts, having gott his lady's waiting woman 
with child, when her travell came, sent a ser- 
vant with a horse for a midwife, whom he was 
to bring hood-winked. She was brought, and 
layd the woman, but as soon as the child was 
born, she sawe the knight take the child and 
murther it, and burn it in the fire in the 
ohiimlier. She having done her busiiiesse, 
was extraordinarily rewarded for her paines, 
and sent blindfolded away. This horrid action 
did much run in her mind, and she had a de- 
sire to discover it. but knew not where 'twas. 
She considered with herself the time that slie 
was tiding, and how many miles she might 
liave rode at that rale in that time, and that it 
must be Slime great person's house, for the 
roome was 12 foot high ; and she should know 
the chamber if she sawe it. She went to a 
Justice of Peace, and search was made. The 
very chamber found. The Kiiight was lirought 
lo his tryall; and, to he short, this judge had 
this noble house, p:irke and manner, and (I 
thinke) more, for a bribe to save his life 

'• Sir John Popham gave sentence ai'cording 
to lawe. but being a great person and a favour- 
ite, he procured a noli prosequi " 

With this tale of horror ihe author has 
rombnied some ciicumstances of a similar 
legend, whicli was current at Edinburgh 
during his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, when the large castles of the Scottish 
nobles, and even the secluded hotels, like 
those of the l-rench noblesse, which they 
IH)Ssessed in Ediiibuigh, were sometimes the 



scenes of strange and mysterious transactions 
a divine of singular sanctity was called up a 
midnight to pray with a person at the point of 
dt^ath. This was no unusual summons; hi:' 
what followed was alarming. He was put intf 
a sedan-chair, and after he had been trans 
ported to a remote part of the town, thf 
bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded 
The request was enforced by a cocked pistol 
and submitted to; but in the course of thf 
discussion, he conjectured, from the phrase? 
employed by the chairmen, and from some 
part of their dress, not completely concealed 
by their cloaks, that they were greatly above 
the menial station they had a.ssumed. Aftei 
many turns and v/inilings, the chair was 
carried up stairs into a lodging, where his 
eyes were uncovered, and he was introduced 
into a bedroom, where he found a lady, newly 
delivered of an infant. He was commanded 
by his attendants to say such prayers by lier 
bedside asweie fitting for a person not ex- 
pected to survive a mortal disorder. He 
ventured to remonstrate, and observe that her 
safe delivery warranted better hopes. But he 
was sternly commanded to obey the orders 
first given, and with difficulty recollected him- 
self sufficiently to acquit himself of the task 
iinposed on him. He was then again hurried 
into the chair; hut as they cond noted hiiu 
down stairs, he heard the report of a pistol 
He was safely conducted home; a purse of 
gold was forced upon him ; but he was warned, 
at the same time, that tiie least allusion to 
this dark iransaciion would cost him his life. 
He betook himself to rest, and, after long and 
broken musing, fell into a deep sleep. From 
this he was awakened by his servant, witli the 
dismal news that a fire of uncommon fury had 
broken out in the house of * * * *, near the 
head of the Canongate, and that it was totally 
consumed; wiih the shocking addition, that 
the daughter of the proprietor, a young lady 
eminent for beauty and accomplishments, had 
perished in the flames. The clergyman had 
his suspicions, but to have made them public 
would have availed nothing He was timid ; 
the family w;is of the fust distinction ; above 
all. the deed was done, and could not be 
amended, lime wore away, however, and 
with it his tenors. He became unhappy at 
being the solitary depositary of this fearful 
mystery, and mentioned it to some of his 
brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired 
a sort of publicity The divine, however, had 
been long dead, and the story in siune degree 
forgotten, when a fire broke out again on the 
very .same spot where the house of * ♦ • * 
had formerly stood, and which was now occu- 
pied by buildings of an inferior description. 
When the flames were at their height, the 
tumult, which usually attends such a scene, 
was suddenly susfiended by an unexpected 
apparition. A beautiful female, in a night- 
dress, extremely rich, but at least half a cen- 
tury old, appeared in the very midst of the 
fire, and uttered iliese tremendous words in 
I her vernacular idiom ; '• Aius burned, Iwne 
I burned ; ihe third time I'll scare you all!" 
! 'i'he belief in this story was formerly so strong, 
'that oil a fire breaking out, and seeming lo 
a[)proacli the fatal spot, there was a good deal 
of anxiety testified, lest the apparition should 
make good her denunciation. 



y 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



Note 3 H. 

As thick a smoke thrse hearths hn 
At Hallow-luie or Chrisimas cvii 



\ 285. 



Such ail exhortjitjoti was. in similar cirnnm- 
Btaiices, Jicnially given to tiis fidiiiweis by a 
VVelsli cliieftain':— 

"Enmity did continue befwe«ne Howell ap 
Rys HP Howell Vanslian and the soimes of 
John ap Meredith. After the death of t;van 
ap Rehert.(jritfifh apGronw (cnsen-srerman to 
John ap Meredith's soniies of Gwynfryn. who 
had Ions served in France, and had charge 
there) comenig home to live in the countrey. 
it happened that a servant of his, coineing to 
fish III Styiiillyii. his fisli was taken away, and 
the fellow beaten by Howell ap Rys his ser- 
vants, and by his coniiiiandment. Griffith ap 
John ap Gr.inw took the matter in sucli dud- 
geon that he challenged Howell ar» Rys to the 
field, whicli he refusing, assembling ii'is cosins 
John ap Meredith's sonnes and his friends to- 
gether, assaulted Howell in his own hotise, 
after the nianer he had seetie in the French 
warres. and consumed with fire his barnes and 
Ins out-houses. Whilst he was thus assaulting 
the hall, which Howell ap Rys and many o! her 
people kept, being a very strong: house, he was 
shot, out of a crevice of the house, through 
the sight of his beaver into Hie head, and 
slayne outright, being otherwise armed a;, 
all points. N'otwithstanding his death, the 
assault of the house was continued with great 
vehemence, the doores fired with great bur- 
thens of straw ; besides this, the snmake of 
the <tut-hoiises and barnes not farre distant 
annoyed greatly the defendanis, for that most 
<»f them lay under boordes and benches upon 
the rtoore. in the hall, (he better to avoyd the 
smoake. During this scene of confusion" onely 
the old man, H(twell ap Rys, never stooped, 
but stood valiantly in the midst of the floore. 
armed with a gleve lu his hand, and called unto 
t'lem.and bid them arise like men, for shame, 
lor he had known there as great a smoake in 
that hall upon Christmas-even' In the end. 
s-^eing the house could noe longer defend 
them, being overlayed with a multitude, upon 
parley betweene them. Howell ap Rys was 
content t<t yeald himself prisoner to Morns ap 
John ap Meredith, John ap .Meredith's eldest 
Sonne, soe as he would swear unto him to 
bring iuiii safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide 
the triall of the law for the death of GraflP ap 
John ap Gronw. who was cosen-german re- 
moved to the said Howell ap Rys, and of the 
very same house he was of. Wliich Morris 
ap Jehu ap .MereiliHi undertaking, did put a 
guard about the said Howell of his trustiest 
friends and servants, who kept and deleiided 
hnn from tlie rage of his iiindreil. and especi- 
ally of Owen ap John ap Meredith, his brother, 
who was very eager against hnn. 'T'hey passed 
by leisure thence like a canipe to Carnarvon : 
tne whole countrie being ;issembled. Howell 
liis fnenus posted a horseback from one place 
or other by the way. who brought word that 
lie was come thither safe, for they were in 
great fear lest he should be muithered. and 
that Morris ap John ap Mereditli could not be 
able to defend him. neither durst any «if 
Howell's friends be iliere, for fear of the kin- 



dred In the end. being delivered by Morris 
ap John ap Meredith to the Constabb; of Car- 
narvon Castle, and there kept .safely in ward 
uiitill the a.ssises. it fell out by law. that the 
burning of Howell's bouses, and assaulting 
him in liis owne house, was a more haynous 
offence iii Morris ap John ap Meredith iind the 
rest, than the death of Graff' ap John ap 
Gronw in Howell, who did it in his own de- 
fence : whereupon Morris ap John ap Mere- 
dith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of 
felony, as appeareth by the copie of the in- 
dictment, wliich I had from the records." — 
Sir John Wyrme's History of t lie GwydLr Family. 
Lond. 1770, 8vo. p. 116. 



Note 3 I. 

O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove.— V. 290. 

This custom among the Kedesdale and Tyne- 
dale Borderers is mentioned in the interesting 
Life of Barnard Gilpin, where some account 
is given of these wild districts, which it was 
the custom of that excellent man regularly to 
visit. 

"This custom (of duels) still prevailed on 
the Borders, where Saxon barbarism held its 
latest possession. These wild Norlliumbrians, 
indeed, went beyond the ferocity of their an- 
<testors. They were not content with a duel : 
each contending party used to muster what 
adherents he could, and C(»ninieiic,e a kind of 
petty war. So that a private grudge would 
often occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this kind 
was on foot when Mr. Gilpin was at Rothbury. 
in those parts During the two or three days 
of his preaching, the contending parties ob- 
•served some decorum, and never appeared at 
church together. At length, however, they 
met. One party had been early at church, 
and just as .Mr. Gilpin began Ins sermon, the 
other enteretl. They stood not long silent. 
Inflamed at the sight of each other, they be- 
gan to clash their weapons, for they were all 
armed with javelins and swords, and mutually 
approached. Awed, however, by the sacred- 
ness of the place, the tumult in some degree 
ceased. Mr. Gilpin proceeded : when again 
the combatants began to brandish their wea- 
pons, and draw towards each other. As a fray 
seemed near, .Mr Gilpin stepped from the pul- 
pit, went between tiiem, and addressed the 
leaders, put an end to the quarrel, for the 
present, hut could not effect an entire recon- 
ciliation. They promised him, however, that 
till the sermon was over they would make no 
more disturbance. He then went again into 
the piiliut. and spent the rest of the time in 
endeavouring to make them ashamed of what 
they had done. His behaviour and discourse 
affected them so much. that, at his farther 
entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of 
hostility while he continued in the country 
And Si) much respected was he among them, 
that whoever was in feir of his enemy used 
to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his 
presence the best protection. 

"One Sunday morning, coming to a church 
in those parts, before the people were as em- 
bled, he observed a glove iiaiiging up, and was 




V 



J f 320 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



informed by the sexton, that it was meant as 
a challenge to any one who should take it 
down. Mr. Gilpin ordered the sexton to reach 
it to hini; but upon his utterly refusing to 
touch it, he took it down himself, and put it 
into Ills breast. When the people were as- 
sembled, he went into the pulpit, and. before 
he concluded his sermon took occasion to re- 
buke them severely for these inhuman chal- 
lenges. 'I hear,' saiih he, 'that one among 
you hath hanged up a (jlove, even in this 
sacred place, threatening to fight any one who 
taketh it down : see, I have taken it down ;' 
and, pulling out the glove, he held it up to the 
congregation, and then showed them how un- 
suitable such savage practices were to the 
profession of Christianity, usinsr such per- 
suasiveness to mutual love as he thought 
would most affect them."— Z,?ye of Barnard 
Gdpm. Lond. 1753, 8vo. p. 177. 



Note 3 K. 

A Horseman arm'd, al headlong speed.—?. 292. 

This, and what follows, is taken from a real 
achievement of Major Robert Philipson. called 
from his desperate and adventuntus courage. 
Robin the Devil; which, as being very inac- 
curately noticed in this note upon the first 
edition, shall be now given in a more authentic 
form. The chief place of his relreat was not 
Lord's Island, in Derweiit water, hut Curwen's 
Island, in the Lake of Windermere :— 

"This island formerly belonged to the 
Philipsons, a family of note in Westmoreland. 
During the Civil Wars, two of them, an elder 
and a younger brother, served the King. The 
former, who was the proprietor of it, com- 
manded a regiment; the latter was a major. 

"The major, whose name was Robert, was 
a man of great spirit and enterprise ; and for 
his many feats of personal bravery had ob- 
tained, among the Oliverians of those parts, 
the appellation of Robin the Devil. 

" After the war had subsided, and the dire- 
ful effects of public opposition had ceased, 
revenge and malice long kept, alive the ani- 
nio.sily of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a 
steady friend to usurpation, resided at this 
time at Kendal, and, under the double char- 
acter of a leading magistrate (for he was a 
Justice-of-Peace) and an active commander, 



held the country in awe. This person having 
heard that Major Philipson was at his brot her's 
house on the island in Windermere, resolved, 
if possible, to seize and punish a man who 
liad made himself so particularly obnoxious. 
How it was conducted, my autlioriiy i does not 
inform us — whether he got, together the n;ivi- 
eation of the lake, and blockaded the plice by 
sea, or whether he landed and carried on his 
approaches in form. Neither do we learn the 
strength of the garrison within, nor of the 
works without. All we le;irn is. that M;ijor 
Philipson endured a siege of eight mom lis 
with great gallantry, till his brother, the 
Colonel, raised a party and relieved him. 

•'It was now the Major's turn to make re- 
prisals. He put himself therefore, at the 
tiead of a little troop of horse, and rode to 
Kendal. Here, being informed that Coiont;! 
Briggs was at prayers, (for it was on a Sunday 
morning,) he stationed his men properly in the 
avenues, and himself armed, rode directly into 
the church. It probably was not a regular 
church, but some large place of meeting. It 
is said he intended to seize the Colonel and 
carry him off; but as this seems to have Ijecn 
totally impracticable, it is rather prolmlile 
that his intention was to kill him on tlie spot, 
and in the midst of the confusion to e.-cape. 
Whatever his intention was. it w.us frustrated, 
for Briggs happened to be elsewhere. 

"The congregation, as might he expected, 
was thrown into great cnnfu.sion on seeing an 
armed man on horseback make his appear- 
ance among them ; and the .Major, taking ad- 
vantage of their astonishment, turned his 
horse round, and rode quietly out. But having 
given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as 
he left the assembly, and being seized, his 
girths were cut, and lie was mihorsed 

"At this instant his party made a furious 
attack on the assailants, and the Major killed 
with his own hand the man who had seized 
him, clapped the saddle ungirihed as it was. 
upon his horse, and, vaulting into it. rode full 
speed through the streets of Kendal, calling 
his men to follow him; and, with his whole 
party made a safe retreat to his asylum in the 
lake. The anion marked the man. Many 
knew him: and they who did not. knew as 
well from the exploit, that it could be nolmdy 
but Kobin the Devil." 



Dr. Bum's History of Westmorclaiiil. 



z 



t^ 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIEIIMAIN. 



'.21 \ 



The Bridal of Triermain: 

OR, 

STfje Uale of St. Jo!)n. 

A LOVER'S TALE. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. i 

In tlie Ldiiibiirgh Annual Register for the 
ye;ir 1809. Tliree Fraariiieiits were inseried. 
Written in iunt ition of Living Poets. It must 
li iv« bi en apparent, that by these prolusions, 
II 'tiin.i i)Ui'it->nue. or disrespectful to the au- 
thors, was intended, but ihur tliey were offered 
I.' he p b ic as serious, thoui^h certainly very 
imii> Th c . iiiii atioiis of llial style of comi/osi- 
tion, by which each of the writers is supposed 
to I e liistiiiguished. As these exercises at- 
tract d a -Tf.nWA decree of a.trtiition ijian tiie 
auilior anticipa:ei.l. lie h;is b^en induced to 
Complete one <if Ih mi, and present it £is a 
sep.iraie publication. 

It is not, in this place t\\\iX, an exaininition of 
the works of the master wimm he lias here 
adopted as his iiHidel. can. with propriety, be 
introduced ; since his general accj .lescence in 
the favourable sUifrasre of the puli.ic must ne- 
cessarily be interred from the atteiiiiit he has 
now made. He is imluie.l, by the nature of 
his subject, to olfer a few remarks on w bat has 
been called Koinantic Poetry: — the populaniy 
of which has been revived in the present day, 
under the auspices, and by the unparalleled 
success, of one individual. " 

The original purpose of poetry is either reli- 
gious or historical, or, a.s must frequently hap- 
pen, a mixture of boih To mo.iern readers, 
tiie poems of Homer have many of the fea- 
tures of pure romance; but in the estiinutioii 
oi Ins coiitemporai les, they proliably derived 
their chief value from their suppos.-d histo- 
rical authenticity. The same may be geue- 
nilly said of llie poetry of all early ages. The 
marvels and mirac es which the; p..et blends 
w.ih Uis song, do not e.xce;^d in nuinbijr or ex- 
iravascance the riginents of the hisioiiMiis of 
t le same period of society; and. indeed, the 
d flerence betwixt poetry and prose, as the 
Vehicles of hislorii:al tru h. is always of late 
iiituKJiiciioii Poets, under various denomi- 
nations of Hards, Scalds. Chroniclers, and so 
foriti, are the first liistonans of all nations. 
Their inlenMon is to relate the events they 
have witnessed, or the traditions that liave 
reached them; and they clo he the relation in 
ruyme, merely as the ineans of rendering: it 
njore solemn in the narr.ilive or more e.isily 
co.ninitted to nienun-y. But as the poetical 



improves 



the art of conveying in- 



formaiion, ihe auihenticiiy of Ins narraiive 
unavoidably declines He is tenifiled to dilate 
and ilwell upon the evenis that are mteresling 
to his imagination, and. conscious how indif- 
ferent Ins audience is to the naked truili of 
his |.oein, his histiuy gradually becomes a 
romance. 



I rui.lJHhed ill .Mar. h, 



, by Joliii Ballaiuyi.e and Co. 



^ 



It is in this situation that those epics are 
found, which have been generally regarded 
the standards of poetry ; and it has happened 
somewhat, strangely, that the moderns have 
pointed out as the characteristics and peculiar 
excellencies of narrative jioetiy. the very cir- 
cumstances which the auiliors themselves 
adopted, only because their art involved the 
duties of the historian as well as the poet. It 
cannot be believed, for example, that Htmier 
selected the siege of Troy as the most appro- 
priate subject for poetry ; his purpose was to 
write the early history of his country; the 
event he has chosen, i hough not very fruitful 
in varied incrdent, nor perfectly well' adapied 
for poetry, wiis nevertheless combined with 
traditionary and genealogical anecdotes ex- 
tremely interesting to those who were to 
li-ten to him; and this lie has adorned bv the 
exertions of a genius, which, if it has 'been 
equaled, has ceitainly been never surpassed. 
It Was not till comparatively a late period that 
the areneial accuracy of his narrative, or lits 
purpose III composing it, was bmught in o ques- 
tion. Ao(f£J irpwTos [b Ava^ayopail [Kad^i 
<pr]ai <^aSop'ivoi iv TravTodairfi 'loropfu) 
r//«' 'Ojjttjoy TToir/aiv diro(ptjvaad.u tjfui 
irept apcTtii kui diKdioavvji^'^ liui wiia - 
ever theories miithL l)e iVainvd by s,>i-cuialiVe 
men, ins work was of an histiiiical. not of an 
allegorical nature KvavTiXXtVo licrd r3 
MivTEU) Kai bnu iKiiaroTe aipiKuiTo, irdi'Ta 
rd em^Ljpia 6tipo)TaTo, Kai iarjfjfujv 
eirwddvcTO' eIkos hi piv rjv kui iivqfioavva 
iTdvTu)v Ypdcpcadai.^ Instead of recommeiid- 
iiig I he choice of a subject similar to that of 
Homer, it was to be expected that critics 
should have exhorted the p.iets of these latter 
days to adopt or invent a narrative iii itself 
more susceplible of poetical ornament, and lu 
avail themselves of that, advantage in order to 
compensate, in some degree, the inferiority of 
genius. The conirary course has l)een incul- 
cated by almost all the writers upon the Epo- 
pcsi/i ; with what success, the fate of Homer's 
numerous imrattus may best show. The uL- 
timum su/rpliciiun <>{ criiicism was inflicted on 
the author if he did not choose a subject which 
at once deprived him of all claim to originality, 
and pl.iced liim, if not in actual contest, at 
least in fatal comparison, with those giants in 
the land whom it was nios his intere>l to 
avoid. The celebrated receijit for wriuii:; an 
epic poem, which appeared in The Guaniian, 
w;is the first instance in which common sense 
was applied to this department of poetry; 



70. p 33«. ^ 



f 822 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



and, indeed, if the question be considered on 
its own merits, we must be satisfied that nar- 
rative poetry, it strictly confined to tlie ^reat 
occurrences" of history, would be deprived of 
the iiitiividual interest which it is so weil cal- 
culated to excite 

Modern poets may therefore be pardoned in 
seeking simpler subjects of verse, more inte- 
resting in proportion to their simplicity. Two 
or three figures, well grouped, suit the artist 
better than a crowd, for whatever purpose 
Hssenihled. P'or the same reason, a scene im- 
niwiiaiely presented to the imasination, and 
directly hrousht home to the feelings, though 
involvuis: the fate of but one or two persons, 

Is re fuviiuralile for poetry ihan the political 

siruurules and coiivuisuiiis which influence the 
file of kitigdoMis. The former are within the 
reach and conipreliension (>f all, and. if de- 
picted with vig(uir. seldom fill to fix attention : 
The other, if more sublime, are more vaijue 
and distant, less caiiable of beiiis distinctly 
understood, and infinitely less capable of ex- 
citing those seniirneiits which it is the very 
purpose of poetry to inspire. To generalize is 
always to destroy effect. We would, for ex- 
ample, he more inieiested in the fate of an 
individual soldier in combat, than in the grand 
event of a general action; with ihe happiness 
of two lovers rai.seil from nusery and anxiety 
to peace and union, than wiUi Ihe successful 
exertions of a whole nation. From wh.it 
c.iuses this mav orgiu.ile, is a separate and 
obviously ail imiiialeiial consideration. Be- 
fore as(;iiliiiig tins pecuiian y to i-auses deci- 
dedly and odiously .seitisli. it is proper to recol- 
lect, that while liieii see only a llmiied S()ace. 
and while their affections and conduct are re- 
gulaled, not hy aspiring to an universal good, 
but by exerting tlieir power of making them- 
selves and others ha[)()y within the limited 
ficule allotted to each individual, so long will 



individual history and individual virtue be the 
readier and more accessible road to general 
interest and attention; and. perhaps, we may 
add. that it is the more useful, as well as the 
more accessible, inasmuch as it affords an ex- 
ample capable of being easily imitated 

.According to the author's idea of Romantic 
Poetry, as distinguished from Epic, the former 
comprehends a tictilious narrative, framed and 
combined at the pleasure of the writer; he- 
ginning and ending as he may judge best : 
which tieither exacts nor refuses the use of 
supernatural machinery: which is free from 
the technical rules of the Epee : and is subject 
only to those which good sense, good taste, 
and good morals, apply to every species of 
poetry without exception. The date may be 
in a remote age, or in the present; the story 
mav detail the tidventures of a prince or of a 
peasant In a word, the aillhor is absolute 
master of his country and its inliabiian's. and 
every thing is permitted to him. excepting to 
he heavy or prosaic, for which, free and un- 
enibaras.sed as he is, he has no manner of 
apology. Those, it is piobable. will be found 
the peculiarities of this species of compositiim ; 
and before joining the outcry against the vi- 
tiated taste tliat fosters and encourages it, the 
jus' ice and grounds of it ought to be made 
perfec^i ly apparent If the want of sieges, and 
battles, and great military evolutions, in our 
pbetry. is com[ilaiiied of, let us reflect, that the 
canipaigns and heroes of our days are per- 
petuated Ml a record that neither requires nor 
admits of ilie aid of fiction; and if the com- 
plaint refers to the inferiority of our bards, let 
us pay a just tribute to their nntdesty, limiting 
ilieiii, as It does, to subjects which, however 
indifferently treated, have still the interest 
and charm of novelty, and which thus pre- 
vents them from adding insipidity to their 
other more insuperable defects. 



The Bridal of Triermaix. 



INTRODUCTION. 
1. 
Come, Lucy ! while 'tis morning hour. 

'T'lie woodland hiouk we needs must pass; 
So, ere the suu assiiiiif^ his iiower, 
We slielti-r in our |)opl.-ir bo.ver, 
Where dew lies long U|iiiii the flower. 

Though vanishVI from the velvet grass. 
Curliing the stream, tins stony ridge 
Mav serve us ftU" a silvan bridge ; 
For liere compelld to disniiile, 
Kound fietty isles the runnels glide, 
And cliafing olf their puny spite, 
'I'he shallow inurmurers waste their might, 
Yielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-sh<id pass from side to side. 

II. 
Nay, why this hesitating pause? 
And. Lucy, as thy step withdraws, 



Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim T 

Titauia's foot wilhout a slip, 
Like thine, though timid, light, and slim, 

From stone to stone might safely trip, 
^ Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silkei. run. 
Or trust thy lover's strength : nor tear 

That ihis same stalwait arm of mine. 
Winch Could yon oak's prone trunk uprear, 
Shall shrink beneath the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine — 
So. — now, the danger dared at last. 
Look back, and smile at perils past! 

in. 

And now we reach the favourite glade. 
Paled in by copsewood. cliflF, and slone. 

Where never harsher sounds invade, 
'Fo break affection's whispering tone. 

Than the deep breeze that waves the shade. 
Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. 



y 



z 



y 



THE BRIDAL OF T R I E R M A I N. 



^J 



Come ! rest thee on thy wonteJ seat. ; 

Mdss'd IS the stdue, the turf is trn-eii, 
A plac« where lnvers best may meet. 

Who would that not their love be seen. 
The boushs, tliat dun the summer sky. 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy. 

I'hat fain would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye, 
Noble ill birth, in fortunes hieh. 
She for whom lords and liaroiis sish, 

Meets her poor Arthur iu tlie dale. 

IV. 
How deep that blush ! — how deep that sigh ! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it berause that crimson draws 
Its ('oloiir from some secret cause, 
Smie hidden movement of the breast, 
Slie would not ihat her Arthur guess'd ? 
()! quicker far is lover's ken 
■I'han the dull glance of common men. 
And. by strange sympathy, can spell 
'I'ne thoughts the loved one will not tell! 
And mine, m Lucy's blush, saw met 
The hues of pie isure and regret ; 
I'nde mingled in the sigh her voice. 

And shared with Love the crimsDn elow : 
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's clKuce. 
Yet shamed thine own is placed so low : 
Thiiu turn'st thy self-confessms: cheek. 

As if to meet the breeze's cooling; 
Then. Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. 

For Love, too, has Ins hours of schooling 



Too oft my anxiou'5 eye has spied 

That secret srief tlioit fain wouidst hide, 

1'he pa-ssins pair.i of humbled pride ; 

Too oft, when through the splendid hall, 

The load-star of each heart and eye, 
My fair one leads the sflitterins bail, 
V\"ill her srol'ii sriance on Arthur fall, 

VVi'h such a blush and such a sigh ! 
Thou wouidst not, yield, for wealtli or rank. 

The heart thy worth and l)e;iuty won, 
Nor leave me on this mossy bank, 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
Why, then, should vain repiniiigs rise. 
That to thy lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A baron's birih, a menial tram. 
Since Heaven assi^iiM him, for his part, 
A lyre, a falchion, and a heart? 

VI. 

My sword its master must be dumb ; 

But when a soldier names my name, 
A|)pr..acli, my Lucy! fearless come, 

.Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 
Mv heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew. 

Of lordly rank and lofty line. 
Is there to love and honour true. 
That boasts a pulse so warm as mine T 
They praised thy diamonds' lustre rare — 

Maich'd with thme eyes, I thought it faded ; 
They praised the pearls that hound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided ; 
They talked of wealthy dower and land, 

And titles of high bnth tlie token — 
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand. 
.\or knew the sense of what was spo'r<en. 

1 The Mocking B.rd. 



\ 



And yet, if rank'd m Fortune's roll, 
I might have learn'd their choice unwise, 

Who rate the dower atnive the soul, 
Aiid Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes. 

Vll. 
My lyre — It is nn idle toy. 

That borrows accents not its own, 
Like warbler of Colombian sl»y. 

That sin^s but in a mimic tone.^ 
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 
Nor boasts it aught of Border spell; 
Its strings no feudal slogan pour. 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore; 
No shouting clans applauses raise. 
Because it sung their father's praise ; 
On -Scottish moor, or English down. 
It ne'er was graced by fair renown ; 
Nor won — best meed to minstrel true,— 
One favouring smile from fair Buccleuch! 
By one piK)r streamlet sounds its lone, 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIIL 
But. if thou bid'st. these tones shall tell 
Of errant knight, and damozelle ; 
Of the dread knot a Wizard tied. 
In punishment of maiden's pride, 
In Holes of marvel and of fear. 
That best may charm romantic ear. 
For Lucy loves. — like Collins. ill-starred name;' 
Whose lay's requital, was that tardy fame, 
V\'ho hound no laurel round his living lit^ad. 
Should hang it o'er his monument when 

dead. — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand. 
And tliread. like him. the maze of fairy land; 
Of golden battlements to view tlie gleam. 
And slumber soft by some Elysian si ream ; 
Such lays she loves, — and, such my Lucy't 

choice. 
What other song can claim her Poet's voice ? 



2ri)c 3Srftial of STrfecmafn. 



CANTO FIEST. 



I. 

Where is the maiden of mortal strain. 

That may match with the Baron of Tiiei- 

mam? 3 
She must be lovely, and constant, and kind. 
Holy and pure, and humble of mind. 
Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood. 
Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood- 
Lovely as the sun's first ray. 
When It breaks the clouds of an April day ; 
Constant and true as the widow'd dove. 
If ind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave. 
Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave ; 
Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 
Holy as Hermit's vesper strain ; 
Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies, 
Vet blithe as the light leaves that dance in Us 

sighs; 

2 See .Appendix, Note .\. 'J I 



A 



f 324 

W Cdurt 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Cdurteous as monarch the morn he is crown'd, 
Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad 

ground ; 
l^ohle her blond as the currents that met 
In the veins of the noblest Plantagenet — 
Such must her form be, her mood, and her 

strain. 
That shall match with Sir Roland of Trier- 
mam. 

II. 

Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid him to sleep. 
His blood it was fever'd, his brealliing was 

deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long, and the skirmish hot ; 
His dinted helm and his buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 

All in the castle must hold them still. 
Harpers must lull him to his rest, 
\<\\\\ the slow soft tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down upon his brenst. 

Like the dew on a summer hill. 

HI. 
It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost- fog grey. 
That like a silvery crape was spread 
.Kound Skiddaw's dim and distant head, 
And faintly gleam'd each jiainted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain. 

When that Baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke, and loudly did call, 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall, 

While hastily he spoke. 

IV. 

"Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 
'I'ouch'd his harp with that dying fall. 

So sweet, so sott. so faint. 
It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call 

To an expiring saint ? 
And hearken, my merry-men ! What time or 
where 

Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly 
brow. 
With her look so sweet and her eves so fair, 
And her graceful step and her angel air, 
And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair. 

That pass'd from my bower e'en now ?" 



Answer'd him Richard de Breiville ; he 
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — 
'• Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat since midnight close. 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet 

sings, 
Mnrmur'd from our melting strings, 
And hush'd you to repose. 

Had a harp-note sounded here. 

It had caught my watchful ear, 
Although it fell as" faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh, 

When she thinks her lover near " — 
Answer'd Philip of Faslhwaite tall. 
He kept guard in the outer-hall, — 
"Since at eve our watch took post. 
Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; 

1 Dunmailraise ii one of the grand passes from Cum- 
b«rlunU into Wi stmoreland. It tak.s its name from a 
cairn, or pile of stones, erected, it is said, to the memory 
of Duomuil, the laft Kinc of CumbeilaiiU. 



Else had 1 heard the steps, though low 
And light they fell, as when earth receives, 
In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves. 

That drop when no winds blow." — 

VI. 
"Then come thou hither, Henry, my page. 
Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And redden'd all the Nine-slane Hill. 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
Through the devouring flame and smothering 
smoke. 

Made the warrior's heart-blood chill. 
The trustiest thou of all my train. 
My fleetest courser thou must rem. 

And ride to Lyulph's tower. 
And from tiie Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires. 
And British hards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise. 
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.' 
Gifted like his gifted race. 
He the characters cati trace. 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 
Sign and sigil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and woe. 
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 
Froni mystic dreams and course of stars. 
He shall tell if middle earth 
To that enchanting shape gtive birth, 
Or if 'twas but an airy thing. 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring. 
Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes, 
Or fading tints of western skies. 
For, by the Blessed Rood I swear. 
If tliat fair form breathe viial air, 
No other maiden by my side 
Sliall ever rest De Vaux's bride !" 

VII. 
The faithful Page he mounts his steed. 
And soon he cross'd green Irtiniig's mead. 
Dash'd o'er Kirkosw.ild's verdant plain. 
And Eden barr'd his course in vam 
He pas5-'d red Penrith's Table Rouiid,^ 
For feats of chivalry renown'd. 
Left Mayburgh's mound 3 and stones of powei, 
By Druids raised in magic hour. 
And traced the Eamont's winding way. 
Till Ulfo's4 lake beneath him lay. 

Vlll. 
Onward he rode, the [ailiway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and lull; 
Till, on the fragment of a rock. 
Struck from its base by lightning shock. 

He saw the ho:iry'Sage: 
The silver moss and lichen twined. 
With fern and tleer-hair check'd and lined, 

A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspin-tree. 
A restless rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Heniy from his selle. 

And greeted Lyulpli grave. 
And then his master's tale did tell. 

And then for counsel crave. 

2 See Appendix, Nole C. 

3 See Appendix. Note D. 

4 Ukwaier. 



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THE BRIDAL OF TRIER MAIN. 



325 \ 



The Man of Years mused long and deep, 
Of time's lost treasures takins: keep, 
And then, as rousms from a sleep, 
His solemn answer ?,a\q. 

IX. 

"That maid is born of middle earth. 

And may of man he won. 
Thoush there have :,'lided since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But Where's the Kmsht in all the north, 
That dare the adventure follow forth. 
So perdous lo kniulitly worth. 

In the valley of St. John ? 
Listen, youth, to what I tell, 
And bind it on thy memory well ; 
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time. 
The mystic tale, by bard and sage, 
Is lianded down from Merlm's iige. 

X. 

lyulph's tale. 

"Kin? Arthur has ridden from merry Carlisle 

When Pentecost was o'er : 
He journey'd like errant-knight the while, 
And sweetly the summer sun did smile 

On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridsy back, 
Amid whose yawning: gulfs the sun 
Cast umber'd radiance red and dun. 
Though never sunbeam could discern 
The surface of that sable tarn.' 
In whose black mirror you may spy 
The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 
The gallant King he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill ; 
Kock upon rocks incumlie'nt hung, 
And torrents, down the gullies flung, 
Join'd the rude nver that brawl'd on, 
Kecoiling now from crag and stone, 
J\ow diving deep from human ken. 
And raving down its darksome glen, 
The .Monarch judijed this de.sert wild, 
V\'itt. such roiiianiic ruin piled, 
V.as theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of high achievement plann'd. 

XI. 

"O rather he chose, that Monarch bold. 

On vent'ious quest to ride. 
In plate and mail, by wood and wold, 
Than, with ermine trapu'd and cloth of gold. 

In princely bower to bide; 
The l)ursiing crash of a loeman's spear, 

As it shiver'd against his mall, 
Was iiierriei- music to his ear 

Than courtier's whisper'd tale: 
And the clash of Caliburn more dear. 

When on the lios'ile casque it rung. 
Than all the lays 
To their monarch's praise 

That the harpers of Regeil sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or river. 
Than m bower of his bride. Dame Guenever, 
For he left that lady, so lovely of cheer, 
'i'o follow adventures of danger and tear; 



1 The small lake called I 
bo'.oineil in the reresses f>f 
Aleback, more poehcully (ilj 



And the frank-hearted Monarch full little did 

wot, 
That she smiled, in his absence, on brave 

Lancelot. 

XII. 
'• He rode, till over down ami dell 
The shade more bro.id and dee()er fell ; 
And though around the m<Mint:iin's he;!<1 
Klow'd streams of purine, and gold, and red, 
Hark at the base, unblesi by beam. 
Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the 

stream. 
With toil the King his way pursued 
By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood, 
'I 111 on his course obliquely shone 
The narrow valley of Saiiit John. 
Down sloping to the western sky. 
Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 
Risht slad to feel those beams again. 
The Kins; drew up his cliaiger's rein ; 
With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight, 
As dazzled with the level light. 
And. from beneath his glove of mail, 
Scami'd at liis ease the lovely vale. 
While 'gainst the sun his armour bright 
Gleaiu'd ruddy Ukc the beacon's light. 

XIIL 
" Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its bed. 
But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
Arose with airy turrets crowti'd. 
Buttress, and ramiiire's circling bound. 

And mighty keep and tower; 
Seeni'd some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had plann'd, 
A ponderous bulwark to withstand 

Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
Above the moated entnince slung. 
The balanced drawbridge trembhiig hung. 

As jealous of a foe; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With iron studded, clencird. and barr'd. 
And prong"d portcullis, join'd to guard 

The gloomy pass below. 
But the grey walls no banners crown'd. 
Upon the watch-tower's airy round 
No warder stood his born to sound. 
No guard beside the bridse was f.mnd. 
And, where the Gothic gateway trown'd 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 

XIV. 
■' Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times ; nor living thing he spied. 

Nor heard a living sound. 
Save that, awakeninjr from her dream. 
The owlet now began t(» scream. 
In concert with the rush, ng stream. 

That wash'd the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed. 
And he left him to graze on bank and mead ; 
And slowly he climh'd the narrow way. 
That reach'd the entrance grim and grey, 
And he stood the outward arch below, 
And his bugle-horn prepared to blow. 



Ko completely h ddeu from the sun. t 
ns never reach it. and that the refleeti 
eh great depth, may be sceu at mid-day. 



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SCOTT'^ POETICAL WORKS. 



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In suniinons Mitlie ;ind bold, 
Dpeniiuir tn rouse from iron sleep 
Tlie sruiiriiian of this dismal Keep. 

Wliicli well he griiess'il the hold 
Of wizard stern, or sohlni g:riin, 
Or paa:;in of gigantic limit, 

Tlie tyrant of liie wold. 

XV. 
"The ivory hnsle's golden tip 
Twice touoh'd the Monarch's manly lip. 

And twice his hand withdrew 
—Think not hut Arthur's heart was good ! 
Pis shield was cro>sM liv the hlessed n»«l. 
Had a pagan host lief.ire him stood. 

He hail charged Iheni through and 
through ; 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space 

Ere yet his horn he hlew. 
But, instant as its 'larnm rung. 
The castle gate was open flung. 
Portcullis rose with crashing groan 
Full harshly up its groove of stone; 
The halaiic'e-beains ohev'd the blast. 
And down the trembling drawbrul^e cast; 
'I'he vaulted arch before hini lay, 
V\ nil nought to bar the gloomy Way. 
And onward Arthur paced, with liand 
On Caiiburn's i resistless brand. 

XVI. 
•• A hundred torches, flashing bright. 
Dispeird at once the iilnoiiiv night 

That lour'd along the walls. 
And show'd the King's astomsh'd sight 

The inmates of the halls. 
Nor vvizaixl stern, nor goiilin grini. 
Nor giant huge of form and limb, 

Nor heathen knight, was there; 
But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, 
Show'd by their yellow light anil soft, 

A band of damsels fair 
Onward they came, like summer wave 

That dances to the slirtre ; 
An hundred voices welcome gave. 

And wtilcome o'er and o'er! 
An hundred lovely liands a.ssail 
The bucklers of the monarch's uiail, 
And busy labour'd to unlias|) 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One wrapp'd him in a manile fair. 
And one flung odours on his hair ; 
His short (^url'd nnalels one smooth'd down, 
One wreathed them wiih a inyrlle crown. 
A bride upon her wedding-day. 
Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 

XVII. 
" r.oiid laugh'd they all, — the King, in vain. 
With questions task'd the giddy train; 
l*t liini entreat, i>r crave, or c;ill. 
'Twas one reply. — loud laugh'd they all 
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling. 
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 
While some their gentle force I'.nite, 
Onward to diiig the wonilermg knight. 
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows. 
Dealt with the Illy or the rose. 
Beliiiul hull were in tnuinph borne 
I'he warlike arms he la> had worn. 



Four of the train combined to rear 
The terrors of Tintadgel's spiear; 3 
Two. laughing at their lack of strength, 
Dragg'd Caliburn in cnnibroiis length; 
One. while she aped a martial stride. 
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride: 
Then scream'd. 'twixt laughter and surprise. 
To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes. 
With revel-shout, and triumph-song. 
Thus gaily march'd the giddy throng. 

XVIII. 
'•Through many a gjillery and hall 
They led. I ween, their royal thrall ; 
At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Their march and song at once they staid. 
The eldest maiden of the band, 

(The lovely maid was .-carce eighteen. 
Raised, with imposing air. her hand. 
And reverent sdence did command. 

On entrance of their Queen. 
And they were mn;e. — But as a glance 
They steal on Arthur's conntenaiure 

iBevvilder'd with surprise. 
Their smother'd mirth agniii 'gan speak. 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek, 

And laughter-lighted eyes. 

XIX. 

"The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
For .Nature, now e.xhausieil." still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valour high, 
And wisdom soar'il beyinul the sky. 
.Aiul beauty hail such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e'en in that romantic age. 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen. 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage. 
When forth (ui that enchanted stage. 
With gliitering train of maid ami page. 

Advanced the castle's Queen ! 
While iu> the hall she slowly pa>s'il, 
Her dark eye on the King she cast. 

That flash'd expression strong ; 
The longer dwelt tliat lingering look. 
Her cheek the livelier colour took. 
And scarce the shame-faceil King could brook 

The gaze that lasted long 
A sage, who had that look espied. 
Where kindling passion strove with pride, 
I lad whisper'd, • Prince, beware ! 
From the chated tiger rend the prey. 
Rush on the lion when I't bav. 
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way 

But shun thai lovely snare !'— 

XX. 

" At once that inward strife suppress'd. 
The dame approach'd her warlike guest. 
With greeting in that fair degree. 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart. 
.A courtly welcome first she gave, 
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 

Construction fair and true 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth. 
Who drew from lonely slens their birth, 
.\or knew to pay to stranger worth 

all, is reported to have lieen 



X^ 



A 



/ 



THE BRIDAL OF T R I E R M A I N . 



P't: 



And dignity llieir due; 
And tiit-n slie pny'd Unit lie would rest 
'I'hat nmlit her rii>tle's hoiiour'd sjuest. 
The MiiiiMicli itieeily thanks exprnss'd ; 
The hunqiiet ruse at her hehest, 
With lay and tale, iind lausrh and jest, 

Apace the evennig tlevv. 

XXI. 
"The Lady sate the Monarch by, 
Now in her turn ahash'd and shy. 
And with in liffereiioe seeni'd to hear 
The loy- he whisperM in her ear. 
Hi-r heariner nntdest was and fair. 
Yei shadows of oonstiaini were there, 
That sliow'd an over-cautious care 

Some inward IhouKJit to hide ; 
Oft (lid she pause in tull re(>ly, 
And oft oast down her lar-e dark eye, 
Oit check'd the soft volupluous si^h. 

That heaved her lio>oni's pride. 
Slight symptoms these, but shepherds know 
How hot the niid-day sun shall glow, 

From the mist of morniiig sky ; 
And so the wily .Monarch guessM. 
Thai this a.ssuuied restraint exjiress'd 
More ardent passons in the breast, 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he pre.ss'd. while beakers ran?. 
While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang. 

Still clo.ser to her ear — 
But why pursue the cumnion tale? 
Or wherefore show how knights {irevail 

When ladies dare to hear? 
Or wherefore trace, from what slight ca 
Its source one tyrant passion draws, 

Till, nias eriii^f all wiihin. 
Where lives the man that has not tried, 
How mirih can into tolly glide. 

And folly into sin!'' 



Stijc jScflial of ^Lrfermafa. 



CANTO SKCOND. 



L-fULPfl'S TA.LB:, CONTIND3D 

"Another day. another dav, 
And yet auo:her glides away ! 
'I'he S.iXon stern, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Chrisieiidnru the flower, 
l.ies loitering in a lady's h,)wer; 
The horn, that foeme'n wont to fear. 
Sounds but to wake the Cumhrian deer. 
And Caliburii. the British pride, 
Haugs useless by a lover's side. 

II. 
** Another day. another day. 
And yet another, glides away ! 
Heroic plans m pleiusure drown'd. 
He thiuKS not of the Table Round: 
In lawless love dissolved his life. 
He thinks not of his b.;aiUeous wife: 
Better he loves to siiaich a tlower 
From husoin of his j^aramour, 



Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 

The honours of his ileal hen crest ! 

Better to wreathe, 'mid tie.'^ses brown. 

The heron's plume her hawk struck dowii. 

Than o'er the altar give to flow 

The banners of a Paynim foe 

Thus, week by week, and day by day, 

His life inglorious glides away : 

But she, that soothes his dream, with fear 

Beholds his hour of waking near! 

III. 

'■ Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way; 
But Guendoleii's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth. 
Her sire a Genie of the earth. 
In days of old deem'd to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and lieauty's pride. 
By youths and virgins worshipp'd long. 
With festive dance and choral song. 
Till, when the cross to Britain came, 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude. 
The downfall of his lighis he rued. 
And, born of his resentment heir, 
lie traiii'd to suile that lady fair. 
To sink in slothful sin an<) shame 
The champions of the Christian name. 
Well skill'd to keep vain thoiishts alive. 
And all to promise, nought to give, — 
The timid youth had hope in store. 
The bold and pressing sam'd no more. 
As wilder'd children leave their home. 
After the rainbow's arcn to roam, 
ller lovers barter'd tair esteem, 
Faiili, fame, and honour, for a dream. 

IV. 
•' Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame 
Slie practi.sed thus— till Arthur came; 
Tlien. frail humanity had [lart. 
And all the mother flainrd her heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a piiiiress to a slave. 
Too late must Guendoleii deplore. 
He, that has all, can hope no more ! 
Now must she see her lover strain. 
At every turn, her feeble chain ; 
V\ atcli, to new-liind each knot, and siiriiik 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to Nature s aid. 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid , 
Each varied pleasure heard tier call. 
The feast, the tourney, and tlie ball : 
Her storied lore she ne.\t a()plies, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes: 
Now mure than mortal wise, and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now. raptured, with each wish complying, 
With feign'd reluctance now denying , 
Each charm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart, and all in vain ! 



'Thus in the garden's narrow bound, 
Flank'd by some castle's Gothic round. 
Fain would the artist's >kill [irovide. 
The limits of his roahiis to hide. 
The walks in liil)\ riiilhs he Iwines, 
Shade alter ^hade \Mlh skill coiiihiiies. 



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328 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



With many a varied flowery knot, 
And copse, stud arb(njr, tierks tlie spot, 
'reuipting: the hiisiy foot to stay, 

Anil linger on tlie lovely wny 

Vain art! vain hope! 'tis fVnitiess all! 
At length we reach the houiidnig wall, 
And. sick of flower and trini-dress'd tree, 
Long for rough glades and forest free. 

VI. 
"Three siininier months had scantly flown 
When Arthur, in embarrass 'd tone. 
Sjioke of his liegemen and his throne; 
Said, all too lonu' had been his slay. 
And duties, wliioh a Monarcli sway. 
Duties, inikiiovvii to hunililer men. 
Most le;ir her l<nis;lit (roin Guendolen.- 
Slie listenM silently the while. 
Her rridiid expressed in bitter smile; 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, 
And oft resume the niifiuish'd tale, 
Confessiii'.', Iiv his dowiiCMSt eve. 
The WKiiig he sonsht tojustify. 
He ceased. A luonieiit mute slie gazed. 
And then liei' hioks to lieMVen she raised 
One [i:ilni her Icniples veil'ii, to hide 
Tlie tear that .spinui; in spite of pride! 
The other I'cir an iiislant press'd 
The fiildm^s of her silken vest ! 

VII. 
"At her reproachful sign and look. 
The hint the .Monarch's conscience took 
Eaa:er he s|)oke— ' No. lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so. 
Nor think he can deserter prove 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear bv sceptre and by sword. 
As belted knislit and Britain's lord, 
Thai, if a boy shall claim my care. 
That boy is born a kingdom's heir ; 
But, if a maiden Fate allows. 
To choose that niaid a fitting spouse, 
A sumo ei -day in lists shall strive 
My knights,— the bravest knights alive.— 
And he, the best and bravest tried. 
Shall Arthurs daughter claim for bride.'— 
He spoke, with voice resolved and hi^h— 
The lady deign 'd liim not reply. 

VIJI. 
" At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make, 
Or stirr'd his wing to brusli away 
A single dew-drop from the sprav. 
Ere yet a sunlieam. throush the mist. 
The castle-batilemenis had kiss'd. 
The gates revolve, the drawlindse falls, 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
Dotf'd his sofi garb of Persia's loom. 
And steel from spur to helmet-plume. 
His Lybiaii steed full proudly tiode, 
And joyful nei?h'd beneath his load. 
The Monarch save a passms sigh 
To penitence and pleasures by, 
When, lo! to his astcmish'd ken 
Ajjpear'd the form of Guendolen. 



lie 
prt- 



lleiimark. The I 
pri-BHiiteil to that i 
the Royal Musruii 



rt rccollcc 
1 wliicli is 
\w of the 



n of an adven- 
ri- asciii.eil to 
^enl King.s of 
burning liquor was 
II 10 be preserved in 



IX. 
"Beyond the outmost wall she stood. 
Attired like huntress of the wood 
Sandall'd her feet, her ankles bare, 
.And eagle-pluiiiase deck'd her hair; 
['inn was her look, her bearing bold. 
And in her hand a cup of gold. 
* 1'liou goest !' she said. * and ne'er again 
.Must we two meet, in jov or fiaiii. 
Kiill fain would I this hour delay, 
Thoii'ih weak the wish — vet, wilt thoii .stay* 
—No ! thou look'st forward. Still attend,— 
Part we like lover and like friend,' 
She raised the cup—' Not this the juice 
The sliiguish vines of earth produce : 
Pleilge we, at parting, in the draught 
Whii-h Ueiiii love !'- she said, and guafl"d ; 
And stranse unwonted lustres fly 
Krom her flusli'd cheek and sparkling eye. 



"The courteous Monarcli bent him low, 
And. stooping: down from saddlebow. 
Lilted the cup. in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the eoblel's brink — 
Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
IJpcm the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright. 
He bolted twenty feet upright— 
—The peasant still can show the dint, 
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint — 
From Arthur's hand the goblet flew. 
Scattering a shower of fiery dew. 
That burn'd and blighted where it fell ! 1 
The fniniic steed rusli'd up the dell, 
As whistles from the bow the reed , 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, 

I'ntil he gain'd the hill ; 
Then breath and sinew fail'd apace. 
And. reeling from the desperate race, 

He stood, exhausted, still. 
The Monarch, breathless and amazed. 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon could he spy. 
Darkening against the morning sky ; 2 
Bui, oil the spot where once they frown'd, 
The lonely streamlet brawl'd around 
A tufied knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone. 
Musing on this strange hap the while, 
The king wends back to fair Carlisle; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway, 
V\'ore memory of the p;ist away. 

-XL 
" Full fifteen years, and more, were sped. 
Each brought, new wreaths to Arthur's head. 
Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. 
The Saxons to subjection brought: 3 
Rythoii, the mighty giant, slam 
By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 
I'lie Pictish GillJimore in fight. 
And Roman Lucius, own'd his might; 
And wide were through the world renown'd 
The glories of his Table Round. 
Each knight who sought adventurous fame. 
To the bold court of Britain came. 

2 See Appendix, Note E. 



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KING ARTHUR AND GUENDOLEN. 

Intense as liquid fire from hell, 

Upon the charger's ueck it fell. — Page 328, Verse, x. 



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THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



And all who suffei'd cnusoless wrori?, 
From tyrant proud, or fuitour stroiis, 
Soii-jht .Arthur's preNcnce to ciuipiam. 
Nor there for aid implored m vain. 

XII. 
" For Ihis the Kins, with pomp and pride, 
Hehl solemn court at Whitsuntide, 
And summoird Pniin.> and Peer. 
All who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knishihood from his hand, 
Or who had succour to demand. 

To come from far and near 
At such hiarh tide, were glee and game 
Minsled with feats of martial fame. 
For many a stranger champion came. 

In lists to hreak a spear; 
And not a knisht of Arthur's host. 
Save that he trode some foreign coast. 
But at this feast of Pentecost 

Before him must appear. 
Ah. Minstrels ! when the Talile Round 
Arose, with till its warriors crowii'd. 
There was a theme for hard- to sound 

In triunuih to their string! 
Fire hundred years are past and gone, 
But time shall draw his dying groan, 
Ere he behold the British throne 

Begirt with such a ring! 

XIII. 
"The heralds named the appointed spot. 
As I'aerleon or Cainelot. 

Or Carlsle fair and free 
At Penrilh. now. the feast was set. 
And in fair Eamoiit's vale were met 

The dower of Chivalry. 
There Gal;iad sa'e with manly grace, 
Yet maiden meekness in Ins fiice; 
There Morolt of the iron mace.i 

And love-lorn Tris rem there: 
And Dinadam with lively ylance. 
And I.anval with the fairy lance. 
And Mordred with his look askance, 

Brunor and Mevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers more ! 
Sir Cay, Sir Banier, ;ind Sir Bore, 

Sir Caroilac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's courteous lore. 
Hector de Mares and Pellinore. 
And Lancelot, that ever more 

Look'd slol'u-wise on the Queen. 2 

XIV. 
" When wine and mirth did most abound. 
And harpers play'd I heir hlylhest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the erounil, 

And maislials clear'd the ring; 
A maiden, on a palfrey white. 
Heading a hand of damsels ' riffht. 
Paced through the circle, to iilight 

And kneel before the King. 
Arthur, with stromj emotion, .saw 
Her graceful boldness check'd by awe. 
Her dress, like huntress of tlie wold. 
Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold, 
Her .sand.ili'd feet, her ankles bare. 
And the eaele-plume that deck'd her luiir. 
Graceful her veil she backward dun?— ^ — 
The King, as from his se;-.t he sprung. 

Almost cried. ' Guendolen !' 

Sfe A|.peiid]X, iNoicF. 



, But 'twas a fac<! more frank and wild, 
. Betwixt the woman and the child, 
I Where less of niaijic beauty smiled 

Thau of the race of men ; 
, And in the forehead's hausrhlv srace, 
The lines of Britain's royal race, 
Pendragon's you might ken. 

XV. 

" Faltering, yet gracefullv. she s lid — 
'Great Prince! behold an orphan maid. 
In her departed mother's n.ime, 
A father's vow'd protection claim I 
The vow was sworn in desert lone. 
In the deep valley of St John.' 
At once the King the suppliant raised. 
And kiss'd her brow, her beautv praised; 
Ills vow. he said, should well lie kept. 
Ere in the sea the sun was dt(n)'d.— 
Then, conscious, glanced unon Ins queen ; 
But she. unruffled at the scene 
Of human frailty, roiistrued mild. 
Look'd upon Lancelot and smiled. 

XVI. 
" ' Up I up ! each knisht of gallant crest 

Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
He that to-day shall he.ir him best. 

Shall will my Gyneth's hand. 
And .Arthur's daughter, wlieu a bride. 

Shall bring a noble dower; 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and I{e-ed wide. 

And Carlisle town and tower.' 
Then might you hear each valiant knight. 

To page and squire that (tried. 
' Bring mv armour bright, and my courser 

wight! 
'Ti< not each day that a warrior's might 

M;iy win a royal bride.' 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
The helmets glance, and gleams the lance. 

And the steel weaved hauberks ring 
Small care had they of their peaceful iirrav, 

They might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and bramble gliiter'd gay, 

With pearls and cloth of gold. 

XV IL 

" Within trumpet sound of the Table Rouna 

Were fiftv cliampions free. 
And they all arise to tight that prize,— 

They all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath. 

One gallant could withhold. 
F(n- priests will allow of a broken vow. 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troofi were thrown. 
To plead their right, and true love plight. 

And 'plain of honour flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast, 

W'iih buckling s[)iir and belt, 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast. 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance, 

Kiich gallant turns aside. 
And only thought. 'If speeds my lance, 

A queen befomes mv bride! 
She has fair Strath Clyde, and Reged wide. 




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And Tiirlisle tower and town ; 
Slie is the loveliest ni;iiii. heside. 

That ever heir'd a crown.' 
So HI haste their coursers they bestride, 

And strike tneir visors down. 

xvin. 

"The champions, arni'd in martial sort, 

Have thron^M imo the hst. 
And but three kniirhts of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney miss'd. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown,— 
There were two who loved their neighbour' 
wives. 

And one who loved his own.' 
The first was Lancelot de L;ic, 

The second Tristrem t)(>ld, 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cm\) of gold, 
What time, of all Kins Arthur's crew, 

(I'hereof came jeer and lausch.) 
He, as the mate of lady true. 

Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy's tonsfue would fain surmise, 

Tliat hut for very sharne. 
Sir Carodac. to fight tlr.ir [irize. 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet. since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine. 
Brand him who will with base report, — 

He shall be free from mine. 

XIX. 
" Now caracoled the steeds in air. 
Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the cham|>ions ride. 
King Arthur saw with startled eye. 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The bulwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ; 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth then apart he drew; 
To her his leading-staff resign'd, 
But added caution grave and kind. 

XX. 

" 'Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, 

I bid the trump for tourney sound. 

Take thou my warder as the queen 

And umpire of the martial scene; 

But mark thou this:— as Beauty bright 

Is polar star to valiant knight, 

As at her word his sword he draws, 

His fairest guerdon her applause. 

So senile maid should never ask 

Of knighthood vain and dangerous task; 

And Beauty '.s eyes should ever be 

Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 

And Beauty's breath shall whisper peace, 

And bid the storm of battle cease. 

I tell thee this, lest all too far. 

Thest knights urge tournev into war. 

Blithe at the trumpet le: thfui go. 

And fairly counter blow for blow ;— 

No striplings these, who succour need 

For a razed helm or falling steed. 



1 See Apprijdi: 



^ 



But. Gyneth. when the strife grows warm, 
And threatens death or deadly harm, 
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands. 
Thou drop the warder from thy hands. 
Trust thon thy father with thy fate, 
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate , 
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.' 

XXL 

" A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder bv :— 
• Reserve thy boon, my lie»e,' she said, 
'Thus chaffer'd downand limited. 
Debased and narrow'tl for a maid 

Of les-s degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honour'd price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me! 
Alihniish the sun burn'il maid, for dower, 
Has but her father's rugged tower. 

His barren hill and lee. — 
King Arthur swore. •■ Bv crown and sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That a whole summer's day should strive 
His knights, the bravest knights alive !'* 
Recall thine o.itli ! and to lier glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy dauuhfer will the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown remain. 
But think not she will e'er be hriile 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried, 
Pendragon's daiigliter will not fear 
For t;l,isliiii'r sword or splinter'd spear. 

Nor shrink thougli blood should flow; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men. 
That child of hers should pity, when 

'I'heir meed they undergo." — 

XXIL 

" He frown'd and sigh'd. the Monarch bohj : 

'I give— wliat 1 may not witlihoKl , 

For. not for danger, dread, or death. 

Must British Arthur break his faith. 

Too bile I mark, thy mother's art 

Hath taught thee this releiirle.ss part. 

I blame her not, for she had wrong. 

But not to these my faults belong. 

Use. then, the warder as thou wilt; 

But trust me. that, if life be spilt. 

In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace. 

Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.' 

With that he turn'd his head aside. 

Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride. 

As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 

The arbitress of mortal fate; 

Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed. 

How the bold champions stood opposed. 

For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 

Upon his ear like passing hell ! 

Then first from sight of martial fray 

Did Britain's hero turn away. 

XXIII. 
"But Gyneth heard the clangour high. 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
Oh, blame her not ! the blood was hers. 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs !— 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 



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A wliile utitr.iul)le<l view. 
So well accDinphsird was each knigiit, 
To strike and to (iiifeiid iii tifflit 
Their meeting was a kooiUv sisht, 

Willie jiia'e and mail held true. 
The lists wih fiaiated plumes vvere strown, 
I'puii I lie wind at random thrown. 
But helm and breastplate hUi^Klles-; shone, 
It see.nM their featherM crests alone 

Should this eiK^oiiiiter rue. 
And ever, as the comhat srows. 
The trumpet's cheerv voir.e arose, 
Like lark's shrill sons the flounsh flows, 
Heard while ihe Kale of April blows 

'I'he merry greenwood through. 

X.XTV. 
" But soon i() earnest grew their frame. 
The spears drew blood, the swords struck 

flame. 
And. horse and man, to ground there came 

Kuiifhts, who shall rise no more ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven, anil helms unbraced, 

And pennons streani'd with gore. 
Gone, too. were lence and fair array. 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through ihe bloody fray. 
And blows were dealt with headlong sway, 

Unheeding where they f^U; 
And now the trumpet's clamours seem 
: ike the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream. 

The sinking seaman's knell ! 

XXV. 

"Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's rum antedate. 

And spa-e dark Mordred's crime ; 
Alreadv giisping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Hound, 

Of chivalry tne prime. 
Arthur, in anguish, lore away 
From head and beard his tresses grey. 
And she. proud Gyiieih. felt dismay. 

And quaked with ruth and fear; 
But still she deem'd her mother's shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid, 

And chid tne rising tear. 
Then Briinor. Taulas. Mador, fell, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 

And manv a champion more ; 
Pocliemont and Dir.adam are down. 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gas[)ing in his gore 
Vanoc. by mighty Morolt press'd 
Plveii to the confines of the list. 
Voung Vanoc of the beardless face. 
(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race.) 
O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool hied. 
His heart's blood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast. 
Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, 

And, rent by sudden throes. 
Vawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth. 
And from the gulf.— tremendous birth !— 

The form of .Merlin rose. 

XXVI. 
" Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed. 



And stf-rnly raised his hand -• 
'Madmen," he said, 'your stiife forbear; 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 
The doom iliy fa'es den.and ! 
Long shall close in stony sleep 
Eyes for ruili that would not weep; 
iron lethargv shall seal 
Heart that pity scorn'd to feel. 
Yet. because thy mother's art 
Vv'arp'd thine unsuspicious heart. 
And f.ir love of Arthur's race. 
Punishment is blent with grace, 
'Jhou shall bear thy penance lone 
In the Valley of Saint iohn. 
And this weird ' shall overtake thee; 
Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee. 
For feats of arms as far renown'd 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy slumber 
Well may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth's pride, 
W'iien the Ked Cross champions died.' 

XXVIL 

"As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice, with effort and with pause. 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
Twice her strength in vain she tries. 
From the fatal chair to rise. 
Merlin's magic liooui is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-frmged eyelids fall. 
Curtaining each azure ball, 
Slowlv as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty batmi of command 
Now bears "down her sinking hand. 
On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread. 
Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And .so lovelv seem'd she there. 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her tmgrv sire, repenting. 
Craved stern Merlin for relenting. 
And the champions, for her sake. 
Would again the ccmlest wake; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 

xxvin. 

"Still she hears her weird alone. 
In the Valley of Saint John : 
And her semblance oft will seem. 
Mingling in a champion's dream. 
Of her weary lot to 'plain. 
And crave his aid to liurst her chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new. 
Warriors to her rescue drew. 
East and west, and south and north. 
From the Liffy. Thames, and Forth. 
Most have sought in vain the glcii. 
Tower nor castle could they ken ; 
Not at every time or tide. 
Nor by every eye. descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne. 
Many a night in watching worn. 



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Ere ail efe of mortal powers 
Can discern those niMgic towers, 
or Uie perseverinsr few, 
Some from hopeless task withdrew, 
When they read the dismal tlireat. 
Graved upon the ffhxiniy gate. 
Few havi hraved the yawniiia: door, 
And llioso • V letiini'd no more. 
In the la,';, jf lime forgot, 
Welhiish lost is Gyneth's lot: 
Sound her sleep as in the tonih. 
Till waken'd hy tiie trump of doom." 

END OF LYULPH'S TALE, 



I. 

Here pause my tale ; for all too soon, 

Mv Lucy, comes the liour of noon. 

Already from thy lofty dome 

Its courtly inmates 'g:in to roam, 

And each, to kill the Koodly day 

'I'hat God has granted them, his way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought ; 

Lordhngs and witlings not a few. 
Incapable of doing aught, 

Vet ill at ease with nought to do. 

Here is no longer plai;e for me ; 

For, Lury, thou wouldst hlush to see 
Some phaniom, fashionably thin, 
With limb of lath and kerchief'd chin, 
And lounging gape, or sneering grin. 

Steal sudden on our privacy. 

And how should I. so humbly born. 

Endure the graceful spectre's scorn? 

Faith! ill. I fear, while conjuring wand 

Of English oak is hard at liaad. 

II. 
Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian hoot and pantaloon. 
And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond the smooth and gravell'd maze, 
1-aiid we the gods, tiiat Fashion's tram 
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. 
Artists are hers, who >corn to trace 
Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art. 
Damning whaie'er of vast and fair 
E.vceeds a canva.ss three feet square. 
This thicket, for their gumplioti tit, 
Mav furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite 
Their own sweet lays hy waxen light. 
Half in the salver's tingle drown'd. 
While the chnsseraft glides around ; 
And such may hither secret stray. 
To labour an extempore : 
Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo, 
May here his wiser spaniel follow. 
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume 
'I'o choo.se this bower for tiruig-room; 
And we alike must shun regard. 
From painter, player, sportman. bard. 
In>ects that SKim in Fashion's sky. 
Wasp, blue botile. or biiiterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hum and all can buzz. 

111. 
Lilt oh, my Lucy, say how long 
We still must dread this trifling thrr.ng. 



And stoop to hide, with coward art, 

The genuine feelings of the heart! 

No parents thine whose just command 

Should rule their child's obedient hand. 

Thy guardians, with contending voice, 

Press each his individual choice. 

And which is Lucys?— Can it be 

That puny fop. tninm'd cap-a-pee. 

Who loves in the saloon to show 

The arms that never knew a foe ; 

Whose .sahre trails along the ground. 

Whose legs in shapeless boots are drown'd, 

A new Achilles, sure,— the steel 

P'led frimi his breast to fence his heel ; 

One, for the simple manly grace 

That wont to deck our martial race. 

Who comes in foreign trashery 
Of tinkling chain and spur, 

A walking haberdashery. 
Of feathers, lace, and" fur: 
In Rowley's antiquated phrase, . 
Horse-millmer of modern days? 

IV. 
Or is it he, the wordy youth. 

So early tram'd for statesman's part. 
Who talks of honour, faith, and truth, 

As themes that he has got by heart , 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach, 
Whose logic is from Single-speech ; 
Who scorns the meanest thought to vent. 
Save m the phrase of Parliament; 
Wlio in a lale of i^at and mouse. 
Calls "order," anil "ilivides I he house," 
Who "craves permission to reply." 
Whose •• noble friend is in his eye ;'' 
Whose loving tender some have reckon'd 
A motion, you should gladly secund 1 

V. 
What, neither? Can there be a third. 
To such resistless swains preferr'd ? — 
O why. my Lucy, turn aside, 
With'ihat quick glance of injured pride T 
F'orgive me, love. I cannot bear 
Th.1t alter'd and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Hu.'<sel mine. 
And all the rank of Howard's line. 
All would 1 give for leave to dry 
That dewdmp trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I fear such fops can wile 
From Lucy more than careless smile; 
Hut yet if'wealth and high degree 
Give silded counters currency. 
Must I not fear, when rank and birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth .' 
Nobles there arc, whose martial tires 
Rival the flame that raised their sires, 
And patriots, skill'd through storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reeling stale. 
Such, such there are— If such should come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb. 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore, 
And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 

VL 
What sight, what signal of alarm. 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm? 
Or is it, that the rugged way 
Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay ? 
Oh. no! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake. 
And this trim sward of velvet green. 
Were carpet fir the Fairy Queen. 



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333 



That pressure slight was hut to tell, 
'I llil l.'icy liPVfs her Arlliur well,* 
Arid fain wouli hunish fmm I i< mind 
Suspicitfus tear and doubi unkind. 

VII. 
B'l' wonldst thou bid the demons fly 
I ike mist before the dawning sky, 
There is hut one ■•e.sstles.s .s^e 1 — 
Say. wilt I lion gness or must I tell? 
' Twee hard to name, in min-;trel phrase 
A landaiilet and fmir hlood hay.s. 
B it hards agree th s wizarl band 
Can Imi he bound in Nor hern land, 
'lis thf-re — nay, diaw ni«t hack thv hand ! 
'lis theie this slender finger round 
Must golden amulet lie hound. 
Which, hless'd wi h many a holy prayer. 
Can change lo rapture lovers' care, 
And doubt, and jealousy shall die, 
And feur give place to ecstacy. 

VIII. 

Now. tru.st me. Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
O. why so .'^ilent, love, I pray? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day T 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless T 
I ask but one — a simple sound, 
Within three little letters bound, 

O, let the word be YES ! 



a^f)e Brf&al of S:tfermnfn. 



CANTO THIRD. 



IMTRODUCTION. 



I. 

Lonp, loved, long woo'd, and latelv won. 

My life's best hope, and now mine own! 

Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 

Kec^d our favourite haunts agen ? 

A w id resemblance we can trace, 

Though reft of every softer grace. 

As the rough warrior's brow may bear 

A likeness to a sister fair. 

Pull well advised our Highland host, 

That this wild p<ss on foot be-cross'd. 

While round Ben Cruach's mighty base 

Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. 

The keen old carle, with Scottish pride. 

He praised his glen ami mountains wide ; 

An eye he hears for nature's face, 

Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 

Even in such mean degree we find 

The subtle Scot's observing mind , 

For. nor the chariot nor the train 

Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 

Bur. when old Allan would expound 

Of Beal-napaisli ' the Celtic sound. 

His bonnet dolFd. and bow, applied 

His legend to my bonny bride; 



1 Beal'iia paiH 



! Vale of the Bridal. 



\ 



While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye. 
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 

IL 
Enough of him.— Now, ere we lose, 
Plunged ill the vale, the distant views. 
Turn thee, my love! look back once more 
To the blue lake's retiring shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows seem 
Like objects in a morning dream. 
What time the slumberer is aware 
He sleeps, and all the vision's air: 
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn. 
In hues of bnght, reflection drawn, 
D s inct the shaggy mountains lie. 
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 
Ttie summer-clouds so plain we note, 
I'hat we might count each dappled spot: 
We gaze and we admire, yet know 
The scene is all delusive show. 
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur draw, 
''\ hen first his Lucy's form he saw; 
Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew, 
Despairing they could ere prove true! 

III. 

But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 

Up the fair glen, our destined way . 
The fairy path that we pursue, 
Dislinguish'd hut by greener hue. 

Winds round the purple brae, 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
Kor carpet serve, or tapestry. 
.See how the little runnels leap. 
In threads of silver, down the steep, 

To swell the brooklet's moan ! 
.Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves, 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves, 
Of rowan, biich, and alder leaves, 

So lovely, and so lone. 
There's no illusion there ; these flowers. 
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers. 

Are. Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur call'd thee wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path, on-winding still. 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 
"I'lS true, that mortals cannot tell 
What waits them in the distant dell ; 
But be it hap, or he it harm. 
We tread the pathway arm in arm. 

IV. 

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 
I could thy hiiiding twice deny, 
Wtien twice you pray'd I would again 
Resume the legendary strain 
Of the hold knight of Triermain? 
At length yon [)eevish vow you swore. 
That you would sue to me iio more, 
Until the minstrel fit drew near. 
And made me prize a listening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay. 
Was it not on the hap|iy day 

That made thy hand mine own? 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy, 
-Nought past, or present, or to be, 
Could I or think on, hear, or see. 

Save. Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was, 
As ever chemist's magic gas. 



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Asam the summons I cJenieJ 
111 yon fh.r capi:;!! of Clyde : 
My Harp — or let me rather choose 
The good old chihsic form— my Muse, 
(For Harp's an over scutched phrase, 
Worn out hy bards of modern days.) 
My Muse, then— seldom will she wake, 
Save by dim wood and silent lake ; 
She is the wild and rustic Maid, 
Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread 
Where the soft, greensward is inlaid 

With varied moss and thyme; 
And. lest the simple lily-braid, 
That coronets her temples, fade. 
She hiiles her sliU in greenwood shade. 

To meditate her rhyme. 

VI. 
And now she comes! The murmur dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear. 

The glade hath won her eye ; 
She lorii^ to join with each blithe rill 
'i'hat dances down the Highland hill, 

Her blither melody. 
And now, tny Lucy's way to cheer, 
She bids Beh-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale, my love whilere 

Loved for its chivalry. 
List how she tells, in notes of flame, 
" Child Roland to the dark tower came I" 



i!l\)t Bcfnal of STtfermafn. 



CANTO THIRD. 



L 



T 



Bewcastle now must keep the Hold, 

Speir-Adarn's steeds must bide in stall, 
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Teviot now iiiHy belt the brand, 
Taras and Ewes keep nightly stir. 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plnnder'd flocks 

The Borderers bootless may complain ; 
They lack the sword of brave De Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Trierniain. 
That lord, on high adventure bound, 

Hath wander'd forth alone. 
And day and night keeps watchful round 

In the valley of Saint John. 

IL 
When first began his vigil bold. 
The moon twelve summer nights was old, 

And shone both fair and full ; 
High in the Vault of cloudless blue. 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 

Her light composed and cool. 
Stretch'd on the brown hill's heathy breast, 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, dislinguish'd from the rest. 
Those clustering rocks uprear'd their crest, 
The dwelling of the fair distress'd, 

As told grey Lyulph's tale. 



Thus as he lay. the lamp of night 
Was quiverif.g on his armour bright, 

In lieams that ro.se and fell. 
And danced upun his buc^kler's boss, 
Tliat lay beside him on the moss, 

As on a crystal well. 

III. 
Ever he watch'd. and oft he deem'd. 
While on the mound the moouiighi .stream'd, 

It alter'd to his eyes; 
Fain would lie hope the rocks 'gan charge 
1'o buUress'd walls their shapeless range, 
Fain ihmk by transnnitation si range. 

He saw grey turreis rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope Ihrob'd high, 
Before the wild illusions fly. 

Which fiincy had conceived. 
Abetted by an anxioii.s eye 

That iong'd to be de(;eived. 
It was a fond deception all, 
Such as, iii solit:iry hail. 

Beguiles tlie miising eye. 
When, giizmg on the sinking fire. 
Bulwark, and b;ittlement. and spire, 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night, 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright, 
Or by the dawn of morning light, 

Or evening's western flame, 
In every tide, at every hour. 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower, 

'I'he rocks remam'd the same. 

IV. 

Oft has he traced the charmed mound, 
Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round, 

Yet nothing might explore. 
Save that the crags so rudely piled. 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet si ill his wa'ch the Warrior keeps. 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps. 

And drinks but of the well ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 
And when the evening gale is chill. 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead, 
And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his spell. 

V. 
And now the mnon Her orb has hid, 
And dwindled to a silver thread, 

l»im seen in middle heaven. 
While o'er its curve careering fast, 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
Tlie upland showers had swoln the rills, 

And down the torrents came ; 
Mutter'd the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of lightning flame. 
De Vaux, within his mountain cave, 
{So human step the storm durst brave,) 
I'o moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul, 
Till, luli'd by distant torrent sound. 
And the sad winds that whistled round, 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, 

A broken slumber stole. 



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THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



335 



'n 



S 



VI. 
'Tw;i!« ilien wns lieiinl a lieiivv sound, 

(S'ii)iiil. .sTuiise and learrnl iliere t.i hear. 
'Mons^t de>ori lulls, wliere. leau'iies around, 

Dwelt l)u' the ^'oiTiick antl tlie deer;) 
As, Stan in-,' from Ins coiutli of fern, 
Again lie heard in claii-or sii-rn. 

That deep and solenni swell,— 
Twelve times, mi measured Uine. it .ipoke, 
Like some proud minster's pealiii;? clock. 

Or rilv'ii larnm-bell. 
What thonsht was Roland's first when fell. 
In liiat deep wilderness, the knell 

Upon Ills star led ear' 
To slaiiiler warrior Were I liifh, 
Yet must I hold niv minstrel troth, — 
It was a tli()iip:ht ol fear. 

VII. 
But lively was the nimsled thrill 
Tliat chised tiial niomentary chill. 

For Love's keen wish was there, 
And ea?pr Hope, and Valour his:li, 
And the proud arlow of Chivalry, 

That burn'd to do and dare. 
Forth from ilie nave the Warrior rush'd. 
Long ere the iiiounfain-voice w;is hush'd, 

Tliaf answer'd to Hie knell; 
For loiiu: and far the unwonted .sound, 
Eddviiis III echoes round atnl round, 

Was to.<!s'd from fell to fell j 
And Glarartaia answer flun?, 
And Grisdale-pike responsive run?. 
And Lei! belt heights their echoes swung, 

An far as Derweiit's dell. 

Vlil. 
Forth upon trackless darkness ?azed 
The Kniiht. hedeafeil'd and amazed, 

Till all was hush'd and still. 
Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, 
And the night blast that wddly bore 

lis course alonsr the hill 
Then on he norihern sky there came 
A lisht, as of reflected flame. 

And over Leshert-head. 
As if by inaffic art contidir<1, 
A mishty meteor slowly roU'd 

lis orb of fiery red ; 
Thou wonldsr have thoujhi some demon din 
Came mouiiied on that car of fire, 

To do his errant dreail. 
Far on the .'•lo[)iii? val'ev's course. 
On thicket lo :k, and torent Intaise, 
Shingle and Scrae,' and Fell and Force, 2 

A dusky lislit arose : 
Display "d, yet alter'd was the scene; 
Dark rork, and brook of silver sheen, 
tven the gay thicket's summer green, 

In bloody tincture glows. 

IX. 
De Vaux had niark'd the sunbeams set. 
At eve. upon the ctirouet 

Of that enchanted mound. 
And seen but crags at random flun^. 
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung, 

In desolation fiown'd 
What sees he by that meteor's lourT— 
A banner'd Castle, keep, and tower, 

1 Bank of \onse stones. 2 Waterfall. 

3 The (uter defence of llie caBllt gale. 



Return the Innd srleaiii. 
With battled walls and buttress fast, 
.And harbiiaii3 and ballium * vast. 
And airy flinking towers, that cast 
Their shadows on the stream. 
Tis no deceit !— distinctly clear 
Creiielis niid parapet appear. 
While o'er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momeiitarv pause ; 
Then forili iis solemn path it drew. 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomv towers ii[ion the view, 
As Its wild light w.thdraws. 
X. 
Forth from the cave did Roland rush. 
O'er crag and stream,! hrongh brier and bush; 

Yet far he had not sped. 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills, and utter night 

Was on the valley spread. 
He paii-ed perforce, and blew his Imrn, 
And, on ihe moiuitain-echoes borne. 
Was heard an answering snund, 
A wild and lonely tnimpet-note. — 
In middle ;iir it seem'd to float 

High oerthe baltled mound; 
And sounds were heard, as when a guard. 
Of some proud castle, holding ward. 

Pace forth their mgliily round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermain 
Rung forth Ins challenge blast again, 

But answer came I liere none ; 
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain. 
Darkling he sought ih' vale in vain. 

Until the dnwiiln,' shone ; 
And when ii dawn'd.that wondrous sight, 
Distinctly seen by meteor lighi. 

It all had pass'd awav ! 
And that enchanted mount r)nce more 
A pile of granite fragments bore, 
As at the close of day. 
XI. 
Steel'd for the deed. De Vaux's heart, 
t^Com'd from his veni'rous qiesi to part, 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees, bv night or day. 
That shatter'd pile of rocks .so grey, 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, through hills of azure borne, 
The moon reiiew'd her silver horn, 
.lust at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer nii.>it arose ; 
.\dovvn the vale the vapours float, 
.And cloiidv nndnlatioiis inoat 
That tufted mound of mystic note, 

As round its base they close. 
.\nd higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide 

The rock's majestic isle ; 
It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn. 
By some fantivstii- fairy drawn 
Around eucluiuted pile. 

XII 
The breeze came softly down the brook, 

And, sighing as it blew. 
The veil of silver mist it shook. 
And lo De Vaux's eager look 

Renew'd that wondrous view. 



"^ 



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386 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N Tho 



For, llnMiijIi the loiieriti? vapour hraveii 
The eetitle hrenze, yet oft it waved 

lis niitntie's dewy fold ; 
And -still, when shook that filmy screen, 
Were towers and bastions dimly Seen, 
And Gothic battlements between 

'I'heir Rioomy lenslh unroll'd. 
Speed, speed, De Vaiix. ere on thine eye 
Once more the lleetin? vision die I 

—The ffallant knight 'ean speed 
As prompt and lisht as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound, 

Career the hunter's steed 
D )wn the steep dell his course amain 

Hath rivaird archer's shaft; 
But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And, mockins loud his labour Vain, 

The mountain spirits laUffh'd. 
Far up the eclioin? dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

XIII. 
Wroth wax'd the Warrior — " Am I then 
Fool'd by the enemies of men, 
Like a poor hind, whose hnnieward way 
Is haunted by nialicioiis fay? 
Is Trierniain become yourtaunt, 
De Vaiix your sc'orn ? False fiends, avaunt !" 
A weii;liiy cnrial-axe he bare; 
The baleful blade so bright and square, 
And the tough shaft of heben wood. 
Were oft in Scottish core imbrued. 
Backward his stafely form he drew, 
And at the rocks the weapon threw. 
Just where (me craj^'s projected crest 
Huna proudly balanced o'er the rest. 
Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell, 
Or if the blow dissolved some spell. 
But diiwn the headlong ruin came. 
With cloud of dust and flash of flame. 
Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 
Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 
Till staid at length, the ruin dread 
Cumber'd the torrent's rocky bed. 
And bade the waters' high swoln tide 
Seek other passage for its pride. 

XIV. 
When ceased that tlmnder, Triermain 
Snrvey'd the mound's rude front again , 
An. lo! the ruin had laid bare, 
Hewn in the stone, a winding stair, 
Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend 
The means the summit to ascend ; 
And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 
Began to scale these magic rocks, 

An<l soon a platform won, 
W'here, the wild witchery to close, 
Within three lances' length arose 

The Castle of Saint John I 
No misty phantom of the air, 
No meteor-blazon'd show was there, 
In morning splendour, full and fair, 

The massive fortress shone. 

XV. 
Embattled high and proudly tower'd. 
Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lowet'd 

The portal's nlooiny way. 
Though for six hundred years and more, 



lis strength had hrook'd the tempest's roai. 
'I'lie scutclipon'd emblems which it bore 

Had suff'er'd no decay : 
But from the eastern battlement 
A turret had made sheer descent. 
And, down in recent ruin rent, 

In the mid torrent lay. 
Else, o'er the Castle's brow sublime, 
Insults of violence or of time 

I'nfelt had pass'd away. 
In shapeless characters of yore. 
The gate this stern inscription bore : — 

XVI. 

INSCRIPTION. 

"Patience waits the destined day. 
Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 
Warrior, who hast waited long. 
Firm of .soul, of sinew strong, 
It is given thee to gaze 
On the pile of ancient days. 
Never mortal builder's hand 
This enduring fabric plann'd , 
Sign and sisil, word of power. 
From the earth raised keep and tower. 
View it o'er, and pace it round. 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more I To cross the gate 
Were to tamper with thy fate ; 
Strength and fortitude were vain, 
View it o'er— and turn again." — 

XVII. 
" That would I," said the Warrior bold, 
"If that my frame were bent and old. 
And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold 

As icicle in thaw ; 
But while my heart can feel it dance. 
Blithe as the sparkling wine of France. 
And this good arm wields sword or lance, 
I mock these words of awe !" 
He said ; the wicket felt the sway 
Of his strong hand, and straight gave way. 
And. with rude crash and jarring bray. 

The rusty bolts withdraw ; 
But o'er the threshold as he .strode, 
And forward look the vaulted road, 
An unseen arm. with force amain, 
The ponderous gale flung close again. 

And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous tocvk their place once more, 
While the deep arch with sullen roar 

Return 'd their surly jar. 
"Now closed IS the gin and the prey within 

By the Hood of Lanercosl ! 
But he that would win the war-wolfs skin, 

May rue him of his boast." 
Thus muttering, on the Warrior went. 
By dubious light down steep descent. 

XVIII. 

Unharr'd. unlock'd. unwatch'd, a port 
Led to the Castle's outer court : 
There the main fortress, liroad and tall. 
Spread its long range of bower and hall, 

And towers of varied size. 
Wrought with each ornament extreme. 
That Gothic art. in wildest dream 

Of fan(\v, could devise; 
But full between the Warrior's way 
.And the main portal arch, there lay 



y^ 



y 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIER MAIN, 



All inner moat ; 
N<>r hri<lsp nor hoiit 
Affords De Vaiix the means to cross 
The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 
His arms aside in liaste he flinss. 
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rinsrs. 
And down falls helm, and down the shield, 
Koiisti with the dints of many a field. 
Fair was his manly form, and fair 
liis keen dark eye, and close cuil'd hnir, 
Wiieii, all unariii'd, save that the brand 
Of well-proved metal sraced his hand, 
Wjth nought to fence his dauntless breast 
Jim the riose eipon's ' under-vest, 
\\ hose sullied t»iitr the suble stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains,— 
Koland De Vaux upi-ii tlie hniii 
Of ilie broad moat stood prompt to swim. 

XIX. 
A.'coutred thus he dared the tide. 
And soon he reached the farther side. 

And enter'd sotin the Hold, 
And pared a hall, whose walls so wide 
VSeie blazon'd all with feats of piide. 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they counler'd here. 

While trumpets seeiu'd to blow; 
And liiere, in den or desert drear. 

They quell'd si^anfic foe. 
Braved the fierce grilFoii in his ire. 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Stranse in their arms, and stransre in face, 
Heioes they set^m'd of ancient race. 
U hose deeds of arms, and race, and name, 
Foriictten Ions t)y later fame. 

Were here depjicted, to appal 
Those of an a?e degenerate. 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 

III this enchanted hall. 
For some short space the venturous knight 
\Vi!li these lush marvels fed his si:rlit, 
'I hen soiislil the chamber's upper end, 
VV'liere three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arcli'd portal door, 
III whose broad folding leaves of state 
W;is framed a wicket windovv-^^rate. 

And, ere he ventured nKU'e, 
The gallant Knislit took earnest view 
The grated wicket-window through, 

XX. 
C), ffir his arms! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal Kiiighl such need 1 — 
He spied a stately gallery ; all 
Of snow-white marlile was the wall, 

Tlie vaulting, and the floor ; 
And, contrast strange ! on either hand 
There stood array'd in sable hand 
Four Maids whom Afric bore; 
And each a Lybian tiger led, 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair, — 
For the leash that bound these monstei 
dread 
VV;;s but of gossamer. 
Each Maiden's short barbaric vest 
Left all unclosed the knee and breast^ 

And limbs of shapely jet ; 
White was their vest anil turban's fold. 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 
In savase pomp were set ; 



of doublet, 



l)>;ueatli the armour. 



\ quiver on their shoulders lay. 
And in their hantl an assa^ay. 
Such and so silent .stood ttiey there, 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He sa\v a baud of statues rare, 
Station'd the eazer's soul to scare; 

But when the wicket oped, 
Fach grisly bea.st 'gan upward draw, 
RoH'd liis'erim eye. and spread his claw. 
Scented ttie air, and lick'd his jaw; 
While these weird .Maids, in Moorish tongue, 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXI. 
" Rash Adventurer, bear thee back ! 

Dread the spell of Dahomay ! 
Fear the race of Zaharak,^ 

Daughters of the burning day ! 

*• When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, 

Ours it IS the dance to braid ; 
Zarah's sands.in pillars reeling. 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the Mo(m has donn'd her cloak, 

And the stars are red to see, 
Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 

" Where the shatter'd columns lie. 

Showing Carthase once had been. 
If the wandering Santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death, 

To the nations preaches doom, 
' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath! 

•Moslems, think upon the tomb !' 

"Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 

Ours the hydra of the fen. 
Ours the tiger of the brake. 

All that plague the sons of men. 
Ours the tempest's midmsht wrack, 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomayl" 

XXII. 
Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Hung those vaulted roofs amoug, 
Long It was ere. faint and still. 

Died the far resoundin? song. 
W'hile yet the distant echoes roll, 
The Warrior communed with his soul. 

" When first I took this venturous quest, 
1 swore upon the rood. 
Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest, 

For evil or for good. 
My for%vard path too well I ween. 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between! 
For man unarm 'd, 'tis bootless hope 
With tjsers and with fiends to cope — 
Yet, if I turn, what waits me tliere. 
Save famine dire and fell despair? — 
Other conclusion let me try, 
Since, choose hovve'er 1 list, I die. 
Forward, lies faith and knightly fame ; 
Behind, are peijury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word I" 
With that he drew his trusty sword. 
Caught down a banner from the wall, 
And enter'd thus the fearful hall. 

2 Zaharak or Zaharah is the .irab name of tiw Or.-it 



^; 



^ 



J ^ 338 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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XXIII. 
On hJKli each wayward M;ii(len threw 
Her swarthy arm. with wild halloo! 
On either side a ti?er sprnn?— 
Aa^ainst the leftward foe he flung 
The readv banner, to eii^asfe 
With tanaliiiff folds the brutal rage; 
The right-hand monster in mid air 
He struck so fiercely and so fair, 
Through gullet and through s[)inal bone, 
The trenchant blade had sheerlyaone. 
His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd, 
B.iit the sliiiht leash Iheir rage witliheld, 
Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 
Firmly, though swift, the ch:impion strode. 
Nafe to the gallery's bound he (Irew, 
Safe pass'd an open portal thiougli; 
And when aeainst pursuit he flung 
'I'he gate, judge if the echoes ruiig! 
Onward his daring course he bore. 
While, mix'd wiih dying growl and roar. 
Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
Pursued him on his venturous way. 

XXIV. 

" Hurra, hurra ! Our watch is done ! 
We hail once more the trofiic sun. 
Pallid beams of northern day. 
Farewell, farewell ! Haira, hurra ! 

" Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agen; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

"Warrior! thou, whose dauntless heart 
Gives us from our ward to part. 
Be as strong in future trial. 
Where resistance is denial. 

•' Now for Afrio's glowing sky. 
Zwenga wide, and Atlas high, 

Zaharak and Dahomay! 

Mount the winds ! Hurra, hurra !" 

XXV. 

The wizard song at distance died. 

As if in ether borne astray. 
While through waste halls and chambers wide 

The Knight pursued his steady way, 
Till to a lof^ty dome ho came. 
That flash'd with such a brilliant flame. 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 
For here the gold, in sandy heaps. 
With duller earth, incorriorate, sleeps ; 
Was there in ingots piled, and there 
• "oin'd badge of empery it bare; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
Dimm'd by the diamond's neighbouring ray, 
Like the pale moon in morning day; 
And in the midst four Maidens stand. 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was rff tlie dark-red dye, 
That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare, 
And cotton fillets bound their hair; 
Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
To earth they bent the humbled eye, 
Folded their arms, and suppliant kneel'd, 
And thus their profFer'd gifts rcveal'd. 



XXVI, 

CHORirS. 

"See the treasures Merlin piled. 
Portion meet for Arthur's child 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream. 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream!" 

FIRST MAlDK^. 

" See these clots of virgin gold ' 
Sever'd from the sparry mould, 
Nature's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie , 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to st(«>p, and saints to sin."— 

SECOlfD MAIDEN. 

"See these pearls, that long have slept' 
These were tears by Naiads wept 
For the loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them, till hard and white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite."— 

THIRD MAIDEN. 

" Does a livelier hue delight 7 
Here are rubies blazing bright. 
Here the emerald's fairy green. 
And the topaz glows between ; 
Here their varied hues unite, 
111 the changeful chrysolite." — 

FOURTH MAIDEW. 

" Leave these gems of poorer shine. 
Leave them all, and look on mine ' 
Wliile their glories I expand, 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand. 
Mid day sun and diamond's blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze." 

CHORITS. 

" Warrior, seize the splendid store . 
Would 'twere all our mountains bore? 
We should ne'er in future story. 
Read, Peru, thy perished glory !" 

XXVIL 
Calmly and nnconcefn'd. the Knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright : — 
" Gentle Maidens, rise, 1 pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and lK)ys ! 
Bid your streams of gold expand 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never need, 
Save to purvey him arms and steed. 
And all the ore he deigo'd to board 
Inlays his helm, and hilts liis sword." 
Thus gently parting from their hold. 
He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 

xxvin. 

And now the n»orning sun was high. 
He Vaux was weary, taint, and dn' ; 
Wiien. lo! a plashing sound he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water-run ; 
And soon he reach 'd a court- yard square 
Where, dancing in the sultry air, 
Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left, a fair arcade. 
In long perspective view display'd 
Alleys and bowers, for sun ()r sliaile : 



7^ 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIER MAIN. 



But, full in front, a door, 
l.dw-brovv'd an<l dark, seeni'd as it led 
To the lone dwelling of the dead. 
Wliose memory was no more, 

XXIX. 
Here stopp'd De Vaiix an instant's space, 
To baihe his parched llp« and fane. 

And inark'd with well-pleased eye, 
Refracted on the fountain stream. 
In rainbow hues the dazzim? beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses (elt a mild control. 
Like that which lulls the vyeary soul, 

From Contemplation hiffh 
Reiaxin?, when the ear receives 
Ttie music that the greeiiwocd leaves 

Make to llie breezes' sigh. 

XXX. 

And oft; in stich a dreamy mood, 

The half siiut eye c^n frame 
Fair app:iritions in the wood, 
As if the nymphs ol field and flood 

l!i (jay processiiiii came 
Are these of su<-h fantastic mould. 

Seen distant dnwn the fair arcade, 
These Maids enlink'd m sister-fold. 

Who, laie at bashful distance staid, 

Now trippins from the greenwood shade, 
Nearer the musnis: champion draw, 
And, in a pause of seeming awe, 

Again stand doubtful now ? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers! 
That seems to say, '• To please be ours, 

Be yours to tell us how." 
Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns of Candahar bestow. 
O'er which in slight suftusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly ro.se ; 
Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free, 
III nature's justest symmetry ; 
And, wrealli'd with flowers, with odours 

praced. 
Their raven ringlets reach'd the waist : 
In ea.stern pomp, its gilding pale 
The hemiah lent each shapely nail. 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
The spiitle.ss veil of misty lawn,' 
In studied disarrangement, drawn 

The form and hosom o'er. 
To win the eye, or tempt the touch. 
For modesty sliow'd all too much — 

Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXT. 

" Gentle Knight, a while delay." 

Thus they sung. • thy toilsome way. 

While we pay the duly due 

To our .Master and to you. 

Over Avarice, over Fear, 

Love triumphant led thee here; 

Warrior, list to us, for we 

Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 

Though no treasured gems have we, 

To proffer on the bended knee. 

Tliough we bo.ist nor arm nor heart, 

For^ie assagay or dart, 

Swiiins allow each sim|.le girl 

Ruby lip and teeth of pearl; 

Or. if dangers more y(m prize. 

Flatterers find them iu our eyes. 



"Stay. then, gentle Warrior, slay, 
Rest till evening steal on day ; 
Stay. O. Slav !— in vonder bowers 
^ye will braid thy locks with flowers, 
Spread the feast and till the wine. 
Charm thy ear with sounds divme, 
VV'eave our dances till delight 
Yield to langour. day to night. 
" Then shall she you most approve, 
Sing the lays that best you love. 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
VV;iich thy pillow. pro[) thy head, 
Till the weary night be o'er — 
Gentle Warrior, vvonldst thou more? 
Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior,— she 
Is slave to Love and slave to ihee." 

XXXIL 
O, do not hold it for a crime 
In tlie bold hero of my rhyme, 

For Stoic look. 

And meet rebuke. 
He lack'd the heart or lime ; 
As round the hand of sirens trip. 
He kiss'd one damsel's laiighmg lip, 
And press'd another's protfer'd hand. 
Spoke to thfm all in accents bland. 
Bui broke llieir magic circle through; 
" Kind .Maids," he said, '• adieu, adieu ! 
My fate, my fortune, forward lies.''" 
He said, and vaiilsli'd fnuii their eyes; 
But. as he dared thai darksome way. 
Still heard behind their lovely lay :— 
'■ Fair Flower of Court e.sy. depart ! 
Go. where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move; 
Go, where Virtue sanclions Love !" 

XXXI IL 
Downward De Vaux through darksome wayg 

And ruiu'd vaults has gone. 
Till issue from their wilder'd maze. 

Or safe retreat, seem'd none, — 
And e'en the dismal path he strays 

Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air, 
Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers sliow'd 
That dogg'd him on that dreadful rood. 
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, 
Tliey sliow'd, but show'd not how to shun. 
These scenes of desolate despair. 
These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 
How gladly liad De Vaux exctianged. 
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged ! 

;Nay, soolhful bards have said 
So perilous his state seetii'd now. 
He wish'd him under artjour bough 

Witti Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourished loud and clear. 
And as It ceased, a lofty lay 
Seem'd thus to chide his I 




;ing way. 



XXXIV. 



" Son of Honour, theme of story, 
Think on the reward before ye ! 
Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
'Tis Ambition bids thee rise. 

"He that would her heights ascend. 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand ajid fodt and knee he tries ; 
I'hus Ambition's minions rise. 



•^ 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I-Hjr not now. though rousrn the way, 
Kiirtuiie's mood hrooks no delay; 
Grasp the boon i hat's spread before ye, 
Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory !" 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the Wanderer found 

And then a turret stair: 
Nor climh'd he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air, 
And next a welcome (glimpse was given. 
That cheer'd him with the liRht of heaVen. 

At length Ins toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dress'd, 
Where, as tn greet imperial iruest, 
Four Maidens stood, whose crimson vest 

Was bound with golden zone. 

XXXV. 
Of Europe seem'd the damsels all; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrow'd air of awe belie ; 

The next a maid of Spam, 
Dnrk-eyed, dark-iiair"d. sedate, yet bold , 
White ivory skin and tress of gold. 
Her shy ami bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe. 

Emblems of empery ; 
The fourth a space behind them stood, 
And leant upon a harp, in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient iBritish Druidess. 
Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
Her graceful vesture swept the ground. 

And, 111 her hand display'd, 
A crown did that fourtii Maiden hold, 
But unadorn'd with gems and gold. 

Of glossy laurel made. 

XXXVI. 

At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 

These foremost Maidens three. 
And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, 

Liegedom and seignorie, 
O'er many a region wide and fair. 
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir; 

But h(miKge would he none :— 
" Rather," he said. " De Vaux would ride, 
A Warden of the Border-side, 
ill plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 

A monarch's empire own ; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knisrht of Eiigl.ind free, 

Than sit on Despot's throne." 
So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid, 

As starting frcmi a trance. 
Upon the harp her linger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords obey'd, 

Their soul awaked at once ! 

SONG OF THE FOl'RTH MAIDEN. 

" Qnake to your foundations deep. 
Stately Towers, and Banner'd Keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan. 
As the dreaded step they own. 

" Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell, 
Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well 1 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
'Uiie ye for your hoineward road ! 



" It is His, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride 

Quake to your foundations deep, 
Bastion huge, and Turret steep! 
Tremble, Keep I and totter. Tower! 
This is Gynetli's waking hour." 

XXXVII. 

Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight 
Has reach'd a bower, where milder light 

Through crimson curtains fell; 
Such soften'd shade the hill receives, 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon Its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 
Hath wondrous store of rare and rich 

As e'er was seen with eye ; 
For there by magic skill, I wis. 
Form of each thing that Jiving is 

Was limn'd in proper dye. 
All seem'd to sleep— the timid hare 
Un form, the stag upon his lair, 
The eugle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth and sky. 
But what of pictured rich and rare 
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, 

He saw King Arthur's child ! 
Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 
From her brow had pass'd away. 
Forgot was that fell tourney-day. 

For. as she slept, she smiled : 
It seem'd. that the repentant Seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 

XXX VIII. 

That form of maiden loveliness, 

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 
That ivory chair, that silvan dress. 
The arms and ankles bare, express 

Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment's hem 
Vanoc's blood made purple sem. 
And the warder of command 
Cumber'd still her sleeping hand , 
Still her dark locks dislievell'd flow 
From net of pearl o'er breast of snow 
And so fair the slumberer seems. 
That De Vaux impeach'd his dreams. 
Vapid all and void of might. 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless a while he stands. 
Folds his arms and clasps his hands, 
Treniblmg in his fiiful joy. 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Lona:-endurins spell; 
Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
Dark- fringed lids of Gvneth's eyes, 

Wlijit these eyes shall tell. — 
'•St. George I St. Mary ! can it be. 
That they will kindly look on me!" 

XXXIX. 

Gently, lo I the Warrior kneels, • 

Soft that lovely hand he steals. 
Soft to kiss, arid soft to clasp- 
But the warder leaves his grasp; 



-/■ 




Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes. 



7^ 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIER MAIN. 



341 



LielUiiiiisj rtushes. rolls tlie thunder! 
Gynetli slariles from hur sleep. 
Tiittei-s I ower. and trembles Keep. 

Burst the Castle-walls asunder! 
Fierce and frequent were the shocks, — 

Melt the masic halls away ; 

Bu' heneaih their niysiic rocks. 

In thf arms of hold De Vaux, 

Safe the prmcess lay; 
Safe and free from masic power, 
Blushins like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day ; 
And round the t hampion's brows were bound 
The crown that Druidess had wound. 

Of the ereen 1 iurei-l)ay. 
A.nd this was what remain'd of all 
'I'lie wealth of each enchanted liall, 

Tlie Garland and tht^ Dume : 
But where should Warrior seek the meed, 
Due to high worth for darini? deed, 

Except from Love and Faiue ! 



CONCLUSION. 
T. 
My Lucy, when the maid is won. 
The Minstrel's tjisk. thou knowsr, is done ; 

.And to require of bard 
That to his dress the tale should run, 

Were oidinanne too hard. 
Our lovers, briefly be it sa d. 
Wedded as lovers wout to wed. 

When tale or play is oer; 
Lived loii» and blest, lov^d fond and true, 
And saw a numerous race renew 

The honours that they bore. 
Kn>w, too, that whe.n a pilgrim strays, 
In morning mist or evening maze. 



Along the mountain lone. 
Thai fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castled rocks 

Of the Valley of St. John; 
But never man since brave De Vaux 

The charmed portal won. 
'Tis now a vain illusive show. 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 

IL 
But see, my love, where far belovir 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow. 

The whiles, up-gazing still. 
Our menials eye our sleepy way, 
-Marvelling, perchance, what whim can stay 
Our steps, when eve is sinking grey, 

On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and time 
Ring all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease; 
And, I beside these simple knaves. 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coar-e joys as tiiese. — 
Dead to the nobler seiuse that giows 
V\ hen na'uie's graniier scenes unclose! 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet, 
Tlie m luntams mis:y coronet, 

The greenwood, and tlie wold; 
Ai;d love the nio;e, that of their maze 
Adveiil'ire liigli of other days 

Bv ancient b nds is told, 
Bringing, pe reliance, like my poor tale, 
.•^ome moral truth in ficti.m's vel: 
Nor love them les,~, thai oer the hill 
The evening breeze, as now. comes chill;— 

My love snail wrap her warm, 
.\nd. fearless of the Siippery way, 
v\ lule sale she trips the heathery brae. 

Shall liang on Arthurs arm. 



^: 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

Ltht Collins, thread the maze of Fairy land. 
P. 323 

Collins, according to Johnson, "by indulging 
some fieculiar habit.s of thought, was emi- 
nently delighted with those flights of imagma 
fion which pass the bounds of nature, and to 
which the mind is reconciled only by a passive 
acquiescence in popular traditions. " He loved 
fairies, genii, giants, and monsters ; he de- 
lighted to rove through the meanders of en- 
chantment, to gaze on ihe magiiiticence of 
golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of 
Elysian gardens." 



Note B. 

The Baron of Triermain—P. 323. 

Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Gils- 
land, in Cumberland ; it was possessed by a 



Saxon family at the time of the Conquest, 
but, '-after the death of Gilmore, Lord of 
Tryermame and Torcro^sock. Hubert Vaux 
gave Tiyermaine and Toicrossock to his 
second son. Raiiulph Vaux; which Ranulph 
afterwards became heir to his elder brother 

; Robert, the founder of Laneicosi, who died 

' without issue. Ranulph, being Lord of all 

] Gilsland, gave Gilinore's lands to his younger 
sf>n, named Roland, and let the Bai'onv de- 
scend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ra- 
nulph. Roland had issue .■Mexaiider. and he 
Ranulph. after whom .succeeded Robert, and 
they vsere named Rolands successively, that 

I were lords thereof, until the reign of E'dward 
the Fourth. That house gave for ;irms. 
Vert, a 'end dex'er. cliequy, or and gules." — 

I Burn's Anliquiliis of VVtilmoriland and Cum- 

: berlnnd. Vol. li. p 482. 

I This branch of Vaux. with its collateral 
alliances, is now represented by the family of 
Braddyl of Conishead Priory, in the county 
palatine of Lancaster; for it aiipears that 
about the time above mentioned, the house 



^ 



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f 842 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



of Triermain was united to its l<itidied family 
Vaiix of Caterlen, and. by maniaj^e witti the 
heiress of Delamoie and Leyhourne, became 
tlie represeiiluUve of thujie ancient and noble 
families The mule line failins in John de 
Vaux. about the year IOH.% Ins daughter and 
heiress. Mabel, married Clinstiiplier Rich- 
mond. Esq., of Highhead Castle, in the county 
of Cumtierland. descended from an ancient 
family of that name, Lords of Corljy Casile, 
in the same county, soon after tlie Conquest, 
ami which they alienated about the 15ih of 
Edward the Second, to Andrea de Haicia, 
Earl of Carlisle. Of this family was Sir 
'1 homas de Kaigemimt, (miles auratus.) in the 
reign of King Edward the P'irst. who appears 
to have greatly distinguished himself at the 
siege of Kaerlaveroc, wilii William, Baron of 
I evixiurne. In an ancient heraldic poem, 
now extant, and preserved in the British 
Museum, describing that siege,' his arms are 
stiiteii to he. Or, 2 Bars Gemelles Gules, and a 
Chief Or, the same borne by his descendants 
at the present daV. The Richmonds removed 
to llieir Castle of Highhead in the reign of 
Henry the Eighth, when the then representa- 
tive of the fiunily married Margaret, daughter 
of Sir Hugh Lowlher. by the Lady Doiotliy de 
Clillord, only child by a second marriage of 
Henry Lord'ClifflTil. gieat grandson of John 
Li. Ill (liflford, by El zaheth Percy, daughter of 
Hen y (siiriiamed Hotspur) liy hilizabetli Mor- 
timer, which said Elizabetli was daughter of 
E.iw.ird Mortimer, third P>arl of Maiche, by 
Philippa, sole daugher and heiress of Lionel. 
Duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from the above-men- 
tioiieil John Kichmond, liecame I he represen- 
taiive of the families of Vaux, of Triermain, 
Caterlen, and TorciossocU, by Ins marriage 
wi.h .Nhibel de V:iux. the heiress of them. 
His grandson, Henry Kichmond, died without 
issue, leaving five sisters co heire>ses. four of 
wliom married; but Margaret, who married 
Wij.iam Uale. Esq., of Whiiehaven, was the 
only one who had male issue surviving. She 
hail a son. and a daughter married to Henry 
Curweri of W orkmglon. Esq , who represented 
tlie county of Cuiiihei land for many years in 
Parliament, and hy her had a daughter, mar- 
ried to John Christian, Esq. (now Curweii.) 
John, son and heir ol V\ illr.im Gale, married 
Sarah, daughter and heiress of Chri.stopher 
Wilson of Budsea Hall, in the county of Lan- 
caster, bv Margaret, aunt and co-lieire.ss of 
Tlioiiias Braddyl, Esq . of Braddyl, and Cunis- 
head Priory, in the same county, and had 
is>ue four sons and two daughters. lsi,V\il- 
liam Wilson, died an infant; 2d. Wilson, who 
upon the death of his cousin, Thomas Brad- 
dyl. without issue, siicceided to his estates, 
and look the name of Braddyl. in (lursuance 
of Ins will, by the King's sign-manual; 3d, 
William, died voung; and, 4th. Henry Ricli- 
nioiid, a lieutenant-general of the armv, mar- 
ried Sarah, daughter of the Rev. R. Baldwin ; 
Margaret married Richard Greaves Townley, 
E.sq.. ol Fulborne. in the county of Cambridge, 
and of Belltield, in the county of Lancaster; 
Sarah married lo George Biglaiid of Bigland 
Hall, in the same county, Wilson Braddyl, 
eldest son of John Gale, and grandson of Mar- 



^ 'T 

^ 



iitiv edited by Sir Nicholas 



ret Richmond, married Jane, daughter and 
heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq., of CalgiU Hall, 
in the county of Cumberland, by Jane, daugh- 
ter and heiress of the Rev. S. Bennet, D.D. ; 
and, as the eldest surviving male branch of 
the families above-mentioned, he quarters, in 
adilitum to his own. their paternal coats in the 
following order, as appears by the records in 
College of Arms. 1st, Argent, a fess azure, 
between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with 
an anchor between 2 lions' heads erased, or, — 
Gale. 2d, Or, 2 bars gemelles gules, and a 
chief or,— Riciimond. 3d, Or, a fess chequey, 
or and gules between 9 gerbes gules.— Vaux 
of Caterlen. 4th, Gules, a fess chequey, or and 
gules l)etween 6 gerbes or. — Vaux of Tor- 
crossock. 5th. Argent, (not vert, as stated by 
Burn,) a bend chequey, or and gules, tor Vaux 
of Triermain. 6th. Gules, a cross pat(m(re. 
or,— Delamore. 7th, Gules, 6 lions rampant 
argent. 3, 2, and 1, — Leybourne.— This more 
detailed genealogy of the family of Triermain 
was obligingly sent to the author by Major 
Braddyl of Comshead Priory 



Note C. 

He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round.—?. 32t. 
A circular intrenchment, about half a mile 
from Penrith, is thus popularly termed. The 
circle witiiin the ditch is about one hundred 
and sixty paces in circumference, with oiieii- 
ings, or approaches, directly opposite to each 
other. As the ditch is on the inner side, it 
could not be intended for the purpose of de- 
fence, and It has reasonably been conjectured, 
that the enclosure was designed for the so- 
lemn exercise of feals of chivalry, and the 
embankmeni around for the convenience of 
the spectators. 



Note D. 

Mayburoh's mound. — P. 324. 
Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's 
Round Table, is a prodigious enclosure of 
great antiquity, formed by a collection of 
stones upon tlie top of a gently sloping hill, 
called Mayburgh. In the plain winch it en- 
closes there stands erect an unhewn stone of 
twelve feet in height. Two siiiiilar masses 
are said to have been destroyed during the 
memory of man. The whole appears to be a 
monument of Druidjcal times. 



Note E. 

Tlie Monarch, breathless and amazed, 

B'ictc on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon conlJ he spy, 
Darktmng against the morning sky.— P. 328. 

" We now gained a view of the Vale of 

St. John's, a very narrow deli, hemmed in by 
mountains, through which a small brook 
makes many meandermgs. washing little en- 
closures of grass-ground, which stret(-h up 
the rising of the hills. In the widest part of 
the dale you are struck with the appearance 



7^ 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE BRIDAL OF TRTERMAIN. 



of an andeut ruined castle, which seems to 
stand upon the summit of a little mount, the 
niounfains around forming an amphitheatre. 
This massive bulwark shows a front of va- 
rious lowers, and makes an awful, rude, and 
Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and 
ra^'sred banlements; we traced Ihe galleries, 
tlie hemline arches, the hullresses. 'I'he 
greatest antiquity stands chaiactensed in its 
arcliitecture; the inhal)itants near it assert it 
is an antediluvian structure. 

"The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he 
prepares to make a nearer approach, when 
that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his be- 
ing assured, Ihtit, if he advances, certain genii 
who govern the place, by virtue of their su- 
pctrnalural art and necromancy, will strip it 
of all Its beauties, and by enchantment, Iniiis- 
f inn I he magic waCs. The vale seems adapted 
for tlie liahitation of such beiiig:s; its gloomy 
recesses and retirements look like haunts of 
evil spirits. There was no delusion in the 
report; we were soon convinced of its truth ; 
for this piece of antiquity, so venerable and 
noble in its aspect, iis we drew near, changed 
Its figure, and proved no other than a shaken 
massive pile of rocks, which stand in the 
midst of this little vale, disunited from tlie 
adjoining niouniaiiis. and have so much the 
real form and resemblance of a castle, that 
they bear the name of the Castle Rocks of 
Si. John." — HulchinsoiCs Excurewn to the 
Lakes, p. 121. 



Note F. 

Thefiovoer of Chivalry 
There Galaad sole with manli/ grace, 
Yft maiden meekness in his face ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace. 

And love Lorn Tristrevi there. — P. 339. 

The characters named in the stanza are all 
<»f tiiein more or less distinguished in the 
romances wliicli treat of King Arthur and his 
Kouud Table, and their names are strung 
together according to the established cus- 
tom of minstrels upon such occasions; for 
example, in tlie ballad of the Marriage of Sir 
Gawaiiie :— 

"Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde. 
They rode with them that daye, 

And, foremost of the companye. 
1 liere rode the stevvarde Kaye. 



'• Sue did Sir Bather, and Sir Bore, 
And eke Sir Garratte keen, 

Sir Tristrem too, that gentle knight, 
To the forest fiesli and greene." 



Note G. 

Tyincrlot, that eiier more 

Looked stolen-wise on tlw Queen. — P. 329. 
Upon tliis delicate subject hear Richard 
Rotiinson. citizen of London, m his Assertion 
of King Arthur : — '■ But as it is a thing siiflS- 
ciently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of 
King Arthur.) was heaiitiful, so it is a thing 
doubted whether she was chaste, yea or no. 
Truly, so far as I can with honestie. I would 
spare the impayred honour and fame of noble 
women. But yet the Iruih of the historic 
pluckes me by the eare. and wiUetli not one'y. 
but rointiiandelh me to declare what the an- 
cients have deemed of her. To wrestle or 
coiiteuil with so great autli<iritie were mdeede 
unto mei a controveisie. anil that greate." — 
Assertion of Kmg Arthure. Imprinted by John 
Wolfe, London, 1582. 



Note H. 

There were two who loved their 7i/nykbnur's wives. 
And one who loved his own.— P. 330. 

"In our forefather's tynie. when Papistrie. 
as a staiidyng poole. covered and overflowed 
all England, fewe books were read in our 
tongue, savying certaine bookes of chevalne, 
as they said, for pastime and plea.^ure ; which, 
as soiiifi say, were made in the monasteries, 
by idle monks or wanton chanoiis. As one. 
for example. Im Morte d' Arthure; the whole 
pleasure of which book standelh in two spe- 
ciall poynts. in open manslaughter and bold 
bawdrye ; in which booke they be counted Ihe 
noblest knightes that do kill most men with- 
out any quarrel!, and commit fowlest adoulle- 
ries by sutlest shiftes; as Sir Launcelot, with 
the wife of King Arthur, his master; Sir 
Tristram, with the wife of King Marke. his 
uncle ; Sir Lamerocke. with the wife of King 
Lote, that was his own aunt. This is good 
stuffe for wise men to laugh at; or honest 
men to take pleasure at: yet I know when 
God's Bible was banished the Court, and La 
Morte d'Arthure received into the Prince's 
chamber. " — Ascham 's Sctioolmuster. 



ITT- 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



The Lord of the Isles. 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 




NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 
The coiripositii)!! of "Tlie Lord of tlie 
Isles," as we now have it in the Author's MS., 
seems to have been besnn at AblxttsforJ, in 
the autumn t)f 1814, and it ended at Edin- 
burgh the 16th of Ueoeniber. Some part of 
Canto I. had probahly l)een committed to 
writing in a roufjher form earlier in the year 
The orig;inal quarto appeared on the 2d of 
January 1815.' 

It may be mentioned, that those parts of 
this Poem winch were written at Abliotsford, 
were composed almost all in the [iresence of 
Sir Walter Scott's family, and many in tliat 
of casual vKsitors also: "the original (cottage 
which he then occupied not attordiiiic him any 
means of retirement. ^ either conversation 
nur music seemed to disturb him. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1833. 
I could hardly have chosen a subject more 
popular in Scotland, than any thing connected 
with the Bruce"s history, unless I had at- 
tempted that of Wallace. But I am decidedly 
of opinion, that a popular, or what is called a 
taking title, though well qualified to ensure 
the publishers against loss, and clear their 
shelves of the original impression, is rather 
apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the re- 
putation of the author. He who attempts a 
subject of distnigiiisiied {»opiihirity, has not 
the privilese of awakening the entliusiasiii of 
his audience; on the contrary, it is already 
awakened, and glows, it niav be. more ar- 
dently than that of the author himself. In 
this case, the warmth of the autlior is inferior 
to that of the pirty whom he addresses, who 
lias, theiefore. littie chance of beinu:. in Bayes's 
phrase, "elevated and surprised" by what tie 
nas thought of with more enthusiasm than the 
writer. The sense of this risk, joined to the 
consciousness of striving against wind and 
tide, made the task of composing the pro- 
posed Poem somewlmt heavy and ho[ieless ; 
but, like the prize-fighter in " As You Like it," 
I was to wrestle for my reputation, anil not 
neglect any advantage. In a most aareeable 
fileasure-voyage, whicii I have tried to com- 
memorate in the Introduction to the new 
edition of the •' Pirate." I visited, in social and 
friendly company, the coasts and islands of 
Scotland, and made myself acquaintt:d with 
the localities of which I meant to treat. But 
this voyage, which was in every other eflect 
so delightful, was in its conclusion saddened 
by one of those strokes of fate which so ofien 

1 Publislied by Archibald Consiable and Co , 21. 2j. 

2 ll.irriet, Dui-hfss of Bucikucli, died •J41h AuijunI 1814. 
Sir Walter Scott rcieivcd tlie mournful inl.lligeuce while 



mmsle themselves with our pleasures. Tlia 
iicc(im|ilislied and excellent person who had 
recommended to me the srihjecl for "'I'he Lay 
of the Last Minstrel," and to whom 1 jiro- 
posed to inscribe what I already suspected 
might be the close of my poetical labours, 
was unexpectedly removed from the world, 
which she seemed only to have visited for 
purposes of kindness and benevolence. It is 
needless to say how the author's feelings, or 
the composition of his trifling work, were 
affected by a circumstance which occasioned 
so many tears and so much sorrow 2 Tme it 
is, that "The Lord of the Isles" was con- 
cluded, unwillingly and in haste, under thu 
painful feelings of one who has a task winch 
must be finished, rather than with the anlcnr 
of one who endeavours to perforin that lasn 
well. Although the Poem cannot be said to 
have made a favourable impression on the 
public, the sale of fifteen thousand copies 
enabled the author to retreat from tlw; field 
with the honours of war. 

In the meantime, what was necessarily to 
be considered as a failure, was much recon- 
ciled to my feelings by the success attending 
my attempt in another species of composition. 
" Waverley" had. under strict incoKinto, taken 
its flight from the press just before I set out 
upon the voyage already mentioned; it had 
now made its wav to popularity, and the suc- 
cess of that work and the volumes which 
followed, was sufldcient to have satisfied a 
1 greater appetite for applause than 1 have at 
any time possessed. 3 

I 1 may as well add in this place, that, being 
imuch urged by my intimate friend, now un- 
■ happily no more. Wilhain Erskine. (a Scottish 
Ijudire. by the title of Lord Kinedder,) I agreed 
I to write the little romantic tale called the 
I'- Bridal of Trieriiiam ;" but it was on the 
condition, that lie should make no serious 
jedort to disown the composition, if report 
Isiiould lay it at his door. As he was more 
than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I 
took care, in several (daces, to mix something 
which might resemble (as far as was in my 
power) my friend's feeling and manner, the 
train easily caiielit, and two large editions 
were sold A third l)eing called for. Lord 
Kinedder became unwilling to aid any longer 
a deception which was going farther'than he 
expected or desired, and the real author's 
name was given. Upon another occasion, I 
sent up another of these trifles, vvhich, like 
schoolboy's kites, served to sliow how the 
wind of popular taste was setting. The man- 
ner was suppo.sed to he that of a rude minstrel 
or Scald, m ojiposition to the " Bridal of Trier- 

visiling Ihe (Jianl'B C:iuseway, aiu! iminedialely rHuria<i 
home. 

3 The first idil^on of Waverley appeared in July Isii. 



z 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 




main." which was designed to belon? ralher 
t(i the Iiahaii school. 'I'his new fu'.;itive piece 
was nailed "Harold the Dauntless;"' and I 
am still astonished at my havms; (-ommiited 
the gross error of selecting the \ery name 
which Lord Byron had made so famous It 
encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious 
friend. Mr. James Hoa:ar, liad published, about 
the same time, a work called the " Poetic 
Mirror." contaiiiin? imitations of the principal 
livms poets. There was in it a very soikI 
imitation of my own style, which bore sucli a 



resemblance to "Harold the Dauntless." that 
there was no discovering the original from the 
imitation: and 1 believe that many who took 
the troutile of ihinkmgf upon the subject, were 
rather of opinion that my ingenious friend 
was the true, and not the ncliiious Simon 
Pure. Since this period, which was in tiie 
year 1817, ilie Auttior has not been an in- 
truder on the public by any poetical work of 
importance. 

W. S. 
Abbotsford, April, 1830. 



The Lord of the Isles. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
The Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish. on the const of Argyleshire • 
and. aflerwirds. in the Islands of Skye and Arran. and. upon the roast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is 
laid near Stirlma. The slory opens m thf sprnuj of the year 1307. whfn Bruce, ivho hod been 
driven out of Scotlnnd by the Enijlish, and the B irons who adhered to that Joreiqn interest, 
relumed from the Island of Rachin on Iheco'ist of Irelnml. again to assert his claims to Ihe Scottish 
crown Many of the personaats and incidents introduced arc of historical r.elehrity. The 
authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hniles. as well entitled to be called, the 
restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce thf restorer of Scottish monarchy; and of Archdeacon 
Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce,"^ will soon, 1 trust, appear, 
under the care of my learned friend, the Reu. Dr. Jamiesnn. 
Abbotsford, lOlh December, 1814. 



STfje ILorti of t|)e IzsUs. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Autumn departs— but still his mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville. 
Beneath a shroud of russet drop()'d with 

gold 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still : 
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds I he nil. 
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell. 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast 

shrill; 
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell 
When ihe broad sun sinks down on Eitrick's 

western fell. 

Autumn departs— from Gala's fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to 

cheer; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts 

it o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The la-t liliihe shout hath died upon our ear. 
And h irvesi-home hath hush'd the ciangin;; 

wain. 
On the wasie hill no forms of life appear. 
Save where, sad laggard of the aulumnal 

tram, 
Soiiie asre-struck wanderer gleans few ears of 

scattered gram. 

publislied iu a small 



Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have 

pleasure still. • 

Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms 

to stray. 
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill 
To listen to the wood's expiring lay. 
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray 
To mark the last bright tints the mountain 

stain, 
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's 

way. 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain ?— 
O! if such scenes thou lovest. scorn not the 

minstrel strain. 

No! do not scorn, althoush its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can 

vie. 
Thoush faint its beauties as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in autumn's even- 
ing sky, * 
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry. 
When wild Noveiiilier hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock iiiy toil— a lonely gleaner I, 
Through fields time-wasle(i, on sad inquest 
bound. 
Where happier bards of yore have richer 
harvest found. 

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved. 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved, 
Still live some relics of the ancient lay 



•^ 



■A 



^ 846 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



\ 



For. wlipn on Cnolin's Uillsthe ligfhts decay, 
With such tlie Seer of Skye the eve be- 

ffiiiles ; 
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of 

Reay, 
In Hnrries known, and in lona's piles. 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the 

Isles. 



I. 

" Wake. Maid of Lorn !" the Minstrels sung 

Thy rns:?pd iialls. Artornish ! runs,* 

And the diirk seas, thy towers that lave, 

Hpiived on the hench a softer wave, 

As "inid the tnneliil choir to keep 

The diapason of tiie Deep 

T.iillM were tlie winds on Inninmore. 

And green Loch-Alliiis's woodbind shore, 

As if wild woods and waves had pleasure 

In hstin? to the lovely measure. 

And ne'er to symphony rTioie sweet 

Gave mountain eclioes answer meet. 

Since, met from niaiidand and from isle. 

Boss, Arnm. Ilav, and Arsyle, 

E;icli minstrel's trihuiarv lay 

Paid luiiiiaL'e to the fps'al day. 

Dull and dishononr'd were the hard, 

Worthless of guerdon and regard, 

Peaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 

Or ladv's smiles, his nohlest aim. 

Who (in that morn's resistless call 

Were silent m Artornish liall. 



" Wake. Maid of l.orn !'' 'twas thus they sung:, 

And yet more proud the descant rung, 

•• Wake. Maid of Norn ! high right is ours. 

To charm dull sleep from Beauty's lioweis ; 

flarth, Ocean. Air have nought so shy 

But owns the power of minstrelsy. 

Tn Lettermore the timid deer 

W'lll pause, the harp's wild chime to hear; 

Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark 

Will long pursue tlie nniistrel's bark ; 2 

To list his notes, the eaale proud 

Will poise him on Ben-Caillacli"s cloud, 

Then let not Maiden's ear disdain 

The summons of the minstrel train. 

But, while our harps wild music make, 

Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! 

in. 

"O wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine. 
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine ! 
She hids the mottled thrush rejoice 
I'd mate thy melody of voice; 
'I'he dew that on the vi(det lies 
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes ; 
But. Hdith. wake, and all we see 
Of sweet and fair sIimII yield to thee !"— 
'■ She comes not yet." grey Ferrand cried ; 
'• Brethren, let softer speli he tried. 
Those notes prolong'd. that soothing theme. 
Which best may mix with Beauty's dream. 
And whisper, with their silvery tone. 
The hope she loves, yet fears l^o own." 
He spoke, and on the liarp-strings died 
The strains of flattery and of pride ; 
Mnie soft, more low. iiuire tender fell 
The lay of love he bade them tell. 



' See .4|i|)einlix, ^oll 



IV. 
" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly, 

Which yet that maiden-name allo^y ; 
Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hcnir is nigh. 
When I.ove shall claim a plighted vow 
By Fear, thv bosom's fluttering guest, 

'Bv Hope, that soon shall fears remove, 
We'hid thee break the bonds of rest. 
And wake thee at the call of Love ! 

" Wake. Edith, wake ! in yonder bay 

Lies many a galley gaily mann'd. 
We hear the merry pibrochs play. 

We .see the streamers' silken band. 
What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell. 

What crest is on these banners wove, 
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell— 

The riddle must be read by Love." 



Retired her maiden train amcmg, 

Edith of I orn received the simg. 

But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 

That had her cold demeanour seen ; 

For not upon her cheek awoke 

The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. 

Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 

One sigh responsive to the string. 

As vainly had her maidens vied 

In skill to deck the princely bride. 

Her locks, in dark-brown length array'd, 

Cathleen of Ulne. 'twas thine to braid ; 

Young Eva with meet reverence drew 

On the light foot the silken shoe. 

While on the ankle's slender round 

Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound. 

That, bleach'd I-ochrvan's depths witliin, 

Seem'd dusky still on Fdith's skin. 

But Einion. of experience (dd. 

Had weightiest task— the mantle's fold 

In many an artful plait she tied. 

To show the form it seem'd to hide. 

Till on the floor descending roH'd 

Its waves of crimson blent with gold. 

VL 
O ! lives there now so cold a maid, 
v\ ho thus in beauty's pomp array'd. 
In beauty's proudest pitch of power, 
And conquest won — the bridal hour — 
With every charm that wins the heart, 
By Nature given, enhanced by Art, 
Could yet the fair reflection view. 
In the bright mirror pictured true, 
And not one dimple on her cheek 
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ? — 
Lives still such maid ?— Fair damsels, say, 
Ff)r further vouches not my lay. 
Save that such lived in Rri'ain's isle. 
When Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smile. 

VII. 
But Morag. to whose fostering care 
Proud Lorn had given his dam;hter fair, 
Morag, who saw a mother's aid 
Bv all a daughter's love repaid, 
(Strict was that bond— most kind of all- 
Inviolate in Highland hall)— 
Grey Morag sate a spare apart. 
In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 
In vain the attendants' fond appeal 
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ; 



•I Sve Apprlittix, Note B. 



^ 



y 



^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



She uiark'd lier chikl receive their care, 
Cold as tlie imase sculptured fair, 
(Form of some sainted patroness.) 
Which cloister'd maids combine to dress; 
She mark'd — and knew her niirslin§:'s heart 
III the vaia pomp took little part. 
Wistful a while .-lie sazed — tlien press'd 
The maiden to her anxious breast 
In finish'd loveliness— and led 
To where a riirret's airy head. 
Slender and steep, and battled round, 
O'erh)ok'd, dark Miill ! thy inishty Sound,' 
Where thwartinx tides, with minarled roar. 
Part thy swartli hills from .Morven's shore. 

vin. 

" Dauffhter." she said, " these seas behold, 
Round twice a hundred i.slauds roll'd. 
From Hirt. that he^rs their northern roar, 
To the green Hay's fertile shore ; 2 
Or mainland turn, where many a tower 
Owns thy hold brother's feudal power, 
Kar.li on IS own dark c;ipe reclined. 
And listening to its own wild wind. 
Fnmi where .Minsarrv. srernlv placed, 
O'erawes the woodland and the vvaste,3 
To vvhere Uunstatfnasr' hears the raging 
Of Coiiiial with his rooks engaging. 
Think'sl thiiu. amid this ample round, 
A single brow but thine has frown'd. 
To s idden this ans[)icious morn. 
That bids the dauglner of high Lorn 
Impledge hf r sp<lu^al faith to wed 
The heir of mighty Somerled ! ■• 
Ronald, from many a ht-ro sprung. 
The fur. the valiant, and the vouii?. 
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty nanieS 
A thousand bards have given to fame. 
The mate of monarchs, and allied 
On equal terms with Fngland's pride — 
From chiefiain's tower to bondsman's cot. 
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not? 
The damsel dons her best attire. 
The shepherd lights his beltane tire, 
Joy, joy ! each warder's horn hath sung, 
Joy. joy ! each matin bell hath rung; 
The holy priest says grateful mass. 
Loud shouts each "hardy galla-glass. 
No mountain den holds outcast Iwor, 
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 
But he hath flung his tas< aside. 
And claim'd this morn for holy tide; 
Yet, empress of this Joyful day. 
Edith is sad while all are gay." — 

IX. 

Proud Edith's soul came to her eye. 
Resentment check "d the struggling sigh. 
Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
The burning tears of injured pride— 
I'Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise 
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays; 
Make to yon maids thy boast of power. 
Ttiat tht-y may waste a wondering hour, 
Telling of banners proudly borne. 
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn. 
Or. theme niore dear, of robes of price, 
Crownlets and sauds of rare device. 
Bur, thou, experienced as thou art, 
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart. 



That, bound in strong affection's chain, 
Looks for return and looks in vain ? 
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 
In these brief words— He loves her not I 



" Debate it not— too long I strove 
To call his cold observance love. 
All t)linded by the league that styled 
Edith of Lorn.— while yet a child. 
She triup'd the heath by Morag's side. — 
The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride. 
Ere yet I saw him, while afar 
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war, 
Train'd to believe cnir fates the same. 
My bosom throbb'd when Roland's name 
Came gracing Fame's hero'c tale. 
Like perfume im the summer gale. 
What pilgrim sought bur halls, nor told 
Of Roland's deeds in battle bold ; 
Who louch'd the harp to heroes' praise. 
But his achievements swell'd the lays? 
F>en Morag— not a tale of fame 
Was hers but closed with Ronald's name. 
He came ! and all that had been told 
(if his high wcnth seem'd poor and cold. 
Tame, lifeless, void of energv. 
Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 

XI. 

•' Since then, what thought had Edith's heart 
And gave not plighted love its part !— 
And what requital? cold delav— 
E.xcuse that shunn'd the spousal day.— 
It dawns, and Ronald is not here ! — 
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer. 
Or loiters he in secret dell 
To bid some lighter love farewell. 
And swear, that though he may not scorn 
A daughter of the House of Lorn,6 
Yet, when these formal rites are o'er, 
Again they meet, to part no more ?' 

.XII. 

— "Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, 

More nobly think of Ronald's love. 

Look, where beneath the castle grey 

His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 

See'st not each galley's topmast bend, 

As on the yards the sails ascend ? 

Hiding the dark-blue land, tliey rise 

Like the white-clouds on April skies; 

The shouting vassals man the oars. 

Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores. 

Onward their merry com-se they keep. 

Through whistling breeze and foaming deep. 

And mark the headmost, seaward cast. 

Stoop ti) the Ireshenrng gale her mast, 

As if she veil'd its banner'd pride. 

To greet afar her prince's bride ! 

Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed 

His galley mates the flying steed. 

He chides her sloth !"— Fair Edith sigh'd. 

Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied : — 

XIIL 
" Sweet thought, but vain !— No, Morag ! mark, 
Type of his course, yon lonely bark. 
That oft liath shifted helm and sail. 
To win its way against the gale. 



347 \ 



/ 348^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



^ 



Since pee|) of nii>ra. my vacant eyes 

H;'.ve view'd by fits the course she tries; 

Now, though the daikenins send conies on, 

Anil dawn's fair promises be gone. 

And tlionjrh the weary crew may see 

()u( sheltering haven on their lee, 

Sfil closer to the rising wind 

Thev strive her shivering sail to hind, 

Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge 

At bvery tack her course they urge, 

As if they fear'd Art Ornish more 

Than adverse winds and breakers' roar. 

XIV. 
Sooth spoke the maid— Amid the tide 

The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore, 
And shifted oft her stooping side. 
In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 

She gain'd, of forwanl way. 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed which peasants share, 

Who toil the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot braves. 

That oft, before she wore. 
Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves. 
Where in white foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelvuis- shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true. 
Undaunted toil her hardy crew. 

Nor look'd where shelter lay, 
Nor for A rl Ornish Castle drew. 

Nor steer'd for Aros bay. 

XV. 

Thus while thev strove with wind and seas, 
Borne onward bv the willing breeze. 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by. 
Streanier'd with silk, and trick'd with gold, 
Manii'd with the noble and the bold 

Of Island cliivuliy. 
Around their prows the ocean roars. 
And chafes beneath their thousand oars, 

Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes the war horse in his might. 
That fieldward bears some valiant knight. 
Champs, till l)otli bit and boss are while. 

But. foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold. 
And hauberks with their hurnisli'd fold. 

That shimmer'd fair and free : 
And each proud galley, as she pass'd, 
To the wild cadence of the blast 

Gave wilder minstrelsy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
Saline and Scalastle bade float 

Their misty shores around ; 
And Morven's eclioes answer'd well. 
And Ouart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome Sound. 

XVI, 

So bore they on with mirth and pride. 
And if that labouring bark they spied, 

'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor. 
When, tolling in his task obscure, 

Thev i)ass him careless by. 
Let therii sweep on with heedless eyes ! 
But, had they known what mighty prize 



in that frail vessel lay. 
The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold. 
Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold, 
Ere. drifting by these galleys bold. 

Unchallenged were her way! 
And thou. Lord Konald. sweep thou on 
With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone J 
But had'st thou known who sail'd so nigh, 
Far other glance were in thine eye ! 
Far other flush were on thy brow. 
That, shaded bv the bonnet, now 
Assumes hut ill the blithesome cheer 
Of bridegroom when the bride is near! 

XVII. 

Yes sweep they on !— V^e will not leave. 
For them that triumph, those who grieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout. 
And bards to cheer the was.sail route. 

With tale, romance, and lay; 
And of wild mirth each clamorous art. 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 
Mav slupify and stun its smart, 

'For one loud busy dav. 
Yes. sweep thev on !— But with that skiff 

Abides the minstrel tale. 
Where there was dread of surge and cliff, 
Labour that strain'd each sinew stiff, 

And one sad Maiden's wail. 

XVITI. 
All day with fruitless strife they toil'd. 
With eve the ebbing currents boil'd 

More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midwav through the channel met 
Ccmflicting tides that foam and fret, 
And high their mingleil billows jet, 
As spears, that, in the battle set. 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then, too, the lights of eve were past. 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Tnninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast, 
And manv a leak was gaping fast. 
And the pale steersman stood aghast, 

And gave the conflict o'er, 

XIX. 
'Twas then that One, who.se lofty look 
Nor labour duH'd nor terror shook. 

Thus to the Leader spoke :— 
" Brother, how hopest thou to abide 
The fury of this wilder'd tide. 
Or how avoid the rocl<"s rude side. 

Until the dav has broke ? 
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel 
With quivering planks, anil groaning keel, 

At the last billow's shock ? 
Yet how of better counsel tell. 
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear; 
For look on sea, or look on land. 
On yon dark skv— on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her aUme 1 grieve.— on me 
Danger sits light, by land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt : 
Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower. 
Or rush amid their naval power. 
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour. 

And die with hand on lull."— 



V 



It" 



THE LOUD OF THE ISLES 



349 ^ k 



XX. 

That elder Leader's ralni reply 

III steady voice was i-iveri, 
"III man's most dark extremity 

Oft succour dawns from Heaven. 
Ell ward, tiirti I lion tlie sliatter'd sail, 
Tlie lielni be mine, and down the sale 

Let our free course be driven ; 
So shall we 'scape the western hay, 
The lioslile fleet, t.lie unequal fray, 
So safelv hold our vessel's way 

Beneath ttie Castle wall ; 
P'or if a hope of safety rest, 
' Tis on the sacred name of guest. 
Who seeks for shelter, st<irni-distress'd. 

Within a cliieftain's hall 
If not— ii best, beseems our worth. 
Uiir name, our risfht, or lofiy birtli, 

13y noble hands to fall." 

XXL 

The helm, to his stron? arm consi;^n'd. 
Gave I lie reefd sail to meet the wind. 

And on her alter'd way. 
Fierce houniiins, forward sprutie; the ship 
Like iireyliound st;irtiii^ from the slip 

To seizi- his flyiiii? prey. 
Awaked before the rushiti? [irow, 
The mimic fires of ocean glow. 

Those lii.'litnin^:s of the wave;i 
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides; 
And. flashing round, the vessel's sides 

With elvish lustre lave, 
Willie, far behind, their livid lisht 
'Jo the dark billows of the ni^'ht 

A gloomy s[)ieMdoiir gave. 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the lucid Hakes 

In envious pageantry, 
To ma'ch the meteoi-hslit that streaks 

Grim Heclu's midnight sky. 

XXIL 

Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep 
Their course upon the darken'd deep; — 
Arlorn.sh, en her frowning steep 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung. 
Glanced with a thousanil lights of glee. 
And landward far. and far to sea, 

Her festal radiance flung 
By that blithe beacon-light they steer'd, 

Whose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appear'd, 
As the cold moon her head uprear'd 

Above the eastern fell. 

XXI II. 
Thus guided, on their course they bore. 
Until they near'd the mainland shore, 
Wiien frequent on the lioUow blast 
Wild shouts of nierriinent were cast, 
And wind and wave and sea-liirds' cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie. 
Like funeral shrieks with revelry, 

Or like the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from clitfs on high, 
When Triumph, Kage. and Agony, 

ALiilden the fight and rouie. 
Now nearer yet. throimh mist and storm 
Dimly arose tne Castle's form, 



And deepen'd shadow made. 
Far leimthen'd on the main below, 
Wliere, dancing in reflected glow, 

A hundred torches play'd, 
Spanulin^' the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain, 

Tnat dazzle as they fade. 

XXIV. 
Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee. 
They staid their course in quiet sea. 
Hewn ill the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair, 

"So straight, so high, so steep. 
With peasant's staff one valiant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have inaiin'd, 
'Gainst hundreds arin'd with spear and brand 

And plunged them in the deep '^ 
His bugle then the helmsman wound, 
Loud aiiswer'd every echo round, 

From turret, rock, and bay. 
The postern's hinges crasli and eroan. 
And soon the warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of slippery stone. 

To light the U[)ward way 
" Thrice welcome, holy Sire I" he said ; 
••Full long the spousal train have staid, 

And, vex'd at thy delay, 
Fear'd lest, amidst these wildering seas. 
The darksome aught and freshening breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray."— 

XXV. 
" Warder," the younger stranger said, 
••Thine erring guess some niirih had made 
In mirthful hour; but nigh s like these, 
V\ hen the rough winds wake western seas, 
Brook not of glee. V\'e crave some aid 
And needful slielier fur tins maid 

Until the break of day; 
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That's breath'd upon by May. 
And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek. 
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak 

Again to bear away." — 
Answer'd the Warder, — "In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim ? 

Whence come, or whither bound ? 
Hath Erin seen your parting sails? 
Or come ye on Norwegian tjales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile vales. 

Or Scotland's mountain ground?" — 

XXVL 
" Warriors — for other title none 
For some brief space we list to own, 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we; 
In SI rife by land, and storm by sea. 

We have been known to fame; 
And these brief words have import dear. 
When sounded in a noble ear. 
To harbour safe, and friendly cheer. 

That gives us righiful claim. 
Grant us the trivial Ixion we seek. 
And we in o;her realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy ; 
Deny — and be your niggard Hold 
Scorn'd by the noble and ilie bold, 
Shunn'd by the pilgrim on the wold. 

And wanderer mi the lea!"— 



f 850 



2^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



XXVII. 
" Bold stranser, no— Vainst claim like thine, 
No bolt revolves by hand of mine, 
Thousli uised in lone that more express'd 
A iiioiiaroli than a suppliant, guest. 
Be wliat ye will. Artoriiisli Hall 
Oil tins siad eve is free to all. 
'! lioiisli ye had drawn a lio.stile sword 
(Jainst our ally, great Eiisland's Lord, 
Or mail upon your shoulders borne, 
To battle with the Lord of Lorn. 
Or. oiitlaw'd, dwelt by greenwood tree 
With the fierce Knight of EUerslie,! 
Or aided even the murderous strife, 
V\'iien Coinvn fell beneath the knife 
Of that feniioniicide The Bruce.2 
This night had been a term of irnce.— 
Ho. vass:ils ! give tliese guests your care, 
And sliow the narrow postern stair.'' 

XXVIIL 
To land these two bold brethren leapt, 
(The weary crew their ves-el kept.) 
And, lighted by the torches" flare. 
'1 hat seaward flung their smoky gliire, 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half lifeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoiiider lean'il her head. 
And down her long dark tie.>ises shed, 
As the wild vine in tendrils sfiiead. 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him follow'd close that elder Lord, 
And ill his hand a sheathed sword. 

Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he honu'd him to such task. 
Well could it cleave the strongest casque. 

And rend the suitst shield. 

XXIX. 
The raised portcullis' arch they pass. 
The wicket with its bars of brass, 

The entrance long and low, 
Flank'd at each turn liy loop-holes strait, 
Where bowmen might in ambush wait. 
(If force or fraud should burst tlie gate,) 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of ward 
Was now defenceless and uiibarr'd. 

And all the passage free 
To one low-hrow'd and vaulted room, 
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom, 

Plied their loud revelry. 

XXX 

And "Re.st ye here," the Warder hade, 
'•Till to our Lord your suit is said — 
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, 
And on these men who ask oar aid, 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tired of midnight bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark, 

And hearing martial mien." 
But not for Eacliin's repii).)f 
Would page or vassal stand aloof. 

But. crowded on to stare. 
As men of courtesy untaught. 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught, 

Kroin one the foremost there. 
His cheqiier'd plaid, and in its shroud, 
To hiile her from the vulgar crowd, 

Involved Ins sister fair. 



His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent. 

Made brief and stern excuse; — 
"VassaL were thine the cloak of pall 
'I'hat decks thy Lord in bridal hall, 

''1 were hoiiour'd by her use." 

XXX L 
Proud was his tone, but calm ; his eye 
Had that compelling dignity. 
His mien that bearing haught and high, 

V\ hich common spirits fear! 
Needed nor word nor signal more. 
Nod. wink, and laughter, all were o'er; 
Upon each other back they bore. 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appear'd the Seneschal, 
Commission'd by his Lord to call 
The strangers to the Baron's hall, 

V\ here/easted fair i'.nd free 
That Island Pr:iice ni nuptial tide, 
Wiih Edilli there Ins lovely bride. 
And her bold brother by her side. 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 
Of Western land and sea. 

Here pause we. gentles, for a space ; 
.And. if our tale hath won your grace, 
Grant us brief patience, and .again 
We will renew the minstrel strain. 



STije Horti of tije iJsles. 




CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive Ixiard! 
Summon the gay. the noble, and the fair ! 
Through the loud hall in joyous concert ponr'd. 
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care ! 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there. 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe. 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear; 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know, 
.No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal 
woe. 

II. 
With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 
With all that olden lime deem'd gav, 
The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
.A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flusli'd, and faded now, 
Emotions such as draw their birth 
From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper s strain 
And jester's tale went round in vain. 
Or fell but on his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy. 

And call for pledge and lay. 
And. for brief space, of all the crowd, 
As he was loudest of the louil. 

Seem gayest of the gay. 



r 



y 



^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



III. 

Yet noii?lir amiss the bridal rhron? 
Miirk'il in brief mirth, or riinsiiis; long: 
The vncaiit brow, the unhsleniiig ear, 
'lliev save lo rlioiishts of raptures near, 
And'his fierce starts of sudden i^lee 
Seeui'd bursts of hrideffrooin's ecstasy. 
Nor tlius alone nu-sjudged the crowd, 
i>iiice lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud, 
And jealous of his lionour'd line. 
And that keen knight, Ue Argentine, 
(From England sent on ernind high, 
The western leairue more firm to tie,) I 
Bo'h deem'd in Ronald's nioiKl to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mmd. 
But one sad iieart, one tearful eye. 
Pierced deeper Ihroush the mystery. 
And watch'd, with aKony and fear, 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied .cheer. 

IV. 

She watch'd— yet fear'd to meet his glance. 
And he shunn'd hers; — till when liy chance 
I'liey met, tlie point of foeman's laiice 

Had given a milder pang! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed — then sternly mann'd his heart 
To play his hard but destined part. 

And from the table sprang 
" Fill me the mighty cup !" he said, 
" Erst own'd by roval .Somerled : 2 
Fill it. till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 
And every gem of varied shine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine! 
To you, brave lord, and brother mme. 

Of ix)ni, this pledge 1 drink— 
The union of Our House with thine, 

By this fair bridal- link !"— 

V. 

" Let it pass round I" quoth He of Lorn, 
"And in good time — thai winded horn 

.Must of the Abbi.t tell; 
The laggard monk is come at last."' 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast. 
And on the floor at random cast, 

The uiitasted goblet fell. 
But when the warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May, 
When through a thiinder-cioud it beams! — 
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 

As glad of brief delay. 
As some poor criminal might feel, 
Wlien, from the gibbet or the wheel, 

K(!spited for a day. 

VL 

" Biother of I/irn," with hurried voice 
He said. " And you, fair lords, rejoice ! 

Here, to augment our glee. 
Come wandering knights from travel far. 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war. 

And tempest on the sea ^ 
Ho! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace. 

And hid them vvelcome free !" 



^ 



1 See Appendix, Not 

2 Sfe Appendix. N"l 

3 Sec Appendix, Not 



V\'ith solemn step, and silver wand. 

The Seneschal the prt-sence scann'd 

Of these strange guests; and well he knew 

How to assign their rank its due ; 3 

For though the costly furs 
That eist had deck'd their caps were torn, 
And their gav robes were over-worn, 

And soil'd their gilded spurs, 
Vet such a high commanding grace 
Was in their mien and in their face. 
As suited best the princely dais,* 

And royal canopy : 
And there he marshall'd them their place. 

First of that company. 

VIL 

Then lords and ladies spake aside. 

And angry looks the error chide. 

That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, • 

A place so near their prince's throne ; 

But Owen Erraught said, 
" For forty years a seneschal. 
To marshal guests in bower and hall 

Has been my lionour'd trade. 
Worship and birth to me are known. 
By look, by bearing, and by tone, 
JNot hy furr'd robe or broider'd zone; 

And 'gainst an oaken lioutih 
ril gage my silver wand of slate, 
That these three strangers oft have sate 

In liigher place than now."— 

vni. 

■'I, too." the aged Ferrand said, 
"Am qualitied by minstrel trade 

Of rank and place to tell ;— 
Mark'd ye the younger strangers eye. 
My males, how quicl<, how keen, ht)vv high, 

H()w fierce its flashes fell. 
Glancing among the noble rout 
As if to seek the noblest out. 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look I 

And yet it moves me more. 
That steady, calm, majestic brow. 
With whicri the elder chief even now 

Scann'd the gay presence o'er. 
Like being of superior kind. 
In whose high-toned impariial mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 
The lady loo — though closely tied 

The mantle veil both face and eye. 
Her motions' grace it could not hide. 

Nor could her form's fair symmetry.'* 

IX. 

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Lour'd on the haughty front of Lorn. 
From underneath his brows of pride. 
The stranger suests he sternly eyed, 
And whisper'd closely what the ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear; 

'Ihen questioned, high and brief. 
If. in their voyage, aught they knew 
Of the rebellious Scoitish crew, 
Who to Rath-Eiin's shelter drew. 

With Carrick's outlaw'd Chief ?5 



351 \ 



4Dais--lhfc great hall table 
ihnve the rest of ihe niom. 
5 See Appendix, Note O. 



V 



352 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



And if, their winter's exile o'er, 
They harbour'd still iiy Ulster's shore, 
Or laiinoh'd their galleys on the main. 
To vex their native land again J 

X. 

That younser stranfcer, fierce and liigh, 
At once confronts the Chieftain's eye 

With lool< of equal scorn;— 
"Of rebels have we nought to show ; 
But if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know, 

I warn thee he has sworn. 
Ere thrice three days shall come and go. 
His banner Scottish winds shall blow. 
Despite each mean or mighty foe. 
From England's every bill and bow, 

To Allusterof I,orn." 
Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire, 
Kut Ronald quench'd the rising fire ; 
" Brother, it better suits the time 
To ciiase the night with Ferrand's rhyme. 
Than waUe. 'midst mirth and wine, the jars 
'I'hat flow from these unhappy wars." — 
"Content,'' said Loin; and spoke apart 
With Ferrand, master of his art. 

Then whisper'd Argentine, — 
"The lay I named will carry smart 
To these bold strangers' haiigiity heart. 

If right this guess of mine." 
He ceased, and it was silence all. 
Until the minstrel waked the hall. 



XI. 



THE BROOCH OF LORN.* 

"Whence the brooch of burning gold. 
That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold. 
Wrought and chased with rare device, 
Studded fair witli gems of price,2 
On the varied tartans beaming. 
As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming. 
Fainter now. now seen afar. 
Fitful shines the northern star 7 

" Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland mountain, 
Did the fairy of the foimtain, 
Or the mermaid of the w.nve, 
Frame thee in some coral cave T 
Did, in Iceland's darksome mine. 
Dwiirf's swart hands thy metal twine? 
Or. mortal-moulded, conies' tliou here. 
From England's love, or France's fear? 

XII. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

"No!— thy splendours nothing teA 
Foreign ai-t or faery spell 
Moulded thou for monuich's use, 
By the overweening Bruce. 
When the royal robe he tied 
O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 
Thence in triumph wert thou torn, 
By the victor hand of Lorn ! 

" When the gem was won and lost. 
Widely was the war-cry loss'd! 
Rung aloud Bendourisli fell, 
Answer'd Doiichart's sounding dell, 



K 



Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
\\ hen the homicide, o'ercome. 
Hardly 'scaped, with scathe and scorn, 
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn! 

xin. 

SONO CONCLUDED. 

"Vain was then the Douglas brand,3 
Vuin the Campbell's vaunted liand, 
Vam Kirkpainck's bloody dirk. 
Making sure of murder's work ;* 
Biireiidovvn fleii last away. 
Fled the fiery De la Haye.5 
When this brooch, triumphant borne, 
Beam'd upon tlie breast of Lorn. 

" Farthest fled its former Lord. 
Lett his men to liiaiid and cord, 
Bloody hiaml of Hisliland steel, 
Eiigli!>li gibbet, axe. and wheel. 
Let liiiii tly from ana^l to coast. 
Dogg'd by Coinyns vengeful ghost, 
While his spoils, iii trminph worn. 
Long shall grace victorious Lorn !" 

XIV. 
As glares the tiger on his foes, 
Heinm'd in by hunters, spears, and bows, 
And, ere he bounds upon the ring. 
Selects the object of his spiiiig,— 
Now on the bard, now on his Lord. 
So Edward glared and grasp'd his sword — 
But stern his brother spoke.—"' Be still. 
What ! art thou yet so wild of will. 
After high deeds and sufferings long. 
To cliale thee for a iiieiiial's song? — 
Well hast tliou Iramed. Old Man, thy strains, 
To prai>e the hand that pays thy pains !» 
Yet something nin;ht thy .song have tidd 
Of Loin's three vassals, true and bold. 
Who rent their Lord from Biuce's hold. 
As underneath his knee he lay. 
And died to save him in the fray. 
I've heard the Brnce's cloak and clasp 
W'as clench'd within their dying grasp, 
W'hat time a hundred loenien more 
Rusii'd 111. and back the victor bore, 
Long after Lorn had lefi the strife. 
Full glad to "scape with limb and life — 
Kmmgh of this-Aiid, Minstrel, hold, 
As miiistrelliire, this chain of gold. 
For future lays a fair excuse. 
To speak more nobly of the Bruce." — 

XV. 

"Now, by Columba's shrine, l swear. 

And every saint that's buried there, 

'Tis he himself I" Lorn sternly cries, 

" And for my kinsman's death he dies." 

As loudly Ronald calls,—" Forbear! 

Not in mv sight while brand I wear. 

O'ermatch'd by odds, shall warrior fall, 

Or blood of stranger stain my hall ! 

This ancient fortress of my race 

Shall be misfortune's resHiig-place, 

Shelter and shield of the distress'd. 

No slanghter-house for shipwreck'd guest. — 

"Talk not to me," fierce Lorn refilled. 

"Of odds or match !— when Comyn died, 

'I'hree daggers clash'd within Ins side ! 



See .\ppeiiJix, NoteT. 



6 1bM, NoteU. 



4 
t 



z. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



353 > 



Talk not to me of sheltering: hull. 
The Church of Goil saw Coinyii fall ! 
(Ill God's own allar strearn'd lii>s hlood. 
While o'er niy prusirate kinsman sloud 
Tlie nil hless'nimderer— e'en as now — 
Willi armed hand and scornful hiow !— 
Up. all who love me! blow on blow! 
And lay the outlaw'd felons low !" 

XVI. 

Then up sprans: many a mainland Lord, 
Ohedient to their Chieftain's word. 
Barcalilnie's arm is hisih rn air. 
And Kiiiloch Alline's Made is hiire, 
Black Murih.>k"s dirk has left its sheath. 
And clenrh'd is Derinid's hand nf death. 
'I heir miitter'd threats of vengeance swell 
Into a wild and warlike yell : 
Onward they press with weapons high, 
The alfriiiht'eil females shriek and fly, 
And. Scotlanil, then thy briulitest ray 
Had daiken'd eie its noon of dav,— 
But every chief of Im th and fame. 
That from the Isles of Ocean came. 
At Ronald's side that hour withstood 
Fierce Ij)in's relentless thirst for blood. 

XVII. 
Brave Toiqnil from Diinvesan hii?h, 
I-ord of the mistv hills of Skye, 
Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, 
Duart. of b..ld Clan Gillian's strain. 
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, 
Mac-Diiffith, Lord of ('olonsay. 
Soon as they saw the broad-iwords glance, 
W'ith ready weapons rose at oiire. 
More prompt, that many an ancient feud. 
Full oft supiiress'd, full oft renew'd. 
Glow'd "twixt the chieftains of Argyle, 
And many a lord of (x^eaii's isle. 
Wild was the scene — each sword was bare 
Back stream'd each ctiiefiain's shaggy hair. 
In gloomy oiiposition set. 
Eves, haniis. and bmndisli'd weapons met; 
Blue 2leammg o'er the social hoard. 
Flash'd to the torches many a sword : 
And soon those bridal lights may shine 
On purple blood for rosy wine. 

XVIII. 
While thus for blows and di-afh prepared, 
Each heart was up. each weapon bared. 
Each foot advanced,— a surly pause 
Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike, 
(For aye af;("ursed in minstrel line 
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,) 
And, match'd in numbers and in might. 
Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight. 
Thus threat and murmur died away, 
Till on the crowded hall there lay ' 
Such silence, as the deadly still. 
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill. 
With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold 
Show'd like the Sworder's form of old, 
As wantin-z still the torch of life, 
'I'd wake the marble into strife. 

XIX. 
That awful pause the s' ranger maid, 
And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 
As to De Arsentine she clung. 
Away her veil the .stranger flung:. 



And. lovely 'mid her wild despair. 
Fast stream'd lier eyes, wide flow"d her hair. 
"O thou, of knisflithood once the llower, 
Sure refuse in distressful hour. 
Thou, who in Judah well tiast toiiglit 
For our dear faith, and oft hast sought 
Renown in knightly exercise, 
V\ hen this poor hand has dealt the prize, 
Say, can thy soul of honour brook 
On the unequal strife to look. 
When, bulcher'd thus in peaceful hall. 
Those once thy friends, my breiiiren, full!" 
To Argentine she turn'd her word, 
Bui her eye sought the Island Lord. 
A flush like eveniiiii's setting flame 
Glow'd on his c;heek ; his hardy frame. 
As with a brief convul.sioii, shook : 
Willi hurried voice and easier look, — 
" Fear not," he said, "mv Isabel ! 
What said I— Etiith !— all is well- 
Nay, fear not— I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride— 
.\ly bride?"— but there'the accents clung 
In tremor to his fulteriiig tongue. 

XX. 

.^Jow rose De Argentine, to claim 

The prisoners in his soveieisn's name. 

To England's crown, who. vassals sworn, 

'Gainst their liese lord had weapon borne— 

(Such speech. I ween, was but to hide 

His care their safety to provide ; 

for knight more true in thoii!;ht and deed 

Than Arsentine ne'er spuri'd a steed) — 

And Ronald, who his meaiiina: euess'd, 

Seem'd half to sanction the request. 

This purpose fiery Toiqiiil broke : — 

'• Somewhat we've heanl of Kiisland's yoke," 

He said, "and in our islands. Fame 

Hath vNhisper'd of ;i lawful claim. 

That calls the Bruce fair Scotlaiul's Lonl, 

Though dispossessed by foremii sword. 

This craves reflection— but thoiish right 

And just the charge of England's Knight, 

Let England's crown her rebels seize 

Where she has power; — in towers like these 

'.\lidst Scottish Chieftains summon'd here 

To bridal mirth and bridal cheer. 

Be sure, with no consent of mine, 

Shall either Lorn or Argentine 

With chains or violence, in our sight. 

Oppress a brave and banish'd Knight." 

XXI. 
Then waked the wild debate again. 
With brawling threat and clamour vain. 
Vassals and menials, thronging in. 
Lent their brute rage to swell the din; 
When, far and wide, a bugle clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
" The Abbot comes I" they cry at once. 
''The holy man. whose favour'd glance 

Hath sainted visions known; 
Angels have met him on the way. 
Beside the blessed martyrs' bay. 

And by Columba's .stone. 
His monks have heard their hvinnings high 
Sound from the summit of Diin-Y, 
To cheer his penance lone. 
When at each cross, on girth and wold. 
(Their number thrice a hundred-folil.) 
His prayer he made, his heads he told. 
Wiih Avts many a one— 



A 



f 354 

/ He C(i 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



He comes our feuds to reconcile, 
A siiiiited man from sainted isle; 
We will his lioly doom abide. 
Tlie Abbot sluill our strife decide." 

XXll. 
Scarcely this fair ac<!()rd was o'er. 
When ihniuffli the wide revolvins: door 

The hiack-stoled liietliien wind; 
'I'welve saiidall'd monks, who relics bore, 
With many a torch-bearer before, 

And many a cross behind. 
Then sunk each fierce tiplified liand, 
And dagger bri^lit and flaslinii; Inand 

nio[)|)'d swiftly at the sight; 
They vaiiish'd from the Chuir.hiiian's eye, 
As shooting stars, that glance and die, 

Dart from tlie vault of night. 

XXIII. 
The Abbot on the threshold slood. 
And ill his hand tiie holy rood ; 
Back on his slionlders flow'd his hood. 

The torch's glarinu ray 
Show'd. in its red and flashing light, 
His wilher'd cheek and aniice winie. 
His blue eye glistening cold and bright. 

His tresses scant and grey. 
" Fair Lords," he said. " Our Lady's love. 
And peace be with you from above. 

And Benedicite I— 
— But what means Ibis? no peace is here !— 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer? 

Or are these naked brands 
A seemly show for Churchman's sight. 
When he conies summon'd to unite 
Betrothed hearts and hands?" 

XXIV. 
Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal. 
Proud Lorn first answer'd the appeal; — 

"Thou comest. O holy Man, 
True sons of blessed ciiuicii to greet. 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch, beneath the ban 
Of Pope and Church, for murder done 
Even on the sacred altar-stone !— 
Well mayst thon wonder we should know 
Such miscreant here, nor lay him low, 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce. 
With excommunicated Bruce ! 
Vet well I grant, to end debate, 
'i'hy sainted voice decide his fate." 

XXV. 
Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause. 
And knighthood's oalli and honour's laws. 
And Isabel, on bended knee. 
Brought prayers and tears to back the plea : 
And Edith lent her generous aid. 
And wept, and Lorn lor mercy pray'd. 
" Hence." he exclaim'd. "degenerate maid ! 
Was't not enougii to Ronala's bower 
I brought thee, like a paraniour,i 
Or bond-maid at her master's gate. 
His careless cold approach to wait ? — 
But the hold Lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand; 
His it shall be— Nay no reply ! 
Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry." 
V\ ith grief the Abbot heard and saw. 
Vet nought relax'd his brow of awe. 



1 See Apppiiii 



^v 



xxvr. 

Then Argentine, in England's name. 
So highly urged his sovereign's claim. 
He waked a spark, that, long snppiess'd. 
Had smoulder'd in Lcn-d Ronald's breast; 
And now, as from the flint the fire, 
t'lash'd forth at once his generous ire. 
" Enough of noble blood," he said. 
"By English Edward had been shed. 
Since matchless Wulhice first had been 
In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green,' 
And done to death by felon hand, 
For guarding well his father's land 
Where's Nigel Bruce? and Pe la Haye, 
And valiant Seion — where are they? 
Where Somerville. the kind and free? 
And Eraser, flower of chivalry ? 3 
Have they not been on gibbet hound, 
'I'heir quarters flung to hawk and hound, 
And iiold we here a cold debate. 
To yield more victims to their fate? 
What! can the English Leopard's mood 
Never be gorged with noriherii blood? 
V\ as not the life of Athole shed. 
To sooihe the tyrant's sicken'd lied ?< 
And must his word, till dying day. 
Be nought but quarter, hiing. and slav !— 6 
Thou fidwn'st. De Argentine.— My gage. 
Is (irompt to prove the strife 1 wage."— 

XXVIL 

" Nor deem." said stout Dunvegan's knight, 

"That thou shalt brave alone tlie fight I 

Bv saints of isle and main and bo^h. 

By Woden wild, (niy grandsire's oaih.) 

Let Konie and L'liglaiid do their worst, 

Howe'er attainted or accuised. 

If Bruce shall e'er find friends again. 

Once more to brave a baitle-plain, 

If Douglas couch again his lance. 

Or Randolph dare anoiher (^hauce. 

Old Torqiill will not be to lack 

With twice a tliousand at his back — 

Nay. chafe not at inv bearing liold. 

Good Abbot! for thou know'st of old. 

Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 

Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 

Nor will I barter F'reedom's cause 

For England's wealth, or Koine's applause. ' 

XXV 11 1. 

The Abbot seem'd with ej'e severe 
The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear; 
Then on King Robert turn'd the Monk. 
But twice his courage came and sunk. 
Confronted with the hero's look ; 
Twice fell his eye, his accents siiook ; 
At length, resolved in tone and brow. 
Sternly he question'd him — " And thou, 
Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead. 
Why I denounce not (m thy deed 
That awful doom which canons tell 
Shuts paradise, and opens hell; . 
Anathema of power so dread. 
It blends the living with the dead. 
Bids each good angel soar away. 
And every ill one claim his prey ; 
Expels thee from the church's care. 
And deafens Heaven against thy prayer; 



4 See Appeiiilix, Note Y. fi Ibiu, No 



V 



y 



I 



7^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



355 



\- 



Arms every hand asainst thy life. 

Bans all whti u.d lliee in the sinte. 

Nay. each whose suconnr, cold and scant, 

Willi niennes! alms relieves thy want; 

Haun's thee while liviiiu.— and. svheii dead, 

Dwells on thv vet devoted ht^ad. 

Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse, 

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 

And spurns thy corpse from liallow'd ground, 

Flunu: like vile carri<m to the honnd ; 

Such IS the dire and desperate doom 

For SMcrilei;e, decreed hv Rome; 

And such the well deserveil meed 

Of thine unhallow'd, ruthless deed."— 

XXI. X^. 

' Abbot !" The Bruce replied. " thy charge 

It hoots no! to dispute :it large. 

This iniicli. howe'er. I bid thee know. 

No selfish venscance dealt the blow, 

For Comvn died nis count rv's foe. 

Nor blame I friends whose ill-tmied speed 

Fulfill'd my soon-repented deed. 

Nor cen>ure those from whose stern tongue 

The .lire anathema has run?. 

I only bhiiiie nnne own wild ire. 

Bv Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 

Heaven knows mv purpose to atone, 

Far as I may. the evil done. 

And hears a penitenl's appeal 

F'rom papal curse and prelate's zeal. 

Mv first and dearest task achieved^ 

Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved. 

Shrill manv a priest in cope and stole 

Sav reqnie'm for Red Comyn's soul. 

While 1 the blessed cross advance. 

And expiate this unhappy chance 

In Palestine, with sword and lance. l 

But, while conteni the Church should know 

Mv conscience owtis the debt I owe, 

Unto De Argentine and Lorn 

The name of trail or I return. 

Bid tiiem deliance stern and high. 

And give them in their throats the lie! 

These brief words spoke. I speak no more. 

Do what thou will , my shnft is o'er." 

XXX. 

Like man by pnxJigy amazed. 
Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 
Then o'er his ptllid features glance 
Convulsions of ecstatic tratice. 
His breaHim-j came more thick and fast. 
And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
Stranu'e rays of wild and wandering light, 
Uprise his locks of silver white, 
h'lush'd is Ins brow, throusrh every vein 
In azure tide the (currents strain. 
And iindislinguish'd accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke. 

XXXI. 
" De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread 
To speak my curse upon thy head,2 
j\nd give thee as an outcast o'er 
Tit him who burns to shed thy gore; — 
But. like the Midianite of old. 
Who stood on Zopliim. heaven-controU'd, 
I feel within mine aged breast 
A power l|iat will no be reoress'd 3 
It prompts mv voice, it swells my veins. 
It burns, it maddens, it constrains!— 



Sea .4pi<«udix, .Nule 2 A. 



3 Ibid. Notes I 



^ 



De Bruce, thv sacrileirioiis blow 
Hath at God's altar slain thy foe: 
O'erinaster'd yet by high behest, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd !" 
He spoke, and o'er the asionish'd throng 
Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 
Agtiin that light has fired his eve. 
Again his form swells bold and high. 
The broken voice of ase is -rone, 
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 
"Thrice vanquish'd on the battle-plain. 
Thy foHowers slaughter'd. fled, or ta'en, 
A hunted wanderer on the wild. 
On foreign shores a man exiled ,-> 
Disown'd deserted, and distre.ss'd, 
I bless thee, and rhou shtiit be bless'd ! 
Bless'd in the hall and in the field. 
Under the mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy conniry's shame, 
Keslorer of her injured fame, 
Bless'd in thy .sceptre and thy sword. 
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, 
Bless'd ill thy deeds and in thy fame, 
Wlnit lengthen'd honours wait thy name I 
In distant ages, sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom wim. 
And teach his infants, in the use 
Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce, 
Go, then, triiimphtmt ! sweep along 
Thy <-ourse, the theme of many a sons! 
The Power, whose dictates swell my breast. 
Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd !- 
Knougli — my short-lived strength decays. 
And sinks the momentary blaze.— 
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke. 
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke; 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er. 
Our task discharged —Unmoor, unmoor"— 
His priests received the exhausted Monk, 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Punctual his orders to obey. 
The train refused all longer stay, 
Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away. 



5ri)c JLoxii of t1)e fislcs. 



CANTO THIRD. 



I. 

Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled 

head 
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd. 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ? 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold, 
Tlie rustling aspen's leaves are mule and still. 
The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold. 
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and 

shrill. 
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the 

groaning hill. 

II. 
Artomish ! such a silence sunk 
Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk 



3 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 



4 Ibid, Note -2 D. 



z 



7 



Z. 



356 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



His prophet -speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale 

Before a whisper woke. 
Then niurnmriug sounds of df)iiht and fear, 
Close potir'd in many an anxious ear, 

The soleiiiti stillness broke ; 
And still they gazed with eager guess, 
Where, in an oriel's deep recess, 
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer. 
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear. 

III. 
Startme at length, with frowning look. 
His hand he clench'd. his head he sliook, 

^\h] sternly flung apart : — 
" A nil deem'st thou me so mean of mood, 
As to forget the mortal feud. 
And clasp the hand witli blood imbrued 

From my dear Kinsman's heart? 
Is this thy rede ? — a due return 
For ancient league and friendship sworn! 
But well our mountain proverb shows 
The faith of Islesnien ebbs and flows. 
Be it even so— believe, ere long, 
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.— 
Call Edith— call the Maid of Lorn ! 
My sister, slaves !— for finther scorn, 
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
Away, De Argentine, away I — 
We nor ally nor brother know. 
In Bruce 's friend, or England's foe." 

IV. 
But who the Chieftain's rage can tell. 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
To highest tower the caslle round, 
No Lady Edilh was there found ! 
He shouted. •' Fal.>^ehood !— treachery ! — 
Revenge and blood !— a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed ! 
A Baron's lands!'— His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood. 
That Morag shared his sister's flight. 
And that, in hurry of the night, 
'Scaped noteless, and without remark. 
Two strangers sought the Alibot's bark. — 
'■ Man every galley I— fly— pursue ! 
The priest his treachery sjiall rue! 
Av, and the time shall quickly C(>me, 
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome 
Will pay his feigned prophecy I" 
Such was fierce Lorii's indignant cry; 
And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd. 
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd, 
(For. glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Cormac Ooil ) i 
But others, lingering, spoke apart, — 
'• The Maid lias given her maiden heart 

To Kouahi of the Isles. 
And. fearful lest lier brother's word 
Bestow heron that English Lord, 

She seeks hma's piles. 
And wisely deems it liest to dwell 
A votaress in the holy cell, 
I'nlil these feuds so fierce and fell 

The Abbot reconciles." 

V. 



As. impotent of ire. the hall 
K(!lio'd to Lorn's impatient call. 



1 See Apptiidix, Note 2 K. 



'•My horse, my mantle, and my train ! 
Let none who honours Lorn remain !'— 
Courteous, iiut stern, a hold request 
To Bruce De Argentine express'd. 
'•Lord Earl " he said.— "I cannot chuse 
But yield sach title to the Bruce. 
Though name and earldom both are gone. 
Since he braced rebel's armour on — 
But, Earl or Serf— rude phrase was thine 
(If late, and launch'd at Argentine; 
Such as compels me to demand 
Redress of honour at thy hand. 
We need not to each other tell, 
That both can wield their weapons well ; 
Then do me but llie soldier grace. 
This glove upon thy helm to place 

Where we may meet in fight ; 
And I will say, as still I've said. 
Though by ambition far misled, 
Thou art a noble knight." — 

VI. 

" And 1." the princelv Bruce replied. 
"Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine; 

But, for your brave request. 
Be Mire the lioiioiir'd pledge you gave 
In everv battie-field shall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest; 
Believe, that if my hasty tcmgue 
Hath done Jhine honour cau.seless wrong, 

It shalfbe well redress'd. 
Not dearer to mv soul was glove, 
Bestow'd in youth by lady's love. 

Than this which thou hast given! 
Thus. then, my noble foe I greet ; 
Health and high fortune tilt we meet. 

And then — what pleases Heaven." 

VII. 
Thus parted they— for now. with soinid 
Like waves roll'd hack from rocky ground, 

The friends of Lorn retire ; 
Kach mainland chieftain, with his train. 
Draws to his mountain towers again. 
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vam. 

And mortal hopes expire. 
Rut through the castle double guard. 
Bv Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward. 
Wicket and gate were trelily barr'd. 

By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests, in courteous sort, 
He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short. 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Nor torch and menial tendance led 
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, 
And beads were told, and Aves said, 

And soon they sunk awav 
Into such sleep, as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head. 

After a toilsome day. 

VIII. 
But soon uproused. the Monarch cried 
To Edward slumbering by his side, 

" Awake, or sleep for aye ! 
Even now there jarr'd a secret door — 
A taper-light gleams on the floor- 
Up, Edw.'.rd. up. 1 say! 
Some one glides in like midnight ghost — 
Nay, strike not ! 'tis our noble Host." 



z 



7" 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Advanrinff t.lipn his tnper's flame, 
Rdnalil stept forth, and with him came 
Diinvegan's chief— each bent tlie Itnee 
Ti) Bruce in sign of fealty. 

And proffer'd hitn his sword. 
And hail'd him, in a monarch's style. 
As kin? of mainland arid of isle, 

And Scotland's rishlfnl lord 
•' And O." said Ronald, "Own'd of Heaven! 
Sav. is my erriiiK youth forsiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven, 

Who retiel falchion drew. 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, 
Even while I strove against thy claim. 

Paid homase just and true ?"— 
" Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
Answer'd the Bruce, " must hear the crime, 

Smce, guiltier far than you. 
Even 1"— he paused ; for Falkirk's woes 
I'pon his conscious soul arose. i 
Tlie Chieftain to his breast he press'd, 
And in a sigh conceard the rest. 

IX. 

They proffer'd aid. by arms and might, 

^ll repossess him in his right; 

But well their counsels must be weigh'd 

Kre banners raised and musters made, 

For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 

Bound many chiefs in souihern leagues. 

Ill answer, Hruce his purpose liold 

To his new vassals fraiildv told. • 

"The winter worn in e.xile o'er, 

1 loiig'd for Carrick's kindred shore 

I thought upon my native Ayr. 

And lons'd to see the burly fare 

That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 

Now echoes through my f;ither's hall. 

But first my course to Arran led. 

Where valiant Lennox gathers head. 

And on the sea. by tempest toss'd. 

Our barks dispersed, our purpose cross'd, 

Mine own, a hosiile sail to shun. 

F:ir from her destined course had run. 

When that, wise will, which mas'ers ours, 

Compell'd us to your friendly towers." 



Then Torquil spoke:— '■ The time craves speed! 

We must not linger in our deed. 

But instant pray our t^overeign Liege, 

To shun the perils of a siege. 

't'he vengeful Loin, with all his powers, 

Liet l)Ut too near Artornisli towers, 

And Englanil's light-arm'd vessels ride. 

Not distant far, the waves of Clyde, 

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor. 

And sweep e;icli strait, and guard each shore. 

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by, 

St-r-ret and safe my I.iege must lie 

In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 

Toiquil thy pilo' and thy ijuide "— 

•■ Not so, brave Chieftain," Konald cried ; 

•• Myself will on my S.)Vereign wait. 

And raise in arms the men of Sleaie, 

Whilst thou, lenown'd where chiefs debate, 

Shalt swav their souls by council sage, 

And awe them by thy locks of ase.'' 

— •• And if my words in weight shall fail, 

This ponderous sword shall turn the scale." 



XI. 
—"The scheme," said Bruce, "contents me 

well ; 
Meantime, 'twere best that Isabel, 
For safety, with my bark and crew, 
Asain to friendly Erin drew. 
There Edward, too, shall with her wend, 
In need to cheer her and defend. 
And muster up each scatter'd friend." 
Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear 
Would other counsel gladlier hear; 
But, all achieved as soon as plann'd. 
Both barks, in secret arm'd and mann'd, 

From out the haven bore; 
On different voyage forth they ply. 
This ibr the coast of winged Skye, 

And that for Erin's shore. 

XII. 
With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. 
To favouring winds they gave the sail. 
Till .Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew, 
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue. 
But then the squalls blew close and hard, 
.\nd. fain to strike the galley's yard, 

And take them to tlie oar. 
With these rude seas, in weary plight, 
They strove the livelong day and night. 
Nor till the dawning had a sight 

Of Skye's romantic shore. 
Where Coolin stoops him to the west 
'I'hey saw upon his shiver'd crest 

The sun's arising gleam ; 
But such the labour and delay. 
Ere they were moor'd in Scavigh bay, 
(For calmer heaven conipell'd to stay,) 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye, 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye }' 

No human foot comes here. 
And, since these adverse breezes blow, 
If my good Liege love hunter's bow, 
What hinders that on land we go, 

And strike a mountain-deer ? 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
A how full deftly can he bend. 
And. if we meet a herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer." 
Then each look bow and bolts m hand. 
Their row-boat launch'd and leapt to land, 

And left their skitf and train. 
Where a wild stream, with headlong shock, 
Came brawling down its bed of rock, 

To mingle with the main. 
XIII. 
A while their route they silent made, 

As men who stalk for mountain-deer. 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, 

"St. Mary! what a scene is here ! 
I've traversed many a mouniaiu-strand, 
Abroad and in my native land. 
And it has been my lot to tread 
Where safely more than pleasure led; 
Thus, many a waste I've waiider'd o'er, 
Clonibe many a crag, cross'd many a moor, 

But. by my halidome, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this, 
Yet so sublime in barrenness. 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press. 

Where'er 1 happ'd to roam " 



357 > 



See Appondix, Note 3 F. 



;Sce Appiudix, ;Note3 0. 



\ 



T 



A 



' 358 



^k 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 






XIV. I 

No marvel thus the Monarch spake ; 

For rarely human eye has known 
A scene so stern as that dread lake, ] 

With its dark ledj^e of barren stone. i 

Seetris that prim'^val earthquake's sway 
Hath rent a strange and shalter'd way 

Through the rude bosom of the liill, 
And that each naked precipice, 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss, 

Tells of the outrage stdl. 
The wddest slen. i)ut this, can show 
Some touch of Nature's fjenial slow ; 
On high Benmore green mosses grow, 
And heath-hells bud in deep Glencroe, 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 
But here, — above, around, below, 

On mountain or in glen, 
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, 
Nor aught of vegetative power, 

The weary eye may ken. i 

Ft)r all is rock's at random thrown, | 

Black wave.s, bare crags, and banks of stone, 

As if were here denied 
The summer sun, tlie sprmg's sweet dew, 
That clothe with many a varied hue 

The bleakest mountain-side. 

XV. 
And wilder, forward as they wound, 
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 
Huge terraces of granite black 
Afforded rude and cumber'd track : 

For from the mountain hoar, 
Hurl'd headlong in some n;glit of fear. 
When yell'd tiie wolf and Hed the deer. 

Loose cragTs had toppled o'er; 
And some, chance-poised and bnlanced, lay, 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In Nature's rage at rindom thrown. 
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The evening mists, with ceaseless change 
Now clothed the mountains' lofty range, 

Now left Mieir foreheads bare. 
And round the skirts tlieir mantle furl'd, 
Or on the sable waters curl'd. 
Or in the eddying breezes whirl'd, 

Pisoer.-ed in middle air. 
And oi't, (Mdidensed. at once they lower. 
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower 

Pours like a torrent down, 
And when return the sun's glad beams, 
Whiten'd with foam a thousand streams 

Leap from the mountain's crown. 

XVI. 
"This lake," said Bruce, "whose barriers 

drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer, 
Yielditig no track for goat or deer. 

Save the black shelves we tread. 
How term you its dark waves, and how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow, 

And yonder peak of dread. 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts. 

Which seam its shiver'd head ?" — 
"Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim. 
From old Cuchillin, chief of fame. 



1 See Appendix, Note 2 H. 



But bards, familiar in our isles 

Raiher with Nature's frowns than smiles, 

Full oft their careless humours please 

By sportive names for scenes like these. 

I would old Torquil were to show 

His maidens with their breasts of snow, 

Or that my noble liege were nigh 

To hear his Nurse sing lullaby ! 

(The Maids— tall cliffs with breakers white. 

The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might ) 

Or that your eye could see the mood 

Of Corryvrekiri's whirlpool rude. 

When dons the Hag her whiten'd hood — 

'Tis thus our islemen's faiu^ frames, 

For scenes so stern, fantastic names." 

XVIL 
Answer'd the Bruce, " And musing mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high 
Tlieir naked brows to middle sky. 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Where nought can fade.atid nought can blow, 
May they not mark a Mtmaich's fate. — 
Raised liigli 'mid storms of strife and state, 
Beyotid life's lowlier pleasures placed, 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste ? 
O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
High rears his crowned head —But sofli 
Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
Are hunters and aslaughter'd stag. 
Who may they he ? But late you said 
No steps these desert regions tread T"— 

XVIII. 
" So said I — and believed in sooth," 
Ronald replied, "I spoke the truth. 
Yet now I spy, by yonder s'one. 
Five men— they mark us, and come on ; 
And by their badge on bonnet borne, 
I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
Foes to my Liege "—" So let it be; 
I've faced worse odds than five to three— 
—But the poor |)age can little aid ; 
Then be our battle thus array'd. 
If our free passage thev contest; 
Cope thou with two. I'll inatcli the rest." — 
'• Not so, my Liege— for, by my life. 
This sword'shall ineet the treble strife ; 
My strength, my skill in arms, more small, 
And less the loss should Ronald fall. 
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 
Allan has sword as well as how. 
And were my Monarch's order given. 
Two shaits should make our number even."— 
"No! not to save my life 1" he said ; 
" Enough of Idood rests on my head. 
Too rashly spill'd — we soon shall know. 
Whether they come as friend or foe." 

XIX. 
Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ; — 
Still less they pleased the Monarch's eye. 
Men were they all of evil njien, 
Down-look'd, unwilling to be seen ; » 
Thoy moved with half-resolved pace, 
And bent on earth each gloomy face. 
The f(»remost two were fair array'd. 
With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid. 
And bore the arms of mountaineers. 
Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 
The three, that lagg'd small space behind, 
Seem'd serfs of more degraded kind ; 
Goat-skins or deer-hides O'er them cast, 
Made a rude fence against the blast ; 



-/■ 



7^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



'I'heir arnis jiiid leet ;iinl heads were bare, 
Mntteil I heir heaids', iiiisihorn their hair; 
For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand, 
A club, aa axe, a rusty brand. 

XX. 

Onward, still mute, they kept the trank ;— 

"Tell who ye be, or else sttiiiil b;ick.'' 

Said Bruce; "In deserts when they meet. 

Men pass not as in peaceful street."' 

S>till. at his stern comiiiHiRl. tuey stood, 

And proffer'd ?reeliii? brief and rude, 

But aded courlesy so ill. 

As seein'd of fear, and not of will. 

•• Wanderers we are, as yon may be ; 

Men hither driven by wind and sea, 

V\ ho, if you list to taste our cheer. 

\\ ill share with you this fallow deer." — 

•• If from the sea", where lies your bark ?" — 

"Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 

W reck'd yestermsht : but we are men, 

\\ ho little sense of peril ken. 

The shades come down— the day is shut — 

Will you go with us to our hut ?'" — 

"Our vessel waits us in the bay ; 

Thanks for your proffer — have sood-day.'' — 

" Was that your sallev. then, which rode 

Not far from shore when eveninar slow'd ?" — 

" It was."— "Then spare your needless pain, 

There will she now be sousht in vain. 

We saw her from the mountain head, 

W hen. with St. George's blazon red, 

A southern vessel bore in sisht. 

And yours raised sail, and took to flight." — 

XXI. 

" Now. by the rood, unwelcome news !" 
Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce; 
" Nor rests there li?ht enough to show 
If this their tale be true or no. 
Tlie men seem bred of churlish kind, 
Yet mellow nuts have hardest, rind ; 
We will no with Ihem— food and fire 
And shell eiiiig roof our wants require. 
rSure snaid 'aainst treachery will we keep. 
And waicli by turns our comrades' slee)) — 
Good fellows, thanks ; your guests we'll be, 
And vvell will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodsiiig lies, — 
—Nay. s()ft ! we mi.x n'ol companies.— 
Shovv us the path o'er eras and stone, 
And we will follow you; — lead on." 

X.XII. 

They reach 'd the drearv cidiin. made 
Of sails asainst a rock display'd. 

And there, on entering, found 
A slender boy, whose form and mien 
III suited with such savage scene, 
111 cap and cloak of velvet green. 

Low seated on the ground. 
His garb was such as minstrels wear. 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
His youthful cheek was marr'd by care. 

His eyes m sorrow drown'd. 
" Whence this poor boy ?" — As Ronald spoke 
The voice his trance of anguish broke; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream. 
He raised his head wiih start and scream, 

Anil wildly gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he turn'd, 
And Jus dark neck with blushes burnd. 



359 ^ ,. 



XXIII. 

• Whose is the boy ?" again he said. 
' By chance of war our captive made ; 
He may be yours, if you should hold 
1 hat music nas more charms than gold ; 
For, though from earlie-^^t childhood mute, 
I he lad can deftly touch the lute, 
And on the rote and viol play, 
And well can drive the time away 

For those who love such glee ; 
For me, tiie favouring breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's shroud, 
Makes blither nielodv.''— 
'Hath he. then, sense of spoken sound ?"— 

" Aye ; so his mother bade us know. 
k crone ill our late shipwreck drown'd, 

And hence the silly stri[)iing's woe. 
More of the youth I cannot say, 
Our captive bur since yesterday ; 
When wind and weather wax'd so grim, 
We litile listed think of him — 
But why waste time in idle words? 
>>it to your cheer— unbelt your swords." 
Sudden the captive turn'd Ins head, 
And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 
It was a keen and warning look, 
And well the Chief the signal took. 

XXIV. 

" Kind host." he said. " our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire ; 
For know, that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I. my comrade, and tins page. 
And. sworn to vigil and to fast. 
Long as this hallow'd task shall last. 
We never doff the plaid or svvord, 
Or feast us at a stranger's board ; 
.\nd never share one common sleep, 
But one must still his vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend, 
We'll hold this hut's remoter end." — 
"A churlish vow." the eldest said, 
"And hard, methinks. to be ohey'd. 
How say you. if. to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return. 
We sh(mld refuse to share our meal T" — 
" Then say we, that our swords are steel I 
And our vow binds us not to fast, 
V\'here gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell. 
His teeth are clench'd, his features swell; 
Vet. sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Hoiiahl's glance of tire. 
Nor Could his craven c<iuras;e brook 
The .Monarch's calm and dauiille.ss look. 
With laugh constram'd. — " Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
Each lo his separate quarters keep. 
.4 lid feed or fast, or wake or sleep." 

XXV. 

Their fire at separate distance burns. 
By turns they eat. keep guard by turns; 
Fi)r evil seenid that old man's eye. 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avouled forward look. 
But slow and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
By doubt and cunning mark'd at once, 
Which shot a mischief-biHling ray. 
From under eyebrows shagg'd and grey. 



^ 



T 



A 



^ 360 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



LI neii 
His li 



The }-()iinser, too, who seetnVl his son, 

H:\d ihiit (i;irk look the timid shun; 

The hiilf-ciail serfs behind them sate. 

And scowl'd a glare 'twixr, fear and hate — 

Till all, as darkness onward crept, 

Ciiuch'd down, and seein'd to sleep, or slept. 

Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 

Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, 

A longer watch of sorrow made. 

But stretch'd his limbs to slumber laid. 

XXVI, 
Not in his dangerous host confides 
The King, but wary watch provides. 
Koii.dd keeps ward till midnight p:ist, 
Tlien wakes the King, young Allan last; 
Thus rank'd. to give the youthful page 
The rest reQUiied by tender age. 
What IS Lord Ronald's wakeful thought, 
To ciiase the languor toil had brought? — 
(Por deem not that he deigu'd to throw 
ftluch care upon such coward foe,) — 
He thinks of lovely Isabel. 
When ui her focimm's feet she fell, 
.Nor less when, placed is [iniicely selle. 
She glanned on hiiii wilh favouring eyes, 
At Wondsidcke when he won the prize. 
Nor. fiur m joy, in sorrow fair. 
Ill pride of place as 'mid des(iair, 
Must slie alone engross his rare. 
His thoughts to his betrothed bride. 
To Edith, turn— t) how decide. 
When here his love and heart are given. 
And there his faith st inds rilight to Heaven ! 
IS'o drowsy ward 'tis his to' keep, 
Fi>r seldom lovers hmg for sleep. 
Till sung his midnight hymn tlie owl, 
Answer'd the dog-(bx with his howl. 
'I'hen waked the King — at his request, 
Lord Ronald stretch'd liimself to rest. 

XXVIL 
What spell was good King Robert's, say, 
To drive the weary night away ? 
His was the patriot's burnmg thought, 
Of Freedom's battle bravely fouglit, 
Of castles storm'd, of cities freed, 
Of deep design and daring deed, 
Of England's roses reft and torn, 
And Scotland's cross in triumph worn. 
Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 
As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 
No marvel, 'mid such musings high, 
Sleep shunii'd the Monarch's thouglitful eye. 
Now over Coolin's e;istern head 
The greyish light begins to spread. 
The otter to his cavern drew. 
And clamour'd shrill the wakening mew ; 
Then watch'd the page — to needful rest 
The King resign'd his anxious breast. 

XXVIIL 
To Allan's eyes was harder task. 
The weary watch their safeties ask. 
He trimm'd the fire, and gave to shine 
With bickering light the .>^p!inter'd pine ; 
Then gazed awhile, where siletit laid 
Their hosts were siirouded by the plaid. 
Bui little fear waked in his mind. 
Por he was bred of martial kind. 
And. if to manliood he arrive. 
May match the boldest knight alive. 
I'hen thought he of his mother's tower. 
His litle MS'-er's greetrwood bower. 



How there the Easier-gambols pass. 

And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass. 

But still before his weary eye 

In rays prolong'd the blazes die-~ 

Again he roused him— on ihe lake 

LooU'd forth, where now the twilight flake 

Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 

On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furi'd. 

The morning breeze the lake had curl'd, 

The short dark waves, heav'd to the land. 

With ceaseless plash ki.ss'd cliff or sand ; — 

It was a slumbrous sound— he lurn'd 

To tales at winch his youth had burn'd, 

Of pilgnm'.x path by demon cross'd 

Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 

Of the wild witch's baneful cot. 

And mermaid's alabaster grot. 

Who bathes her limbs in sunless well, 

Deep in Straihaiid's enchanted cell,* 

Thither in fancy rapt he flies. 

And on his sight the vaults arise; 

The hut's dark walls he sees no more, 

His foot is on ihe marble floor. 

And o'er his head the dazzling spars 

Gleam like a firmameiii of stars! 

— Hark I hears he not the sea nymph speak 

Her anger in i hat thrilling shriek 1 — 

No! all too laie. with Allan's dream 

Mingled the captive's warning scream. 

As from the ground he s rives to start, 

A ruffian's dagger tinds his heart! 

Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, . . . 

Murmurs his muster's name, . . . and dies! 

XXIX. 

Not so awoke the King ! his hand 
Snatch'd from the flame a knotted brand, 
The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
With this he cross'd the murderer's path. 

And venged yimng Allan well ! 
The spatler'd brain and bubbling blood 
Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wond, 

The mi.^creant gasp'd and fell ! 
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord; 
One caitiff died upon his sword. 
And one beneath his grasp lies prone, 
in mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank 
The life-blood from his panting flank. 
The Father rufliian of the band 
Behind hnn rears a coward hand ! 

— O for a moment's aid. 
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow. 
Dash to the earth another foe. 

Above his comrade laid ! — 
And it is gain'd— the captive sprung 
On the rais'd arm, and closely clung. 

And, ere he shook him loose. 
The ma.ster'd felon press'd the ground. 
And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound, 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 



XXX. 

" Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark. 
Give me to know the purpose dark. 
That arm'd thy hand with murderous knife, 
Against offenceless stranger's life T" — 
•• No stranger thou !" with accent fell, 
Murmur'd the wrelch ; " I know thee well ; 
And know thee for the foeman sworn 
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn."— 



See Appendix, Ncte 1 



-/■ 



7 



^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



"Speak yet as;iin. ami speuk the truth 

For I liv SDul's sake !— fro;ii wlieiioe this youth ? 

Kis ciuiitry. hii th, and name ileclaie, 

And thus one eVil deed repair "'— 

— •• Vex nie no more ! . . . niy blood runs cold . . . 

No rniire 1 know than 1 have told. 

V\ e foniid him in a hark we sought 

W ilh different purpose . . and I thought" . . . . 

Fate cut him short; in blood and boil, 

As be had lived, died Corniac Doil. 

XXXI. 
Then restin? on his hhM>dy blade, 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said. 
'• Now slianie; uiion ns both ! — that boy 

Lifts his mule face to heaven. 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His ifratitiule to God on hish. 

Forstrani^e deliverance Riven. 
His speechless sestnre thanks haih paid. 
Which our free tongues have left unsaid !" 
He raised the von h with kindly word. 
But mark'd him shudder at the sword : 
He cleisnsed it from its hue of death. 
And plnmred the weapon in its sheath. 
'• Alas, poor child! unlittins part 
Fate dooiuM. when with si soft a heart, 

And form so slight as thine. 
She made thee first a pirate's slavns, 
Then, in his ste id. a pa'ron save 

Of wayward lot like mine; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is l)ut one scene of blood and strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be, 
But he'll find resting place for thee. — 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
/''nd well has Allan's fate been wroke: 
Come, wend we hence— the day has broke — 
Seek we our bark— 1 trust the tale 
Was false, that she had hoisted sail." 

XXXII. 
Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell, 
'I'he Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To Allan :— •' Who shall tell this tale," 
He saiil, " in halls of Donagaile ! 
Clh. who his widow'd mother tell. 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! — 
Rest thee, poor youth, and trust my care 
For mass and knell and funeral prayer; 
Wtiile o'er those caitiffs, where ihey lie, 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry !" 
And now the eastern moimtain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak— 
(So earthly power at distance shows; 
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.) 
O'er siieets of sruni'e, dark and broad. 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In .sad discourse the warriors wind. 
And the mute captive moves beiiind. 



STlie 2LorT) of tf)e Xsles. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 



Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath 

placed. 
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne; 
Siibliiiip but sad delisht thy soul hath known. 
Gazing on pathless elen and mountain high. 
Listing where from the clilfs the torrents 

thrown 
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry. 
And with the sounding lake, and with the 

moaning sky. 

Yes! 'twas sublime, b\it sad. — The loneli- 
ness 

Loaded thy heart, the desert fired thine eye ; 

And strange and awful fears besran to press 

T'hy bos(mi with a stern solemnity. 

Then hast thou "wish'd some woodman's 
cottage nigh, 

Somethi lis: that showed of life, though low 
and mean ; 

Glad sight, its curling vjrreath of smoke to spy. 

Glad sound. Us cock's blithe caml would have 
been. 

Or children whooping wild beneath the wil- 
lows green. 

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur 

wakes 
An awful thrill that softens into sighs; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's 

lakes. 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
Or farther, where, beneath the norltiern skies. 
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the 

prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread sh.ore 
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin 

A)ar. 

IT. 

Through such wild scenes the champion 

pass'd. 
When hold halloo and bugle-blast 
Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
"There." said the Bruce, "rung Edwards 

horn ! 
What can have caused such brief return T 
And see, brave Ronald.- see him dart 
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart, 
Precipitate, as is the use. 
In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
— He marks us. and his eager cry 
Will tell his news ere he be nign." 

III. 

Loud Edward shouts, " What make ye here, 
Warring upon the mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her King? 
A hark from Lennox cross'd our track. 
With her in speed 1 hurried back, 

These joyful news to bring— 
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale , 
Thy stormfoss'd fleet hath won its w&y 
With little loss to Brodick-Bay, 
And Lennox, with a gallant band. 
Waits but thy coming and c^)mmand 
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 
"There are blithe news I— but mark the close ! 
Edward, the deadliest of our foes. 
As with his host he northward pass'd. 
Hath on the Borders breathed Ins last." 



301 ^ . 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



IV. 

still stood the Bruce— his steady cheek 
Was liiUe wont his joy to speait, 

But then his colour rose : 
Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thon see, 
With God's hig-h will, thy children free, 

And vengeance on thy foes! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, 
Bear witness with me. Heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ; i 
I took my'k"iR''^''<>"J ''^^ '"** 'm''^- 
And lordship held of him. and land, 

And well may vouch it here. 
That, blot the story from his |<age, 
Of Scotland ruin'd in his rage, 
Vou read a monarch brave and sage, 

And to his people dear."— 
" Let London's burghers mourn her Lord, 
And Croydon monks his praise record," 

The eager Edward said ; 
•' Eternal as his own, my hate 
Surmounts the hounds of mortal fate. 

And dies not with the dead ! 
Such hate was his on Solway's strand. 
When vengeance cleiich'd his palsied hand, 
That pointed yet to Scotland's iand,2 

As his last accents pray'd 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir. 
If he one Scottish head should spare, 
'I'll! stretch'd upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
Such hate was his. when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of deiith, 
^nd nade his bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host 
As if his dead and sfony eye 
Could siill enjoy her misery ! 
Such hate was his— dark, deadly, longr; 
Aline, — as enduring, deep, and strong!" — 

V. 

" Let women, Edward, war with words. 

With curses monks, but men wiih swords : 

Nor doubt of living foes, to sale 

Deepest revenge and deadliest hate. 

Now, to the sea ! behold the beach. 

And see the galleys' pendants stretch 

H'heir fluttering length dovvn favouring gale I 

Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the sail. 

Hold we our way for Arraii first. 

Where meet in arms our friends dispersed : 

Lennox the loyal. De la Have. 

And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 

I long the hardy band to head. 

And see once more my standard spread. — 

Does noble Ronald share our course. 

Or slay to raise his island force ?" — 

"Come weal, come woe. by Bruce's side," 

Replied the Chief. " will Ronald bide. 

And since two galleys yonder ride. 

Be mine, so please my liege, disiniss'd 

To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 

And all who hear the Miiiche's roar, 

On the Long Island's lonely shore. 

The nearer Isles, with slight delay. 

Ourselves may sunmion in our way ; 

And soon on Arran's shore shall nieet, 

With Torquil's aid. a gallant fleet. 

If aught avails their Chieftain's best 

Among the islesmen of the west." 



VI. 

Thus was their venturous council said. 
But. ere their sails the galleys spread, 
Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake pass'd slow. — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe. — 
The sorrowing islesmen. as they bore 
The murder'd Allan to the shore. 
At every pause, with dismal shout, 
Their coronach of grief rung out. 
And ever, when they moved again. 
The pines re.wmed tlieir clamorous .<«traJo, 
And. with the pibroch's .shrilling w;iil, 
iMourn'd the young lieir of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from cliff and cave. 
His answer stern old Coolin gave. 
Till high upon his mistv side 
Languish'd tiie mournful notes, and died. 
For never sounds, by mortal made. 
Attain'd his high and haggard head. 
That echoes but the tempest's moan, 
Or the deep thunder s rending groan. 

VIi. 
Merrily, merrilr hounds the hark, 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch 

Is joyous in her sail ! 
With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse. 

The cords and canva.s.s» strain. 
The waves, divided by her force. 
In rippling eddies chased her course. 

As if they laugh'd again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely flew, 
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, 

Than the gay galley bore 
Her cour.se upon that favouring wind, 
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind, 

And Slapin's cavern'd shore. 
'Twas then that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
.4nd soon, from Cavilgarrrgh's head. 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread \ 
A summons these of war and wrath 
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, 

And, ready at the sight. 
Each warrior to his weapons sprung, 
And targe upon his shoulder flung. 

Impatient for the fight. 
]\Iac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare grey. 
Had charge to muster their array. 
And guide their barks to Brodick- Bay. 

VIII. 
Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land. 
From Canna's tower, that, steeo and grey, 
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay. 3 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb. 
To view the tunet scathed by time; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught hut goat or mountain-deer. 
But rest thee on the silver beach. 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cur's wild clamour he shall chide. 
And for thy seat by ocean's side. 

His varied plaid display ; 
Then tell, how with their Chieftain camo, 
In ancient times, a foreign dame 



1 Sec Appendix, Note 2 K. 
a Sec Appendix, Note 2 L. 



Appendix, Note 2 M. 



y 



7^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



To yonder turret. fTrey 
Stern wjis her fiord's sii^pirious mind, 
W|ii> in so nide ;i jail confined 

So soft and fair a tlirnll ! 
And otl. when moon on ocean slept, 
'I'hat lovely liidy sate and wept 

Upon the casilewall, 
Anil tnrn'il her eye to southern climes, 
And thoiisht perchance of happier times. 
And toiichM her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild diMies in her native tonsi>e. 
And sill, when on tlie cliff and bay 
Piaciil and pale the moonbeams phiV, 

And every hreeZe is mute, 
Upon the lone Hehndean's ear 
Steals a stninse pleasure mi.x'd with fear. 
While (Vom that cliff he seems to hear 

The iiinrinnr of a lute. 
And sounds, as of a captive lone, 
That mourns her woes in toiiirue unknown.— 
Sranse is the tale— l)nt all too long 
Already hath it staid the sons- 
Yet who may pass them hy. 
That era? and tower in ruins trrey. 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

Tlie tribute of a sigh ! 

IX. 
Merrily, merrily hounds the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven. 
Her path hy Konin's mountains dark 

'I'he steersman's hand hath given. 
And Konin's mountains dark have sent 

Their hunters to the shore. i 
And each his ashen bow unbent. 

And save his pastnne o'er. 
And at the Island Lord's command. 
For hiintini-spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreiss ne.xt a warnins lisht 
Summon 'd tier warriors to the fight; 
A numerous race, ere stern .MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,^ 
When all ill vain the ocean cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The Chief, relentless in his wrath. 
With blazing heath blockades the path; 
In dense and stitliiig volumes roll'd. 
The vapour fill'd i he cavern's hold ! 
The warrior-threat, the mfanl's plain. 
The mother's screams, were heard in vain; 
The vengeful Cnief maintains his fires. 
Till in the vault a tribe expires ! 
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom, 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 

X. 

Merrily, merrily goes the barks 

On a breeze from the northward free, 
So shoots through the morning sky the lark. 

Or the swan tlirougti the summer sea. 
The shores of Mull oti the eastward lay. 
And Ulva dark and Coloiisay. 
And all the group of islets gay 

That guard faiu^d Siaffa round. 
Then all unknown I's columns rose. 
Where dark and undisturb'd repose 

The coriii;;rant h:id found. 
And the shy seal had quiet home. 
And weltei'd in that wondrous dome, 
V\ here, as to shame the temples deck'd 
Bv skill of earihlv architect. 



' Spe Appendix, Ncitc 2 X. 2 lbi.1, .Noie 'i O. 

3 See Appendix, Note 2 M'. 4 Ibid. Nole 2 P. 



Nature herself, it seem'd. would raise 

A^ Mins!er to her Maker's praise! * 

Not tor a meaner use ascend 

Her columns, or her arches bend ; 

Nor of a theme less solemn tells 

That mighty surge thiit et)bs and swells, 

And still, between each awful pause, 

From the high vault an answer draws, 

In varied tone prolong'd and high. 

That mocks the organ's melody. 

Nor doth its entrance front in vain 

To old loua's holy f;ine, 

That Nature's voice might seem to say, 

'• Well ha.st thou done, frail Thild of rlav! 

Thy humble powers that stately shrine ' 

Task'd high and hard— but witness mine !" 

XI. 

Merrilv, merrily goes the bark, 

Before the gale she bounds ; 
So darts the dolpiiin from the shark, 

Or the deer hnfure the hounds. 
They left l..och-Tiia on their lee. 
And thev waken'd the men of the wild Tiree, 
And the Thief of the sandy Coll ; 
They paused not at Columba's isle. 
Though petil'd the bells from the liolv pile 

With long and measured toll ; 
No time for matin or for mass. 
And the sounds of the holy summons pass 

Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike l>ord 
Their signal saw, and grasp'd his sword, 
And verdant Hay cali'd her host. 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey. 
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar. 

And lonely Colonsay ; 
— Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! • 
His bright and brief career is o'er. 

And mute his tuneful strains; 
Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore. 
That loved the light of song to poUr; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Leyden's cold remains ! 

XII. 

Ever the breeze blows merrily. 
But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 
Ijest, rounding wild Cantyre. they meet 
The southern foeman's watchful fleet. 

They held unwonted way; — 
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 
Then drasg'd their bark the isthmus o'er,* 
As far as Kiimaconnel's shore, 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free. 
High raised above the'greenwood tree, 
As on dry land the galley moves. 
By cliff and copse and alder groves. 
Deep import from that selcoiith sign. 
Did many a moiin'ain Seer divine. 
For ancient legends told the Gael. 
That when a roval bark should sail 

O'er Kiimaconnel moss. 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail. 
And every foe should famt and quail 

Before her silver Cross. 



863 > 



6 See Appendix, >'ote 2 (J. 8 Ibid, Noli- 2 1 



T 



A 



7 



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864 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



XIII. 
Now lautich'd once more, the inland sea 
They furrow witli fair ansury, 

And steer for Arran's isle ; 
The sun. ere vet he suni< heliitid 
Ben-Ghoil. The Mounlain of the Wind," 
Gave his srim peaks a ?reetjns kind, 

And baile Loch Ranza smile.' 
Thither their destined course they drew; 
It seem'd the isle her motiarch knew, 
So brilliant was the landward view, 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds roU'd 
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 

With azure strove and green. 
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower, 
Glow'd with the tiiils of evening's hour, 

The beach was silver sheen. 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, 
And. oft renew'd, seem d "tt to die, 

With breathless pause between. 

who, with speech of war and woes. 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene 1 

XIV. 

Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks T 
The blush that dies his manly cheeks, 
Tlie I mild look and downcast eye. 
And falterins voice the ilieme deny. 
And good King Robert's brow express'd. 
He ponder'd o'er some higli reouest, 

As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in his eye and lip the while. 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile, 
Which manhood's graver mood beguile, 
When lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
— " And for my bride betrothed," he said, 
" My Liege has heard the rumour spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no right 
To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot !— 
But she hath fled the bridal-knot. 
And Lorn recall'd his promised plight, 
In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
Wfien. to fulfil our fathers' band, 
1 piofTer'd all I could— my hand — 

1 WHS repulsed with scorn; 

Mine h(mour I should ill assert. 

And worse the feelings of my heart, 

If 1 should play a suitor's part 

Again, to pleasure Lorn."— 

XV. 

"Young Lord," the Royal Bruce replied, 
" That question iimst the Church decide; 
Yet seems it hard, since rumours state 
Edith takes Clitford for her mate. 
The very tie. which she hath broke. 
To thee should still be binding yoke. 
But, for my sl^ter Isabel — 
'I'he mood of woman who can tell? 

1 guess the Champion of the Rock, 
Vic'orious in the tourney shock. 

That knight unknown, to whom the prize 
She dealt,— had favour in her eyes; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate. 
Our riim'd house and hiipless stale. 



K 



1 See Appendix, Note 2 S. 



From worldly joy and hope es'ratiged, 
.Much is the hii[)less mourner changed 
Perchance," here smiled the noble King, 
'■ This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know— yon mountains hide 
'I'he little convent of Saint Bride ; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stay. 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day; 
And thither will I bear thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute." 

XVI. 
As thus they talk'd in earnest mood. 
That speechless boy beside them stood. 
He stoop'd his head against the mast. 
And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 
A grief that would not be repress'd. 
But seem'd to burst his youthful breast. 
His hands, against his forehead held. 
As if by force his tears repel I'd, 
But through his fingers, long and slight, 
Fast trilld the drops of crystal bright. 
Edward, who walK'd the deck apart, 
First spied this conflict of the heart. 
I'houghtless as brave, with bluntness kind 
He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind; 
Hy force the slender hand he drew 
From those poor eyes that stream'd with dew. 
As m his hold the stripling strove. — 
('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,) 
Away his tears the warrior swept. 
And bade shame on him that wept. 
" 1 would to heaven, thy helpless tongue 
Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong! 
For, were he of our crew the best, 
The insult went not unredress'd. 
Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age 
To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
Thou shalt be mine !— a palfrey fair 
O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear. 
To hold my bow in hunting grove. 
Or speed on errand to my love ; 
For well 1 wot thou wilt not tell 
The temple where my wishes dwell." 

XVII. 
Bruce interposed.— 'Gay Edward, no. 
This is no youth to hold thy bow. 
To fill thy goblet, or to bear 
Thy message light to lighter fair. 
Thou art a patron all too wild 
And thoughtless, for this orphan child. 
See'st thou not how apart he steals. 
Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals T 
Fitter by far in yon calm cell 
To tend our sister Ii«ahel, 
With father Augii.stm to share 
The peaceful change of convent prayer, 
Than wander wild adventures through. 
With such a reckless gmde as you."— 
"Thanks, brother!'' Edward answer'd gay, 
" For the high laud thy words C(mvey ! 
But we may learn some future day. 
If thou or 1 can this poor bny 
Protect the best, or best employ. 
Meanwhile, our vessel neais the strand ; 
Launch we the boat, and seek the land." 

XVIII. 
To land King Robert lightly sprung, 
And thrice aloud his bugle rung 
\^■ith note prolong'd and varied strain, 
Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. 



-/■ 



y- 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



G<>od Douslas then, ami De la Haye, 

Had ill a sli'n a liMft at bay. 

And LeniKix clieer'd ilie la^^ard hounds, 

Wlieri waked tliai hum 1 he greenwood bounds. 

'• It IS the foe !'' cried Biy<l, wim came 

In l.reaihless haste witli eve of fliine, — 

" It IS tiie foe I— Eac'i valiant lord 

Fliiiir by his low. and srasp h s sword !"— 

*■ .Not so." replied the ?ood Lord James, 

"That blast no Knshsh bu'^le claims. 

Olt have 1 heard it fire ilie (isht. 

Cheer the pursuir, or stop the Hisht. 

Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear. 

If Bruce shoiild call, nor D(Hje:las hear! 

Hach to Liicli Kaiiza's margin sprin?; 

That blast was winded by the King !'" l 

XIX. 
Fast to their mates the tidings spread, 
And fast to shore the warriors sped. 
Burst in? fioti glen and ureenwood tree, 
Hi-.;h waked tlieir loyal jubilee ! 
Around thi- royal Bruce they crowd, 
And clasp'd his hands, and wt-pt aloud. 
Veterans of early fields were there. 
Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair, 
Whose swords and axes bore a s'ain 
From life blo()d of tlie red-hair'd Dane; 
Anil boys, whose hands scarce bmok'd to wield 
The lieavy sword or bos.sy shield 
Men too "ere iliere. that' bore the scars 
Inipivssd m Albyn's woful wars. 
At Falkirk's fierce and fa al fight. 
Teyndrunrs dreid rout, and Methven's flight; 
The niiglit of Douglas there was seen. 
There Lennox with his graceful mien; 
Kirkpairick. ( losebiim's dreailed Knight; 
The Liiulsav. fieiy. fiercn, and light; 
The Heir of muderr-d D.- la Have, 
And Boyd the srave. ami St^ton say. 
Around their King reaain'd tliey piess'd. 
Wept, shouted, clasp'd liim to ilieir breast, 
And young and old. and seif and lord. 
And he wiio ne'er nii>lieailied a sword, 
And lie in many a perl tried. 
Alike resolved the brunt to bide. 
And live or die by Bruce's side ! 

XX. 
Oh. War! thou hast thy fierce delisrht. 
Thy gleams of joy. intensely brishl ! 
Such gleams, a.s from thv polisli'd shield 
Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! 
Sucli transports wake, severe and high, 
Amid the pealing conquest-cry; 
Scarce less. when, after battle lost, 
Muster tiie remnants of a host, 
And as each comrade's name they tell. 
Who III the well-fought conflict fell. 
Knitting stern brow o'er fl.ishing eye. 
Vow to avemre tlieni or lo die ! — 
Warriors !— and where are warriors found. 
If not on martial Britain's around I 
And who. when waked with note of fire. 
Love more than they the Briiish lyre ?— 
Know ye not.— iieai ts to honour dear! 
That joy, deep thrilling, s eni. severe. 
At wliicli the hearistnngs vihrate hish. 
And wake the fountains of the eye? 
And blame ye. then, the Bruce, if trace 
Of tear is on his manly face. 
v\ hell, scanty relics of the train 
That haii'd at Scone his early reign. 



I See Appendix, Note 1 T 



This patriot band around him huns. 
And lo his knees and bosom china ? — 
Blaine ye the Bruce? — his brother blamed. 
But shared the weakness, while ashamed. 
With hauahiy laugh his head he turn'd, 
And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd." 

XAl. 

Tis morning, and the Convent bell 
Long time had ceased its niatin knsll. 

Within thy walls. Saint Bride! 
An aged Sister so-ight the cell 
Assign'd to Lady Isabel, 

And liiirnedly she cried, 
" Haste, gentle Lady, haste— there waits 
A noble stranger at the gates ; 
Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 
A Knight of such a princely mien; 
His errand, as he bade me tell, 
Is vvith the Lady Isabel." 
The princess rose. — for on her knee 
Low bent she told her rosary, — 
*' Let liim by thee his purpose teach : 
I may iio'l give a stranser speech." — 
"Saint Bride forfend. thou royal .Maid I" 
The portress cross 'd hei-self. and said, — 
" Not to be prioress might 1 
Debate Ins will, his suit deny." — 
'■ Has earthly show tiien. simple fool. 
Power o'er a sisier of tliy rule. 
And art thou, like the w'ordly train. 
Subdued by s|)leiidours light and vain?" — 

XXII. 
" No. Lady ! in old eyes like mine. 
Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine; 
Nor grace Ins rank attendants vain. 
One youthful page is all his train. 
It IS the form, the eye. the word. 
The bearing of that stranger Lord ; 
His stature, manly, bold, and tall. 
Built like a castle's ba tied wall. 
Yet moulded in such just dearees. 
His giant strength seems liahisome ease. 
Close as the tendrils of the vine 
His locks upon his forehead twine. 
Jet black, save where some toucii of grey 
Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 
Weather and war their rougher trace 
Have left on that majestic face ; — 
Bui 'tis his digniiy of eye ! 
There, if a suopliant. would I flv. 
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief. 
Of sympaihy. redre>s, relief— 
That glanre. if smlty, would I dread 
.More than the doom'that spoke me dead I"— 
'■ Enough, enough," the priiice.ss cried, 
""lis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride! 
To meaner front was ne er assign'd 
Such mastery o'^r the common mind— 
Bestow'd thy high designs to aid. 
How long, O Heaven I how lona delay'd ! — 
Haste. Mona. haste, to introduce 
My darling brother, royal Biuce !" 

XXI IL 
They met like friends who part in pain, 
.And meet in doubtful hope again. 
But wiien subdued that fitful swell 

I he Bruce survey 'd the humble cell; — 
" And this IS thine, po(jr Isabel !— 

That pallet-couch, and naked wall, 
l^or room of state, and bed of pall ; 

8 See AppeuUix, NoicS U. 



305 > . 



V 



A 



/ 



7" 

f 360 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



In k 

Sy And 



F(ir r.ostlv nihes ;mJ jewels rare, 
A sfnni: iif tieails and zime of hair: 
And for the Mntiipefs sprightly call 
To spent (ir banquet, srove or hall, 
The liell's snni voice diviiles thy care, 
' Tvvixi hcnirs of p^llltence and prayer!— 
O ill for thee, niv royal claim 
From the First David's sainted name ! 

woe for thee, that while he sought 
His right, thy brother feebly fought !"— 

XXIV 
" Now lay these vain regrets aside, 
And be the unshaken Bruce!" she cried. 
'• For inoie I glory to have shared 

1 he, woes thy venturous spirit dared, 
\\ hen raising first thy valiant band 
In res<;ne of thv native land, 

Thau hud fair Fortune set me down 
The partner of an empire's crown. 
And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream 
No more I drive in gidily dream. 
Fill- Heiiven the erring pilot knew, 
And from the gulf the ve-sel drew, 
Tneil me wii h judgments stern and great 
Mv house's rmn, thv defeat, 
Pi'ior Nigel's de^ith. till, tamed, I own, 
My hopes are fix'd on Heaven alone ; 
Nin- e'er shall earthly prospects win 
My heart to this vain world of sin." — 

XXV. 
"Nay. Isabel, for such stern choice. 
First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice; 
Then ponder if in convent scene 
No softer thoughts might intervene- 
Say tliey were of that unknown Knight, 
Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight — 
Nay, if his name such blush you owe, 
Victorious o'er a fairer foe !" 
Truly his penetrating eye 
Hath caught that blush's passing dye.— 
Like the last l)eain of evening thrown 
On a white cloud, — just seen and gone. 
Soon with calm ciieek and steady eye, 
'I'lie princess made com(Hised reply : — 
"I guess my brother's meaning well; 
For not so siletit is the cell. 
But we have heard the islesmen all 
Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call. 
And mine eye proves that Knight unknown 
And the brave Island Lord are one. — 
Had then his suit been earlier made, 
Jii his own name, with thee to aid, 
(But that his plighted faith forbade,) 

1 know not But thy page so near? — 

This is no tale for menial's ear." 

xxvr. 

Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small (^ell would space afford; 

With dizzy eve and bursting heart. 
He leant his weight on Bruce's sword, 

The monarch's mantle loo he bore. 

And drew the fold his visage o'er. 

" r'ear not for him— in murderous strife," 

Said Bruce, " his warning saved my life; 

Full .seldom parts he from my side", 

And in his silence I confide. 

Since lie can tell no tale again. 

He is a boy of gentle strain, 

And 1 have purpo.sed he shall dwell 

In Augustin the cliaphun's cell, 

And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 



Mind not his tears ; I've seen them flow, 

As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 

'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 

Unfit against the tide to pull, 

And those that with the Bruce virould sail. 

Must learn to strive with stream and gale.— 

But forward, gentle Isabel— 

My answer for Lord Ronald tell." — 

XXVIL 
" This answer be to Ronald given — 
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven. 
My love was like a summer flower. 
That wither'd in the wintry hour, 
Born but of vanity and pride, 
And with these sunny visions died. 
If further press his sirit— then say. 
He shcndd his plighted troth obey. 
Troth plighted both with ring and word, 
And sworn on crucifix and sword — 
Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen 
Thou hast a woman's guardian lieen ! 
Even 111 extremity's dread hour. 
When press'd on thee the Southern power. 
And safety, to all human sight. 
Was onlv found in rapid flight. 
Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 
In agonv of travail- pain, 
And thou didst bid thy little band 
Upon the instant turn and stand. 
And dare the worst the foe might do. 
Rather than, like knight untrue. 
Leave to pursuers merciless 
A woman in her last distress.! 
And wilt thou now deny tliine aid 
To an oppress'd and injured maid. 
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy. 
And press his fic-kle laith on me?— 
So witness Heaven, as true I vow. 
Had I those eaiihly feelings now. 
Which could my former bosom move 
Ere taught to set its hopes above, 
I'd spurn each proffer he could bring, 
Till at my feet he laid the ring. 
The ring and spousal contract both. 
And fair acquittal of his oath, 
Bv her who brooks his perjured scorn. 
The dl-requited Maid of Lorn!" 

XXV 111. 
With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page, and on her neck he hung; 
Then, recollected instantly. 
His head he sloop'd, and bent his knee, 
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
The princess, loosen'd from his hold, 
Blush'd angry at his bearing hold; 

But good King Robert cried, 
" Chafe not— liy signs he speaks his mind, 
He heard the plan my care difsign'd, 

Nor could his transports hide. — 
But. sister, now bethink thee well ; 
No easy choice the convent cell ; 
Trust, I shall play no tyrant part. 
Either to forr-e tliy hand or heart. 
Or suffer Ihat Lord Ronald's sttorn. 
Or wrong for thee, the .Maid of Lorn. 
But think.— not long the time has been. 
That thou Wert wcnit to sigh unseen. 
And wouldst the ditties best approve. 
That told some lay of hapless love 



1 See Appendix, Nole 2 V. 



7 



^ 




' Rut forward, gentle Isabel — 
My answer for Lord Ronald ie]\:'—P(iffp 366, Verse xs\ 



7^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Noiv are thy wishes in thy power, 
Arid thou art bent on clcister bower! 
Oh ! if our Edward knew the change. 
How would his l)iisy satire raiisre, 
With niaciv a sarrasin varied still 
On wiiniau's wish, and woman's will!" — 

XXIX. 
" Brother, I well believe." she said, 
'• Even so would Edward's part be play'd 
Kindly in heart, in word severe. 
A I'oe to lliiiuehl, and grief, and fear, 
He holils his h^imunr uucontroU'd ; 
But thou art of another mould. 
Say then to Ronald, as I say. 
Unless before my feet he lay 
'I'lie rin? which bound the faith he swore. 
By Edith freely yielded o'er. 
He moves his suit to me no more. 
Nor do I promise, even if aow 
He stoml absolved of spousal vow, 
'Ihat 1 would change my purpose made, 
To shelter me in holy shade — 
Brother, for little space, firewell! 
To other duties warns the bell." — 

XXX. 

** Lost to the world," Kin? Robert said, 
V\ hen he had left the royal maid, 
*' Lost to the world hy lot severe, 
O what a eeiu lies buried here. 
Isipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost, 
■Jde buds of fair atfertioii lost I— 
But what have 1 vv.tli love to do ? 
Far stenicr cares my hit pursue. 
—Pent in this isle we may not lie. 
Ntir would it Ions: our wants supply. 
Hiifht opposite, the mainland towers 
Of'iny own 'I'ura'ieny court our piiwers— 
— Misht not my f.ither's beadsman hoar, 
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the sh(»re, 
Kindle a signal fl.ime, to show 
The time propitious for the blow ? 
It siiall be so — snme friend shall bear 
Our mandate with de.spatch and care; 
— Edward shall find ihe messenger. 
That fortress ours, the island lieet 
Way on the coast of Carnck meet. — 
O S^eotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wroiis^s in battle- line. 
To raise my victor-liead, and see 
Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free, — 
'i'liat slance of bliss is all I cr.ive, 
Betwixt my labours and my grave !" 
Then down the hill he slowly went. 
Oft pausing on the sleep de>ceiit. 
And rwicli'd the spot where his bold train 
Held rustic camp upon the plain. 



Ei)e SLortJ of t\tt isUfs. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

On fair Locii-Ranza stream'd the early day. 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward 

ciirl'd 
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
And circling mountains sever from the world. 



And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd. 
The goat- herd drove his kids to sleep Ben- 

Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd. 
'^'ourlimr the sunbeam as she (died her tnil. — 
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to 

care and toil. 

But other duties call'd each convent maid. 
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown 

beli ; 
Sung were the matins, and the mass was said, 
And every sister sought her separate cell, 
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer; 
The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair. 
As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion 

there. 

II. 
She raised her eyes, that duty done. 
When ghtnceii upon the pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring. 
Bound to a scroll with silken string. 
With few brief words inscnt)ed to tell, 
"This for the Lady Isabel."' 
Within, the wning farther bore. — 
'•'Twas with this ring his plight he swore, 
Wnh this his promise I restore; 
To her who can the heart command, 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And 0! for better fortune born. 
Grudge not a p:issing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Ediih'once of Lorn !" 
One single Jla.sh of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes. 
But vanish'd in the blush of shame. 
That, as its penance, iiis'ant came. 
"O thought unworthy of my race! 
Seltish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy Ut own. 
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown ! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well believed. 
Of man ingrate and maid deceived. 
Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope m vain! 
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud. 
Where worldly thoughts are overawed. 
And worldly splendours sink dfb.ised." 
I'lien by the cross the ring she placed. 

IIL 
Next rose the thought.— its owner far. 
How came it here through bolt and bar?— 
But the dim lattice is ajar — 
She looks abroad, the morning dew 
A light short step had brush'd anew. 

And there were foot-prints seen 
On the carved buttress rising still. 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
The ivy twigs were torn and fray'd. 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger. 
Whose venturous path these signs infer? — 
"Strange doubts are mine !— Mmia, draw nigh; 
— Nought 'scapes old .Mona's curious eye— 
What strangers, gentle mother, say. 
Have sought these holy walls to-day ?"' — 
" None, Lady, none of note or name; 
Only your brother's foot-page came, 
At peep of dawn— I pray'd liim pass 
To chapel where they said the- mass, 



3(17 \ 

r- \ 



\ 



T 



368 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



But like an arrow he shot by. 

And tears seeiii'd hurstiiis from his eye." 

IV. 
The truth at once on Isabel. 
As darted by a sunbeam, fell.— 
'■ ' Tis Edith's self! — her speechless woe 
Her form, her looks, the secret show ! 
—Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say. 
I do conjure him seek my cell, 
With that mute page he loves so well." — 
"What! know'st thou not his warlike host 
At break of day has left our coast ? 
My old eyes saw them from the tower. 
At eve they couch'd in grrecnwood bower. 
At dawn a bugle signal, made 
By their bold Lord, their ranks array'd ; 
Up spruns the spears through bush and tree, 
No time for benedicite I 
Like deer, that, rousmg from their lair, 
Just shake the dewdrops from their hair, 
And toss their armed crests aloft. 
Such matins theirs !" — - Good mother, soft, — 
Where does my brother bend his way ?" — 
•• As I have heard, for Brodick- Bay, 
Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie I here, 'tis said, to waft them o'er, 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." — 
"If such their purpose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel. •' of speed I 
Call Father Augustine, good dame." — 
The nun obey'd, the Father came. 



"Kind Father, hie without delay. 
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay. 
This message to the Bruce be given : 
I pray him. by his hopes of Heaven, 
That, till he speak with me. he stay! 
Or, if his haste brook no delay, 
That he deliver, on my suit. 
Into thy charge that stripling mute. 
Thus prays his sister Isabel, 
For causes more than she may tell- 
Away, good father! and take heed. 
That life and death are cm thy speed." 
His cowl the good old priest did oii. 
Took Ills piked staff and sandall'd shoon, 
And, like a palmer bent by eld. 
O'er moss and inoor his journey held. 

VI. 
Heavy and dull the foot of age. 
And rugged was the pilgrimage, 
But none was there beside, whose care 
Miaht such important message bear. 
Tliroueh birchen copse he wander'd slow, 
Stunted and sa|iless, Ihin and low ; 
By many a moun'ain stream he pass'd. 
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast. 
Dashing to foam their waters dun. 
And sparkling in the summer sun. 
Round his grey head the wild curlew 
in many a fearless circle flew. 
O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride ; i 
He cross'd liis brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan, 
And at the cairns upon the wild. 
O'er many a heathen hero piled, 2 




See Append 



a Ibid, Note ax 



He breathed a timid prayer for those 
Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 
Beside Macfarlane's Cross lie staid, 
There lold his hours within the shade, 
And at the stream his thirst allay 'd. 
Thence onward journeying slowly si ill. 
As evening closed he reach'd the hill. 
Where, rising through the woodland ereen, 
01(1 Brodick's golhic towers were seen. 
From Hastings, late their English lord. 
Douglas had won them bv the sword 3 
The sun that sunk behind the isle. 
Now tinged them with a pariing smile. 

VII. 

But though the beams of light decay, 
'7'was bustle all in Brotlick-Bay. 
The Bruce "s followers crowd the shore. 
And boats and barges some unmoor. 
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar; 
Their eyes oft turn'd where sbnimer'il far 
What miiiht have seem'd an early star 
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light 
Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 
I''ar distant in the south, the ray 
Shone pale amid retiring day. 

But as. on Carrick shore. 
Dim seen in outline family blue. 
The shades of evening closer drew. 
It kindled more and more. 
The monk's slow steps now press the sands. 
And now amid a scene he stands, 

Full strange to churcihinan's eye; 
Warriors, who, arming for the tight. 
Rivet and clasp their harness lighl. 
.And twinkling spears, and axes bright, 
And helmets flashing high. 
Oft. too, with uiiaccustom'd ears, 
A language much unmeet he hears,-* 

V\ hile, hastening all on board. 
As stormy as the swelling surge 
That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge 
Their followers to the ocean vergv, 
With many a haughty word. 

VIII. 

Through that wild throng the Father pa; s*«l, 

And reach'd the Hoyal Bruce at last. 

He leant against a stranded boat. 

That the aptiroacliing tide must float, 

And counted every rippling wave, 

As higher vet her sides they lave. 

And oft the distant fiie he eyed. 

And closer yet his hauberk tied. 

And loosen'd in its sheath his brand. 

Edward and Lennox were at hand, 

Douglas and Ronald had the Care 

'I he S'lldiers to the harks to share — 

The Mmik approach'il and homage paid ; 

" And art thou come," King Robert said, 

'• So far to bless us ere we part?" — 

— •• iMv Liege, and with a loyal heart! — 

But other charge I have to tell,"— 

Anil spoke the best of Isabel. 

—•'Now by Saint Giles." the monar<;h cried, 

"This moves me miu-h !— this morning tide, 

1 sent the stripling lo Saint Bride, 

With mv commandment there to bide.'" — 

—"Thither he came the portress show'd. 

But there, my Liege, made brief abode.'' — 



3 See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 4 Ibid, Note 2 2. 



I 




THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



IX. 
" "Twas T." said Edward, " found employ 
Of riohler import fur I he boy. 
Deep poiideriii:; in my anxious mind, 
A fitiMii; messenger to find. 
To iiear thy written mandate o'er 
To Cuttibert on the C;irnck shore, 
I chaiined. at early dawn, to pass 
The cliapel sate to snaioh a mass. 
I found llie siriplni? on a tomb 
I,ow-seated. weepms for the doom 
That jrave his youtii to convent gloom. 
I told mv purpf)se. and his eyes 
riash'd joyful at the srhid surprise. 
He boiiiKJed to the skilf. the sail 
Was spre.iil before a prosperous gale, 
.And well my cliaisje he hath obey'd ; 
For. Si'e! the ruddy signal made, 
Tliat Clifford, with his merry men all. 
Guards carelessly our father's hall." — i 

X. 

"0 wild of thoui?ht, and hard of heart!" 
Answer'd the .Monarch, '•on a pari 
Of such deep dana:er to employ 
A mute, an orphan, and a l)(>y ! 
Until for tliuht, until tor sirife, 
U'lthoiil a toiisue to [ilead for life ! 
Now, were niy ri^lit restored by Heaven, 
Edward, my crown I would have ?iven, 
Kre, thrust on such adventure wild, 
I penl'd thus the helpless child." — 
—Offended half, and half submiss, 
** Brother and Liese, of blame like this," 
Edward replied, "I little dream'd. 
A straiisrer messentrer. I deein'd, 
Miffiit safest seek the beadsman's cell. 
Where all thy squires are known so well. 
Noteless his presence, sharp his sense, 
His imperieciion his defence. 
If seen, none can his errand ffuess ; 
If ta'en. his w<irds no tale express — 
Mettiinks. too. yonder beacon's shine 
Might ex[iiate greater fault thiin mine." — 
" Rash," said Kiner Kobert. " was the deed- 
But it is done— Emiiark with speed ! — 
(Jood Father, say to Isabel 
How this uiihapiiy chance liefell ; 
If well we thrive on yonder shore. 
Soon shall my care her r>age restore. 
Our greeting to our sister bear. 
And thmk of us in mass and prayer." — 

XI. 
"Aye!" said the Priest, "while this poor 

hand 
Can chalice raise or cross command, 
While my old voice has accents" use, 
Can Augiistine forget the Bruce!" 
Then to his side Loid Ronald piess'd. 
And wliis|)er'ii. '• Bear ihou this request, 
Thaf when bv Bruce's side 1 fight. 
For Scoilanil's crown and freedom's hs;ht. 
The princess ^race her knigiit to bear 
Some token of her favouring care ; 
It shall he shown where Engl.md's best 
May shrink to see it on my crest. 
And for the bov— since weigh'ier care 
For royal Bruce the limes prepare. 
The helpless youth is Ronald's charge. 
His coiwh my plaid, his fence my targe." 



See .^jiienaj: 



He ceased ; for many an eager hand 
Had urged the barges from the strand. 
Tlieir number was a score and ten. 
They bore thrice threescore chosen men. 
With such small force did Bruce at last 
The die for death or empire cast ! 

XII. 
Now on the darkenmg mam afloat 
Ready and mann'd rocks every boat; 
Beneath their oars the ocean's !<;:g!it 
Was dash'd to sparks of glinnnering light. 
Faint and more faint, as off they bore. 
Their armour glanced against the shore, 
And. mingled with the dashing tide, 
Tlieir murmuring voices distant died. — 
'■ God speed them !" said the Priest, as dark 
On distant billows glides each bark ; 
■•O Heaven! when swords for free(lom shine, 
And Monarch's right, the cause is thine! 
Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 
Beat down the banners of the foe! 
And be it to the nations known. 
Thai Victory is from God alone!"' 
As up the hill his pa'h he drew. 
He turn'd his blessings to renew. 
Oft lurn'd. till on the darken'd coast 
All traces of their course were lost ; 
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower. 
To shelter for the evening hour. 

XIII. 
In night the fairy prospects sink. 
Where Cnmray's isles with verdant link 
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 
The woods of Bute, no more descried, 
Are gone — and on the placid sea 
The rowers ply their task with glee, 
While hands that knigh'ly lances bore 
Impatient aid the labouring oar. 
The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, 
And glanced against the whiten'd sail; 
But on that ruddv heacon-light 
Each steersman kept the helm aright. 
And oft, for such the King's command. 
That all at once might reach the strand, 
From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
Warn'd them to crowd or slacken sail. 
South and by west the armada bore, 
And near at length the Carrick shore. 
As less and less the distance grows. 
High and more high the beacon rose; 
The liglit, that seem'd a twinkling star, 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and fir. 
Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd, 
Daik-red the sea beneath it flow'd. 
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim. 
In blood-red light her islets swim ; 
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave. 
Dropp'd from their crags on plashing wave 
The deer to distant covert drew. 
The black-cock deem'd it day. and crew. 
Like some tall ca,sile given to flame. 
O'er half the land the lustre came. 
" Now, good my Liege, and brother sage. 
What think ye of niine elfin page?" — 
" Kow on !" the noble King replied, 
" V\ e'll learn the truth whate'er betide; 
Yet sure the headsman and the child 
Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild ' 

XIV. 
With that the ''oats approach'd the land. 
But Edward's grounded on the sand; 




J ^ 870 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



^. 



Tlie easrer Knieht leapVl in tlie sen, 

W;iist-(leep and first on shore, was lie, 

Tliouirli evfciy harar's hanly band 

Ciitiiended vvhifli should sain the land. 

When that stranse liKht, vvhu'li. seen afar, 

Seem'd steadv as the polar star. 

Now. like a prophet's fiery chair, 

Seem'd travelling the realms of air. 

Wide o'er the sUy the Sfilendonr glows, 

As that, porienloiis meteor rose ; 

Helm, axe, and falchion elitter'd bright, 

And in the red and dusky lis:ht 

His comrade's fane each warrior saw, 

Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe. 

'I'lieii high in air the beams were lost. 

And darkness sunk upon the coast — 

Konald to Heaven a praver addn-ss'd. 

And Donulas crossM Ins damillcss lireast ; 

'•Saint James protect us!" Leimox cried. 

But reckless Edward spoke aside, 

" Deem'st thou. Kirkpatrick. in that flame 

Red Comvn's ansry spirit came. 

Or would thy dauntless heart endure 

Once more to make assnrai ce sure ?" — 

'• Hush !"' said the Bruce, " we soon shall know 

If this he sorcerer's empty show, 

Or stratasem of soul hern foe. 

The moon shines out— nnoii the sand 

Let every leader rank his band." 

XV. 
Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
That ruddy lisht's unnatiiial dye; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 
Beneath the rocks King Robert drew 
His scatter'd files to order due, 
I'lil shield compact and serried spear 
In the cool light shone blue and clear. 
Then down a path that sought the tide. 
Thai speechless p;i'_'e was seen to glide ; 
He knelt him lowly on the sand. 
And gave a scroll lo Roliert's hand 
" A torch," the Monarch cried. " What, ho! 
Now shall we ("uthbert's tidings know." 
But evil news I he letters bare. 
•I'he Clifl'ord's force was strong and ware, 
Augmented, too. that very nimn. 
By nionntaineers who came wiih Lorn. 
Long harrow'd bv oppressor's hand. 
Courage and faith had fled the land, 
And over Carrick. dark and deep. 
Had sunk dejeclioirs ir"n sleep. — 
Cuthlierl had seen that beacoii-flame, 
I'nwiriing from what source it came. 
Donbilul of [jenloiis event. 
Edward's mute messenger he sent. 
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 
I'o warn hini from the fatal shore. 

XVI. 

As round the torch the leadei-s crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news alond. 
'• What council, nobles, have we now ? — 
To ambush us in greenwood bough. 
And lake the chance which fate may send 
To bring our enierprize to end. 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exiles, and embark again ?'' — 
Answer'd fierce Kdward. "Hap what may. 
In Carrick. Carrick's Lord must stay. 
I would not minstrels told the tale. 
W.ldfire or meteor made us quail." — 



Answer'd the Douglas. " If my Liege 

Mav win yon walls by storm or siege. 

Then were each brave and patriot heart 

Kindled of new for loyal r>art."— 

Answer'd Lord Ronald. " Not for shame 

Would I that aged Torqnil came. 

And found, for all our empty boast. 

Without a blow we fled the coast. 

T will not credit that this land. 

So famed for warlike heart and hand. 

The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 

Will long with tyrants hold a truce."— 

"Prove we our fate— the brunt we'll bide !" 

So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 

So said, so vow'd. the leaders all ; 

So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall 

Since the Hold Southern make their home. 

The lunir of payment soon shall come, 

When with a rough and rugged host 

Clifford may reckon lo his cost. 

Meantime, through well-known ho.sk and deli. 

I'll lead where we may shelter well." 

XVIL 

Now ask you whence that wondrous light. 

Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight ? — 

Ii ne'er was known • —yet. grey-hair'd eld 

A superstitious credence held. 

That never did a mortal hand 

Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 

Nav. and that on the self-same night 

When Bruce cross 'd o'er, still gleams the light. 

Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor, 

Atid glitteiing wave and crimson'd shore — 

But whether beam celestial, lent 

By Heaven to aid the King's descent, 

Or fire hell-kindled from beneath. 

To lure him to defeat and death. 

Or were it but some meteor strange. 

Of such as oft through midnight range, 

Startling the traveller late and lone, 

1 know not — and it ne'er was known. 



XVITI. 

Now lip the rocky pass they drew. 

And Ronald, to his promise true. 

Siill maile his arm the stripling's stay. 

To aid him on the rugged way. 

"Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! 

Why throbs that silly heart of thine ?"— 

— Tliat name the pirates to their slave 

(In Gaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave— 

" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm 7 

Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm? 

Hath not "the wild bull's treble hide 

I'his targe for thee and me supplied T 

Is not Claii-Colla's sword of si eel ? 

And. trembler, canst thou terror feel \ 

Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart; 

From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part." 

— ! many a shaft, at random sent. 

Finds mark the archer litile meant! 

And many a word, at random spokcm. 

May soothe or wound a heart that's bioken! 

Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 

Close drew the page lo Ronald's side ; 

A wild delirious thrill of joy 

Was in that hour of agony. 

As lip the steepy pass he strove, 

Fear. toil, and sorrow, lo.st in love . 



; See A^ptiiJix, Nole 3 B. 



y^ 



r 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



XIX. 

The l)arrier of that iron shore. 
The rock's steej) led^e. is now climb'd o'er; 
And iroin the Ciistle's distant wiill. 
From tower to tower the warders call : 
The sound swiiiss over land and sea, 
And marks a vvaicht'ul enemy. — 
'I hey saiiiM the rhase, a wuie domain 
Lett tor the (Castle's silvan reisni,' 
(Seek not the scene— the axe, the ploiish. 
The boor's dull fence, have mair'd it now,) 
l>nt tlieu. sofi swept in velvet sreeri 
Tiie |ilain w tli many a glade between, 
\V luise iaM?le<l alleys far mvade 
'I'lie lieiith of the brown forest shade. 
Hrre the tall fern obscured the lawn. 
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
There, tufled dose with cop.sewood green, 
Was many a swellina: hillock seen; 
.And all around was verilure meet 
For pre<sure of the fairies' feet. 
The slo.>.sy holly loved the park, 
'I'he yew-tree lent, its shadow dark. 
And many an old oak. worn and bare. 
With all Its shiver'd Itouirhs. was there 
Lovely between, the mooiibeains fell 
On lawn and hillock, ^lade and <lell. 
'I'he sallant .Monarch sitrn'd to see 
These fflades so loved iii childhood free 
Helliiukiiis that, as outlaw now. 
He ranged beneath the forest bough. 

XX. 

Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped. 
Well knew the hand that measured tread, 
When, in retreat or in advance. 
The serried warriors move at once ; 
And evil were the luck, if dawn 
Descried them on the open lawn. 
Copses rhey traverse, brooks they cross, 
Strain up the bank and o'er the iiioss. 
From the exhausted pace's brow 
Cold drops iif toil are streaming now; 
With eft.irt faint and lensthen'd pause. 
His weary s!ep the sinplin^ draws. 
'■ Nay. dr. lop not yet !" the warrior said ; 
" Come, let me give thee ea<e and aid I 
Strong are mine arms, and little care 
A weight so slight as thine to hear. — 
What ! wilt thi'U not. ? — capricious boy ! 
Then thine own limbs and strensth employ 
Pass hilt this night, and pass tliy care, 
I'll place thee with a lady fair, 
Wliere thou slialt tune thv lule to tell 
How Ronald loves lair Isabel !" 
Worn out. dishearten'd, and dismay'd. 
Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 
His trembling limbs their aid refuse. 
He sunk among the midnight dews! 

XXT. 
What may be done?— the night is gone— 
The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 
Eternal shame, if at the brunt 
Lord Ronald grace not battle's front!— 
"See yonder o:ik, within whose trunk 
Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk ; 
Enter, and rest thee there a space, 
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. 
I will not be, believe me, far; 
Bui must not quit the ranks of war. 



1^ 



See .\pijeudix, Note 'i 0. 




Well Will I mark the bosky bourne, 

And soon, to guard thee hence, return.— 

.Nay, weep n<;t so, thou sim|)le boy ! 

But sleep m |)eace, and wake in joy." 

In silvan lodging close bestow'd. 

He placed the page, and onward strode 

W'lth strensth put forth, o'er mo.ss and brook, 

And soon the marching band o'ertook. 

xxir. 

Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept 
The page, till, wearied out, he slept— 
A roush voice waked his dream—" Nay, here, 
Here by this thicket, pass'd the deer — 
Beneath that oak old Ryno staid— 
What have we here?— a Scoitisb plaid. 
And m its folds a siriplins laid ?— 
Come forth ! thy name and business tell!— 
What, silent ?— then I guess thee well. 
The spy that sought old Ciithbert's cell, 
Wafted from Arran yester morn- 
Come, comrades, we will straight return. 
Our Lord may choose the rack should teach 
To this young lurcher use of si>eech. 
Thy how-sirins. till I hind him fast."— 
•' Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast; 
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not; 
' Tis a fair strifiling, thoush a Scot." 
The hunters to the castle sped. 
And there the hapless captive led. 

XXllL 
Stout Clifford in the castle court 
Prepared him for the morning sport; 
And now with L(jrn held deep discourse, 
Now gave command for hound and horse. 
War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground. 
And many a deer-dos howl'd around. 
To Amadine, Lorns well-known word. 
Replying to that Southern Lord. 
.Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem 
The phantasm of a fever'd dream. 
The tone upon his ringing ears 
Came like the sounds which fancy hears, 
When in rude waves or roaring winds 
Some words of woe the muser finds. 
Until more loudly and more near, 
Their speech arrests the page's ear. 

XXIV. 
•' And was she thus," said Clifford, " lost ? 
The priest should rue it to his cost ! 
What says the Monk ?" — "The holy Sire 
Owns, that in masquers quaint attire 
She sought Ins skirt", disguised, unknown 
To all except to him alone. 
But. says the priest, a bark from Lorn 
Laid them aboard that very morn. 
And pirates seized her for their prey. 
He proffer'd ransom-gold to pay." 
And they agreed — but ere told o'er. 
The winds hlow loud, the billows r(»ar, 
They sever'd. and they met no more. 
He deems, such tempest vex'd the coast- 
Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 
So let It be. with the disgrace 
And scandal of her lofty race ! 
I'hrice better she had lie'er been horn, 
Ihan brought lier infamy on Lorn!" 



XXV. 

L-'rd Clifford now the captive spied ; 
" Whom, Herbert, hast thou there;' 



V 



icd. ^ 



f 372 



2^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



" A spy we seized witliiu the Chase, 

A liollow oak his lurking place "— 

" Wiiat tidiiiKS can the youth afford T" — 

'• He plays the uiute."— '•Tiien noose a cord— 

Unless hrave Lorn reverse the doom 

For his plaid's sake."— " Clan-C(!lla's loom," 

Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 

Rather the vesture than the face, 

••Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine ; 

Wearer nor t>laid claims care of mine. 

Give him, if my advice you crave. 

His own scathed oak ; and let him wave 

In air, unless, hy terror wrung. 

A frank confession find his tongue. — 

Nor shall lie die without his rite : 

— I'hou. Angus Koy. attend the sight. 

And give Cian-Colla's dirge thy breath. 

As they convey him to his death." — 

•• brother! cruel to the last!" 

'riirough the poor captive's bosom pass'd 

'I'he thought, but, to his purpose true. 

He said not, though he sigh'd, " Adieu !" 

XXVI. 
And will he keep his purpose still. 
In sight of that last closing ill, 
When one poor breath, one single word, 
May freedom, safely, life allord? 
Can he resist the iiisiiiictive call, 
For life that bids us barter .ill .'— 
l.ove. strons as death. Iiis heart hath steel'd. 
His nerves hath sirnii!;— he will not yield ! 
iSiiice that poor breath, that little word, 
Mav vield Lord Ronald to the sword — 
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide. 
The griesly headsman's by his side ; 
Alons the Vreen wood Chase they bend. 
And now their march has ghastiv end ! 
That iild and shatter'd oak beneath. 
They destine for the place of death. 
— V\ ii;it liioiishts are his. while all in vain 
His eye for aid explores the plain ? 
What thouirlits. while, with a dizzy ear. 
He hears the dealh-prayer mutter'd near? 
And must he die such death accurst. 
Or will th:U bosom-secret burst ? 
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew. 
His trembling lips are livid blue; 
Tae agony of parting life 
Has nought to match that moment's strife ! 

XX VII. 
But other witnesses are niirh. 
Who mock at fear, and death defy ! 
Soon as the <lire lanient was play'd. 
It waked the lurking ambuscade. 
The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied 
The cause, and loud m tury cried. 
'■ By Heaven, I hey lead the page to die, 
Anil mock me in his asony ! 
They shall abye it !"— On his arm 
Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall not harm 
A ringlet of the stripling's hair; 
But, till 1 give the word, forbear. 
— Douglas, lead fifty of our force 
Up yonder hollow water-course. 
And couch thee midway on the wold. 
Between the flyers and their hold : 
A spear above the copse display'd. 
Be signal of the ambush made. 
— hJdwaid, with forty spearmen, straisht 
Through yonder copse approach the gate. 
And. when thou hear'st the battle-din, 
Kush forward, and the passage win, 



Secure the drawl)ridge— storm the port. 
And man and guard the castle-court. — 
The rest move slowly forth with me. 
In shelter of the forest-tree, 
I'lll Douglas at his post I see." 

XXVIII. 
Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Compell'd to wait the signal blown, 
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough, 
Trembling with rane, stands Ronald now, 
And in Ins grasp Ins sword gleams blue. 
Soon to be dyed witli deadlier hue. — 
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye. 
Sees the dark death-train moving by. 
And, heedful, measures oft the space 
The Uouiilas and his band must trace, 
Ere they can reach their destined ground. 
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound. 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
That slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistimed and muiter'd prayer 
The victim for his fate prepare.— 
What, glances o'er the greenwood shade T 
The spear that marks tiie ambuscade! — 
" Now, noble Chief! 1 leave thee loose ; 
Upon them, Ronald !" said the Bruce. 

XXIX. 

"The Bruce, the Bruce !" to well-known cry 

His native rocks and woods reply 

"The Bruce, the Bruce!" in that dread word 

The knell of hundred de:iths was heard. 

The astoiiish'd Southern gazed at first. 

Where the wild tempest was to burst, 

That waked m that presaging name. 

Before, behind, around it came ! 

Half arm'd, surprised, on every side 

Hemin'd in. hew'd down, they bled and died. 

Deep 111 the ring the Bruce engaired. 

And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged ! 

Full soon the few who fought were sped, 

Nor better was their lot who fled. 

And met, 'mid terror's wild career. 

The Douglas's redoubted spear ! 

'I'wo hundred yoemen on that morn 

The castle left, and none return, 

XXX. 

Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand, 

A gentler duty claim'd his haml 

He raised the page, where on the plain 

His fear had sunk iiim with the slam ; 

And twice that n'.orn, surprise well near 

Betray'd the secret kept by fear ; 

Once, when, with life returning, came 

To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name. 

And hardlv recollection drown'd 

The accents i.i a murmurinsj sound ; 

And once, when scarce he could resi.st 

The chieftain's care to loose the vest. 

Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast. 

But then the Bruce's bugle blew. 

For martial work was yet to do. 
XXXL 

A harder task fierce Edward waits. 

Ere signal given, the castle gales 
His fury had assail'd ; 

Such was his wonted reckless mood. 

Yet desperate valour oft made good. 

Even by its dariiis:, venture rude, 
I Where prudence misht have fail'd, 

j Upon Ihe bridse his strenijth he threw. 

And struck the iron chain m two. 



-^ 



7" 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



\ 



By which its planks niose ; 
Tlie warder next his axe's edge 
Si ruck down upon the liireshold ledsre. 
' Twixt door and pos' a ghMstly vvedge ! 

'I'he srate ihev rn;iy not close. 
Well fouitht the Southern in the fray. 
Ciitrord and Lorn fouuhl well that day. 
But siubliorn Edward forced his way 

A^auist a hundred foes. 
Lond came the cry. • Ihe Bruce, tlie Bruce !' 
No ho()e or ni defence or truce, 

Fresh coinhatanis pour in; 
Mad with success, and drunk with Rore, 
'I'hey drive the s ru2;2liiiff foe hefore, 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsiiann? was the vengeful sword. 
And limbs were lopod and life-lilood pour'd, 
The cry of death and conflict roar'd. 

And fearful wns the din! 
The s artlnisr hor.sf^s plunsed and flang, 
Clamour'd the do^s till turrets run^. 

Nor sunk the fearful cvw 
Till not a foenian was there found 
Alive, save tUo^e who on the ground 

Groaad in then- agony ! 

XXX IT. 

The valiant riifford is no more; 

On RoiKilii's broadsword streain'd his gore. 

But better hao had he of Lorn, 

Who, by the foeinen backward borne. 

Yet ffaiu'd wiili slender train the [>()rt, 

Where lay his bark beneath ihe fort, 

And cut the cable loose. 
Short were his shrift in that debate. 
That hour of fury and of fate. 

If Lorn encouiiier'ii Bruce! 
Then lona; and loud the victor shout 
From turret and from tower rung out, 

The rugsed vaults replied; 
And from the donjon tower on high. 
The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andrew's cross m l)lazonry 

Of silver, waving wide I 

XXXIll. 
The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! ' 
— •• Welcome, iirave friends and comrades all, 

Welcome to mirth and j(»y ! 
The first, the last, is welcome here. 
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer, 

To this |)oor speechless boy. 
Great (iod I once more my sire's abode 
Is mine— behold the floor I trode 

In toitermg infancy ! 
And there the vaulted arch, whose sound 
Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
III boyhoiKl. aiid that rung around 

To youth's unthinking glee I 
O first, io thee, all-gracious Heaven, 
Then to my friends, my thanks he given !"— 
He paused a space, his brew he cross'd — 
Then on the board his sword he loss'd. 
Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore 
From hilt to point 'twas criinson'd o'er. 

XXXIV. 

'• Bring here." he said, "the mazers four, 
Mv noble fathers loved of yore. 2 
'I'hrice let them circle round the board. 
The iiledge, fair Scotland's rights restored ! 

1 See Appt-ndix, Noie 3 1). 2 Ihiil. Note 3 E. 

S S)<-e Appeudix, Note 3 F. 4 Ibid, Note 3 G. 



And he whose lip shall touch the wiue, 
VViitumt a vow as true as mine. 
To hold both lands and life at nought. 
Until her freedom shall be bought,— 
Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 
And lasting infamy his lot! 
Sit. geiiile friends ! our hour of glee 
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously ! 
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams. 
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 
Well is our country's work begun, 
But more, far more, must yet be done. 
Speed messengers the country through; 
Arouse old friends, and gatlier new ; 3 
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail, 
House the brave .sons of Teviotdale. 
Let Er trick's archers sharp their darts. 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts! 
Call all, call all ! from Keedswair-Path, 
To the wild ciuitines of Cape-V\ rath ; 
Wide let the news through Scotland ring. 
The Northern Eagle claps his wing !" 



E\)t aorti of t|)c JJsIes. 



CAMO SIXTH. 



373 \ 



I. 

O who, that shared them, ever shall forget 
The emotions of the spirit-roiismg tune. 
When hreatliless in the mart the couriers met 
Karly and late, at evening and at prime ; 
When the loud cannon and the merry (^hiine 
Hail'd news on news, as tield on field was won 
When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length 

sublime. 
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun. 
Watoh'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the 

rising sun ! 
O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and 

tears ! 
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd. 
The waste, tlie woe, the bloodshed, and the 

tears 
That track 'd with terror twenty rolling years, 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
Her downitast eye even pale Affliction rears. 
To sigh a tlitmkful prayer, amid the glee. 
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace, and 

liberty! 
Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant 

rode, 
V\'hen 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's 

scale. 
When Bruce 's banner had victorious flow'd 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Dry's vale; * 
When English blood oft deluged Douglas- 

dale,5 
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John," 
V\'heii Kandolph's war-cry swell'd Ihe south- 
ern gale,7 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was 

won. 
And P'aiiie still sounded forth fresh deeds of 

glory done. 



5 See Appendix, Noie 3 H. 6 It)id. Note 3 I. 

7 See Appendix, Note 3 K. 



"7 



A 



/ 874 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 






II. 

Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower. 
To peasant's cot, to tVjrest-bower, 
Ami waked Ihe solitiiiy cell, 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell. 
Princess no more, fair Is.it)el, 

A vofress of the order now, 
Sny. did the rule that bid thee wear 
l)im veil and woollen scapulaire, 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair, 

That stern and rieid vow. 
]»ul it condemn the transport hi^h. 
Which siisien'd in thy watery eye. 
\A'iien minstrel or when palmer told 
j;acli fresh exploit of Bince the bold T — 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Thy anxious tiopes'. I'hy fears, thy prayers ? 
No sister she of convent shade ; 
So s;iy these locks in lengthen'd braid, 
So say the blushes and the sishs, 
The tremors that unhidden rise. 
When, minsled with the Biuce's fame, 
I'he brave Lord Ronald's praises caaie. 

III. 

Believe, his father's castle won, 
And his bold enterprise begun, 
I'liat Bluce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore : 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Briice's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the ved and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regain'd, 
'I'he lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd, 
rnn.imed, unknown, while Scotland far 
Kesoinuled with the din of war; 
And iiiaiiv a month, and many a day, 
la calm seclusion wore away. 

IV. 
These dnys, these months, to years had worn. 
When tiilings of iiigh weight were borne 

To that lone island's siiore; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 
By the First Edward's ruthless blade, 

His son reiain'd no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers, 
Beleaguer'd by King Roberts powers; 

And I hey took term of truce.' 
If England's King should not relieve 
"I'he siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 

To yield thein to the Bruce. 
England was roused— on every side 
Courier and post and herald hied. 

To summon prince and peer. 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,* 
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege, 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — they muster'd fast, 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 

Forth marshall'd for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble name, 
There England's hardy archers came. 
The land they irode seem'd all on flame, 

V\ ith banner, blatle. and shield I 

And not famed England's powers alone, 

Renown'd in arms, the summons own ; 



1 Sec .\ppt;iiaix, Notr 3 L. 



For Neustria's knights obey'd, 
Gascogiie hath lent her horsemen good, 
And Cambria, bui of late subdued. 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude, 3 
And Connought pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Elli O'Connor swayd,* 

V. 
Right to devoted Caledon 
I'he storm of war rolls slowly on, 

Wiih menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds, with gathering power. 
Suspend awhile the threaten'd shower, 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Hound the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Robert mark'd the tem[)est nigh ! 

Resolved the brunt to bide. 
His royal summons warn'd the land. 
Thai all who own'd the King's command 
Should instant take the spear and brand, 

To combat at his side. 
O who may tell the sons of fame. 
That at King Roliert's hid<ling came. 

To battle for the right! 
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross. 
From Solway-Sands to .\Iarshars-.Vloss, 

All bouii'd them for the fight. 
Such news the royal courier tells. 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells; 
But further tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel 111 secret hear 
These in her cloister walk, next morn. 
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn. 

VI. 
•' .My Edith, can I tell how dear 
Our intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel ?— 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart. 
When I must say the words, We part! 

The cheerless convent-cell 
Was !iot, sweet maiden, made for thee; 
Go thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray 'd. 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high Maid 
And his poor silent page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man. 
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd 
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd 
That gave him, with her last farewell, 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right, 
And keep the faith his promi.se plight. 
Forgive liim for thy sister's sake. 
At first if vain repinings wake — 

Long since that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims. 
And oft his breach of faith he blames- 
Forgive him for thine own !" — 

VII. 
" No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 

Will I again as paramour" 

" Nay, hush thee, too impatient ma d, 

Until my final tale be said ! — 

The good King Robert would engage 

Edith once more his elfin [lage. 

By her own heart, and her own eye. 

Her lover's penitence to try — 



Notu 3 N. 



y^ 



7 



^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



375 



^ 



Safe in his royal charge and free, 
tshould such thy rinal |iU pose he, 
Asaiii unknown lo seek the cell. 
And live and die with Isahel." 
Thus spdke the maid— Kins: Roherfs eye 
Miglit have .some i;hiiice of policy; 
Dinislatfniig-' had the irionarcli ta'en. 
And Lorn had ovvn'd Kins Roherfs reign; 
Her hrother had to hln^land tied. 
And there in hanishnieiit vvas dead ; 
Ample, throuuii exile, death, and flight, 
OVr tower and land was Edith's riifht; 
This ample right o'er tower and land 
V\ ere safe lu Ronald's faithful hand. 

VIII. 
Emharrass'd eye and hlii.shing cheek 
Plea.siire and .sharue. and fear bespeak ! 
Yet much the reasoning: Edith made: 
*• Her sister's faiih slie must U|)braid. 
Who gave such secret, dark aad dear, 
In council t > another's ear. 
Why should she leave the pe.aceful cell ? — 
How should she part with Isabel f — 
How wear that strange attire a^en ? — 
How risk herself 'midst martial men? — 
And how be guarded on the way ? — 
At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isahel. wiv.h secret smile. 
Saw and forgave the maidens wile, 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love. 

IX. 
Oh, blame her not !— when zenhyrs wake 
Tlie aspen's trembling leaves mi'isi shake; 
When beams the sun through April's shower. 
It needs must bloom, the violet llower; 
And Love, howe'er the maiden strive, 
Must with revivimr hope revive I 
A thousand soft excuses came. 
To plead his cause "gainst virgin shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest youh. 
He had her plighred faith and truth- 
Then, 'twas her Liese's strict, command. 
And she. beneath his royal hand, 
A ward in person and in land : — 
And. last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space — one little day — 
Clo.se hidden in her safe disguise 
From all— but most from Ronald's eyes — 
But once to see him more !— nor blame 
Her wish — to hear him name her name ! — 
Then, lo bear back to soli'ude 
'I'he ihought he had his falsnhood rued! 
But Isahel, who Ions had seen 
Her palliu cheek and pensive mien. 
And well herself the cause migtit know, 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe. 
Joy'd. generous, that revolving time 
Gave means to ex()iate the crime 
High glow"d her bosom as she said, 
'• Well shall her sulfenngs be repaid !" 
>iow came tlie parting hour— a band 
From Arran's mountains left the land. 
Their chief. Fitz-Louis.i had the care 
The speechless Am.idine to bear 
To Bruce, with honour, as behoved 
lo page the monarch dearly loved. 

X. 
The King had deem'd the maiden bright 
Should reach him long before the fight. 



1 See .\ppendix, .Note 3 P. 



2 Ibid, Note 3 Q. 



^ 



But storms and fate her course delay • 
It was on eve of battle-day. 
When o'er the Gillie's-hiHshe rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glow'd, 
And far as e'er the eye was borne. 
The lances waved liKe autuom corn. 
In batt es four henea'h their eve, 
The forces of King Robert lie.'.* 
And one below the hill was laid. 
Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
And three, advanced, form'd vaward-line. 
'Twixt Hannonk's brook and Ninian's shrine. 
Detach'd was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply. 
Beyond, tlie Southern host appears,' 
A boundless wilderness of spears, 
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far. but strove in vain, to sfiy. 
Thick-flashing in the evening beam. 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ; 
And where the hetiven join'd with the hill, 
Was distant armour flashing still. 
So wide, so far. the boundless host 
Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. 

XL 
Down from the hill the maiden pass'd 
At the wild show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host, 
Reserved for aid where needed most. 
The men of Carrick and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark, too. were there, 

And all the western land ; 
With the.se the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chietlains rank'd their files,* 

In many a [)laided band. 
There in the centre, proudly raised. 
The Bruce 's roval standard blazed. 
And there Lord RonaUl's banner bore . 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
k wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
Warriors in mail and plate array 'd. 
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid. 

By these Helirideans worn : 
But, O ! unseen for three long years, 
Dear was the garb of mouutaineei-s 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 
For one she look'd— but he was far 
Busied amid the ranks of war— 
Yel with aff'ection's troubled eye 
She mtirk'd his banner boldly fly. 
Gave on the countless foe a glance. 
And thought on battle's desperate chance 

XIL 
To centre of the vaward-line 
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 
Arm'd all on foot, that host appears 
A serried mass of glimmering spears, 
'rhere stood the Manthers' warlike band. 
The warriors there of Lodon's land; 
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 
A band of archers fierce, though few; 
The men of .Niili and Annan's vale, 
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale; — 
The dauntless Douglas these obey. 
And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 
North-eastward by Saint Ninian's shrine. 
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine 
"T'he warriors whom the hardv North 
From Tay to Sutherland sent fiuth. 
The rest of Scotland's war-array 
With Edward Bruce to westward lay. 



3 S« Aiipendix, Nole 3 R. 



A 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 






376 

Where Bannock, with his broken bank 
And deep ravine, protects their flank. 
Behind tlieni, screen'd by sheltenng wood, 
•the gMawt Keith, Lord Marshal, stood: 
His men-at-arms bear mace and lance. 
And plumes that wave, and helms that glance 
Thus fair ilivided l)y the Kins:, 
Centre, and riffht, and left-ward wmg, 
Composed liis front; nor distant far 
V\ as siroiia; reserve to aid the war. 
And 'twas to front of this array. 
Her guide and Edith made their way. 

XIII. 
Here must thev pause ; for. in advance 
As far as one might pitch a lance, 
The Monarch rode alone; the van.' 
The foe's appioachins force to scan, 
His line to marshal and to range. 
And ranks to square, and tronis to change. 
Al-one he rode— from head to heel 
Sheathed in liis ready arms of steel ; 
Nor mounted yet on war-horse wjght, 
But, till more near the shock ot hght, 
Keining a palfrev low and liglit. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above Ins bright steel basinet. 
And clasp'd within its glittering twine 
Was seen the glove of Argentine; 
Truncheon or leading .staff he lacks, 
Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 
He ranged his soldiers tor the fight, 
Accoutred thus, in o|)en sight 
Of either host.— Three bowshots far, 
Paused the deep front of England's war, 
And rested on their arms awhile. 
To close and rank their warlike file, 
And hold high council, if that night 
Should view the strife, or dawning light. 

XIV. 

O gav. vet fearful to behold. 

Flasliiii-- with steel and rough with gold. 

And bristled o'er with bills and spears, 
With plumi's and peimoiis waving tair. 
Was that bright hatlle-front ! for there 

Rdde England's King and peers : 
And who. that saw that monarch ride, 
His kingdom battled by his side, 
C.)uld tlien his direful doom foretell!— 
Fair was his seat iii knightly selle. 
And in his siinghilv eye was set 
Some spark of the Plautagenet. 
Though hght and wandering wa? his glance, 
It flash'd at sight of shield and lance. 
"Know'st thou." he said. " Pe Argentine, ^^ 
Yon knight who marshals thus their line ! - 
•• The tokens on his helmet tell ^^ 

The Bruce, my Liege: I know him well. — 
'• And shall the audacious traitor brave 
The presence where our banners waveT — 
"So plea.se my Liege." said Argentine, 
" Were he but horsed on steed like mine, 
To give him f:iir and knightly chance, 
I would adventure forth my lance."— 
•• In battledav," the King replied, 
• Nice tourney rules are set aside. 
—Still must the rebel dare our wrath T 
Set on him— sw.ep him from our paih 1 
And. at. King EdAaid's signal, soon 
Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune. 



Sec Appendix, Nole 3 T. 



XV. 

Of Hereford's high blood he came, 

A race reiiown'd for knightly fame. 

He hiirn'd before his Monarch's eye 

To do some deed of chivalry. 

He spnrr'd his steed, he couch d his lance. 

And darted on the Bruce at once. 

—As motionless as rocks, that bide 

The wratii of the advancing tide. 

The Bruce stood fast.— Each breast beat high, 

And dazzled was each gazing eye— 
The heart had hardly time to think, 

The evelid scarce had time to wmk. 

While on the King, like flash of flame. 

Spiirr'd to full speed .he war-hoise came ! 
The pari ridge mav ihe falcon mock. 
If that slight palfrev stand the shock- 
But, swerving from the Knight's career. 
Just as they met. Bruce sliumi'd the spear. 
Onward the baffled warrior hore ^ 

His course— hut soon his course was o er!- 
High 111 his stirrups siood the King, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. ^ 
Right on De Boune. the whiles he pass d. 
Fell that stern dint— the first— the last I- 
Such strength upon the blow was put. 
The helmet crasli'd like liazel-nut; 
The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, 
Was sluver'd to the gaunilet grasp. 
Springs from the l)low the startled horse, 
Drops to the plain the lifeless co:se; 
—First of that fatal field, how soon. 
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune ! 

XVI. 

One pitying glance the Monarch sped, 

Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 

Then gently lurn'd his palfrey s head, 

And. pacing back his sober way, 

Slowly he gamd his own array. 

There round their King the leaders crowd, 

And blame his recklessness aloud, 

That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear 

A lile so valued and so dear. 

Hi^ broken weapon's shaft survey d 
I he King, ami careless answer made,— 

•• Mv loss may pay my folly's tax ; 

I've broke my trusiv battle-axe. 

'Twas then Fitz- Louis, bending low. 

Did Lsahel's commission show ; 
Ldith, disguised ai distance stands. 
And hides her blushes with her hands 

The Monarch's brow has changed its hue, 
Away the gorv axe he threw. 
While to the seeming page he drew. 

Clearing war's terrors from Ins eye. 
Her hand with gentle ease he took. 
With such a kmd protecting look, 

As to a weak and timid bov 
Might speak, that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there. 

XVII. 
" Fear not," he said. " young Amadine !" 
Then whisper'd. -Still that name be thine 
Fate plavs her wonted fantasy. 
Kind Amadine, wiih thee and me, 
And sends thee here in dout)ilul hour. 
But soon we are beyond her power; 
For on this chosen l.attle-plain. 
Victor or vanqui^^li'd. I remain. 
Do thou to vonder hill rei)air; 
Tlie foUowers of our host are there. 



^ 



/- 



Jik 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



:\ 



And all who ni:iy not weHpoiis bear.— 

Fi'z-Lonis, have him in thy cure.— 

j,)vful we meet, if all go well , 

If not, in Arran's holy cell 

Thou must take part with Isabel ; 

For brave Lord Ronald, too. hath sworn, 

Not to regain the Maid of Lorn. 

(The bliss on earth he rovels most,) 

Would he forsake Ins battle-post. 

Or shun the f..riune that may fall 

To Bruce, to Scotland, and lo all. — 

But. hark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 

Koririve mv haste— farewell !— farewell !"— 

And m a lower voice he said, 

" Be of good cheer— farewell, sweet maid !"- 

XVIII. 
" What train of dust, with trumpet-sound 
And glimmermg spears, is wheeling round 
Our leftward flank ?"i — the Monarch ciied. 
To .Moray's Earl who rode beside. 
" Lo ! rolind thy station pass the foes ! 
Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." 
The Earl his visor closed, and said. 
'• My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.— 
Follow, my household "."—And they go 
Like lightning on the advancing foe. 
" My Liege." said noble Douglas then, 
" Earl Randolph has hut one to ten : 
Let me go forth his band to aid !"— 
— '• Stir nut. The error he hath made, 
Lei him amend it as he may; 
I will not weaken mine array."' 
Then loudlv rose the (•onflict-cry. 
And Douglas's brave heart swelj'd high,— 
" .My Liege." lie said, " with patient ear 
1 must not Moray's death-knell hear!" — 
•'Then go — hut spee*l ihee hack again '' — 
Forih sprung the Douglas with his train : 
But. when they won a rising hill. 
He bade his followers hold them still. — 
"See. see! the routed Southern fly ! 
The Earl hath won the victory. 
Lo! where yon steeds run masterless, 
His banner towers above the press. 
Rem up; our presence would impair 
The fame we come too late to share." 
Back to the li<ist the Douglas rode, 
And soon glad tidings are abroad. 
That, Dayiicourt by stout Randolph slain. 
His followers fled with loosen'd rem. — 
That skirmish closed the busy day. 
And couch'd in battle's prompt array, 
Each army on their weapons lay. 

XIX. 
It was a night of lovely June, 
High rode in clouiiless blue the moon, 

Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
Old Stirling's towers arose in light. 
And, twined in links of silver bright. 

Her winding river lay. 
Ah, gentle planet ! other sight 
Miall greet thee next returning night, 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark w ith human gore. 
And Diies of slaughter'd men and horse, 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse. 
And many a wounded wieich to plain 
Bf-neath thy silver light in vain ! 
But now. from England's host the cry 
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry. 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 U. 



2 Ibid. Note 3 V. 



Willie from the Scottish legions pass 
Tlie miirmur'd prayer, the early mass !— 
Here, numbers had presumption given ; 
There, hands o'er-malch'd sought aid from 
Heaven. 

XX. 
On Gillie's hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands. 
With serf and page unfit for war. 
To eye the conflict from alar. 
O! witli what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky !— 
Now on llie Oitluls gleams the sun. 
And slisteiis now Ueniayet (bin ; 
Is It the lark that carols shrill. 
Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
No! distant, hut increasing still, 
The trumpet's sotind swells up the hill, 
Witii the deep murmur of the drum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host. 
Pipe-clang and bugle sound were toss'd.2 
His breast and brow each solilier cross'd. 

And started from the ground ; 
Arm'd and array'd for instant fight. 
Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight, 
And in the pomp of battle bright 
1 he dread battalia frown'd. 

XXI. 
Now onward, and in open view. 
The countless ranks of England drew,3 
Dark- rolling like the ocean-tide. 
When the rough west hath chafed his pride, 
.And his deep roar .«en<ls challenge wide 

To all that bars his way! 
In front the gallant archers trode. 
The meii-at-arms behind them rode, 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The .Monarch held his swav 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes. 
Around him waves a sea of plumes. 
W here manv a knight in battle known. 
And some who spurs had first braced on. 
And deem'd that fight should see them won 

King Edward's hes's obey. 
De Argentine attends his side. 
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride. 
Selected champions from the tram. 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
— At once, before his siglit amazed, 

Slink banner, spear, and shield ; 
Eacli weapon-pomt is downward sent. 
Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
"The rebels, Argentine, repent! 

l-or pardon they have kneel'd " — 
" Aye, but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon sue than ours! 
See where yon hare-foot Abbot stands, 
And blesses Iheiii with lifted hands! -i 
Upon the spot where they have kneel'd, 
TheNe men will die, or w'ln the field." — 
— " Then prove we if Ihey die or win! 
Bid Uioslers Earl the fight begin " 

XXII. 
Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high 

Just as the northern raiiKS arose. 
Signal for England's archery 

To hall and bend their bows. 
Then step[>'d each yeoman forth a pace. 
Glanced at the intervening sp.ice. 



3 See Appendix, Note 3 W. 



4 Ibid, .Note 



N 



:4 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And raised his left hiiiid hi?h ; 
To the riiilit ear tlie cords they hrina:— 
—At once ten thousand l)ow-strings rin?, 

Ten thousaiiil arrows fly! 
Nor [lanseti on I he devoted Scot 
Tlie ceaseless fury of their shot; 

As fiercely and as fast. 
Forth whistJins came the srey-ffonse wing 
As the wild hailstones pelt and rin» 

Adowri December's blast. 
Nor mountain larse of toiish bull-hide, 
Nor lowland mail that storm may bide ; 
Woe. woe to Scotland's baimer'd pride, 

If the fell shower may last! 
Upon the right, b.'hind the wood. 
Each by his steed dismounted, stood 

The Scottish chivalry; — 
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane. 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
II IS own keen heart, his eager train. 
Until the archers Rain'd the plain ; 

Then, " Mount, ye eallants free !" 
He cried ; and. vaultina; from th(! sround. 
His saddle every horseman found. 
On hisfh their gjitterins crests they toss. 
As springs the wild-fiie from the moss; 
The shield hangs down on every breast, 
Each ready lance is in the rest. 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce. — 
" Forth. Marshal ! on the peasant foe ! 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow. 

And cut the bow-string loose !" i 

XXIIT. 
Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks, 
They rush'd among the archer ranks. 
No spears were there the shock to let, 
No stakes to turn the charge were set. 
And how shall yeoman's armour slight. 
Stand the long lance and mace of might T 
Or what may their short swords avail. 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail 1 
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 
High o'er their heads the weapons swung. 
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout ! 
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 
Their English hearts the strife made good. 
Borne down at length on every side. 
(Jompell'd to flight, they scatter wide. — 
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee. 
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee! 
The broken bows of Bannock's shore 
Shall 111 tlie greenwood ring no more ! 
Kound Wakefield's merry May-pole now. 
The maids may twine the summer-bough, 
May northward look with longing glance. 
For those that wont to lead the dance, 
For the blithe archers look in vain ! 
Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erla'en. 
Pierced through, trode down, by thousands 

slain, 
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 



XXIV. 

The King with scorn beheld their flight. 
" Are these," he said, "our yeoman wight 
Each braggart churl could tioast before. 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore ! 2 
Fitter to plunder chase or park. 
Than make a manly foe their mark. — 



Forward, each gentleman and knight ! 
Let gentle blood show generous might, 
And chivalry redeem the fight!" 
To rightward of the wild affray, 
The field show'd fair and level way ; 

But, in mid-space, the Bruce 's care 
Had bored the ground with many a pit. 
With turf and brushwood hidden yet. 

That form'd a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand hor.semen came. 
With spears in re.st. and hearts on flame, 

'I'hat [laiited for the shock I 
With blazing crests and banners spread. 
And trumpet-clang and clamour dread. 
The wide plain thunder'd to their tread, 

As far as Stirling rock. 
Down! down! in headlong overthrow. 
Horsemen and horse, the foremost go,3 

Wild floundering on the field! 
The first are in destruction's gorge. 
Their followers wildly o'er them urge; — 

The knightlv helm and shield. 
The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
Strong hand, high heart, are useless here! 
Loud Irom the mass confused the cry 
Of dying warriors swells on high. 
And steeds that shriek in agony ! * 
They came like mountain-torrent red. 
That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 
They broke like that same torrent's wave 
When swallow'd by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows'burst and boil. 
Maintaining still the stern tiiritioil. 
And to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds new terrovs of his own ! 

XXV. 

Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet. to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here; 
Names that lo fear wer^ never known, 
Bold Norfolk's Earl I)e Br,ithert..n. 

And U.xford's famed He Vere. 
There Glosler plied the blood v sword. 
And Berkley. Giev. and Heivfoid, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross. Montague, and Mauley, came. 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame- 
Names known too well in Scotland's war, 
At Falkirk; Methven. and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years. 
At Cres.«y red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
Br<)U.;ht up the rearward battle-line 
With caution o'er the ground they tread, 
Siiiipery with blood and piled with dead, 
Till hand to hand in battle set. 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side. 
Rased the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried. 
Tiien proved was Randolph's generous pride, 
And well did Stewart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmlv they kept their ground ; 
As firmly 'England onward press'd. 
And down went many a noble crest. 
And rent was many a valiant breast, 

And Slaughter revell'd round. 
XXVL 
Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set. 
Unceasing blow by blow was met; 



N 



See .^nfiidix, ^olc 3 Y. 



2Ibid, Noley Z. I 3 See Api.eijdix, Note 4 A. 



4 Ibiu, Note 4 B. 



y^ 



7^ 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



The ffrnaiis of Uiove wim fell 
Were drown'd iimid tlie slinller cliing; 
Tliiit. from I lie hhides ;mil harness raiij, 

And III the h;iUle veil. 
Yet fast they fell, iiiiheard. forgot. 
Both Soillheni tierce and hardy Scot; 
And 0! amid that waste of life. 
What various motives fired the strife! 
The a-^inring .Nohle Tiled tor fame. 
The Patrioi for his country's rlaini ; 
This Kiiisht his youthful streiiKlh to prove. 
And tha' to wm Ins l.idy's love ; 
Some fouihr from ruflian thirst of blood, 
^"|•om habit some, or hanlihood 
But riiffiaii stern, and soldier good, 

Tile noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode, 

'I'o lliat dark inn, the srave ! 
X.XVII. 
The tu? of strife to flas besins, 
Thoush neither lo^es yet nor wins. 
H e:!i rides the sun. thick rolls the dust. 
And feeliler stjeeds the blow and thrust. 
Douslas leans on his war-sword now, 
And Raiidol(>h wipes his bloody brow; 
IVi>r less had toil'd each Southeni knight. 
From morn till mid-day m ihe fiiiht. 
Strong' Esremont for air must gasp, 
B^a•lchamp undoes his visor-clasp, 
And .Montague must quit his spear. 
And sinks thv fdchioii. bold l)e Vera! 
The blows of Berkley fall less fast. 
And gallant Pembroke's hii-le-blast 

Hath lost its lively tone; 
Sinks, Argentine, i by battle- word. 
And Percy's shout was fainter heard 

'• My ineriy men. fisihl on !" 

XXVIH. 
Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye. 
The slackening of the storm could spy. 
"One effort more, and Scotland's free ! 
Lord of the Isles, my trust m thee 

Is firm as Ail-a Rock: 
Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 
I, with my Carrick spearsmen, charge; i 

Now, forward to the shock !" 
At once the spears were forward thrown, 
Asainst the sun the broadswords shone; 
The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 
And loud King Robert's voice was known- 
" Carrick. press on— they fail, they fail! 
Press on. brave sons of Innisgail, 

The foe is fainting fast ! 
Ettch strike for parent, child, and wife. 
For Sco.land, liberty, and life,— 
The battle cannot last!" 
XXIX. 
The fresh and desperate onset bore 
The foes three furlongs back and more, 
Leaving their noblest in their gore. 

Aione, De Argentine 
Yet bears on high his red-cross shield, 
Gahers the relics of the field. 
Renews the ranks where they have reel'd. 

And still makes good the line. 
Brief strife, but tierce. — his elloris raise 
A bright but momentary blaze. 
Fair Ediih heard the Southron shout. 
Beheld them turning from the rout. 



1 See Appcnilix, >ol<; J C. 2 Ibid. Note 4 D. 



Heard the wild call their trumpets sent. 
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 
That rallying force, combined anew, 
Appear'd in her distracted view. 

To hem the Islesinen round ; 
" O God ! the combat they renew, 

And is no rescue found I 
And ye that look thus tamely on. 
And see your native land o"eithiown. 
O ! are your liearts of flesh or stone ?" 

XXX. 

The multitude that watch'd afar. 
Rejected from the ranks of war. 
Had not unmoved beheld the fight. 
V\ hen strove the Bruce for Scotland's right; 
Earh heart had caught the patriot spark. 
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk. 
Bondsman and serf; even female hand 
Stieich'd to the Intchet or the brand ; 
But. when mute Amadine they heard 
Give to their zeal his slunal-word, 

A frenzy tired the throng; 
"Portents and miracles impeach 
Our .slotli— the dumt) our duties teach — 
And he that gives the mute his speech, 
Can bid the weak be strong. 
To us. as to our lords, are £iven 
A native earth, a promised heaven; 
'Fo us. as to our lords, belongs 
1'he ven::eance for our nation's wrongs; 
The choice, 'iwixt death or freedom, warmi 
Our breasts as theirs— To arms, to arms!" 
To arms they flew, — ;ixe. club, or spear, — 
And mimic ensigns high they rear,2 
And, like a l)anner'd host afar. 
Bear down on England's wearied war. 

XXXL 
Already scattered o'er the plain. 
Reproof, command, and counsel vain. 
The rearward squadrons Hed amain. 

Or made but doubtful stay;— 
But when thev mark'd the seeming show 
Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe. 

The boldest broke array, 

give their hapless prince his due !3 
In vain the royal Edward threw 

His person 'mid the spears. 
Cried. " Fight!" to terror and despair. 
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair. 

And cursed their caitiff fears; 
Till Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein. 
And forceil him fnmi the fatal plain. 
With them rode Argentine, until 
They gam'd the summii of the hill, 
But quilted there the train :— 
'•In yonder field a gage I left. — 

1 must not live of fame bereft; 

I needs must turn again. 
Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace 
The fiery Douglas takes the clia.->e ; 

I know his banner well. 
God send my Sovereign joy and bliss. 
And many a happier held than this! — 

Once more, my Liege, farewell." 

XX.YIL 
Again he faced the battle-field. — 
Wildly they fly. are slain, or yield. 
"Now then," he said, and couch 'd his spear, 
"My course is run, the goal is near; 



?t 



3 See Appendix, No 



\ 



T 



A 



/ 



7 



Z. 



:^ 



380 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



One effort more, one brave career. 

Must, close tliis rare of iiiuie." 
Then in his stirrups rising hieh, 
lie shouted loud his baftle-cry, 

"Siiint James for Ai2:entine !" 
And, of the hold pursuers, four 
The gallant kiiishl from saddle bore; 
But not unharm'd— a lance's point 
Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint, 

An axe has razed his crest; 
Vel stdl on Colonsay's fierce lord, 
V\'|io press'd the chase with gory sword. 

He rode with spear in rest. 
And throusli his bloody tartans bored, 

Ami tlirough hisijallant breast. 
Nail'd to the earth, the mountaineer 
Yet wri'hed him up asainst the spear. 

And swuns his broadsword round! 
— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way, 
Beneath that blow'.v tremendous sway, 

■["he blood gush'd from the wound; 
And the grim Lord of Colonsay 

Hath lurned liiai on the gi-ound. 
And laugh 'd in death-pang, that Ins blade 
I'he mortal thrust so well repaid, 

XXXIII. 
Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done, 
To use Ins conquest boldly won ; 
And gave command for horse and spear 
To press the Southron's scatter'd rear, 
Nor let his broken force combine, 
— When the war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on his ear: 
"Save, save Ins life," he cried, "0 save 
The kind, the noble, and the brave !" 
The squadrons round free passage gave, 
The wounded knight drew near; 
He raised his red cross shield no more. 
Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with 

gore, 
Yet, as he saw the King advance. 
He strove even then to couch his lance — 

The effort was in vain ! 
The sf)ur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse; 
Wounded and weary, in mid course 

He stumbled on the phiin. 
Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
To raise iiis head, his helm to loose ; — 

" Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
My Sovereign's charge.and adverse fate, 
Have made our meeting all too late: 

Yet this may Argentine, 
As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 
A Christian's mass, a .soldier's grave." 

XXXIV, 
Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp 
Kindly replied; but, in his clasp, 

It stifien'd and grew cold— 
" And. O farewell !" the victor cried, 
"Of chivalry the flower and prule. 

The arm in liattle bold. 
The (ionrteous niien, the noble race. 
The stainless faith, the manly f;ice I — 
Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine. 
For late-wake of De Argentine 
O'er better knight on death-hier laid, 
I'orch never gleam'd nor mass was said !" 

XXXV. 
Nor for De Argentine alone, 
Tlirougli Ninian's church iliese torches shone. 



And rose the death-prayer's awful tone.' 

That vellow lustre glininier'd pale. 

On broken plate and bloodied mail, 

Rent crest and shatter'd coronet. 

Of Baron. Earl, and Banneret ; 

And the best names that England knew, 

Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due. 

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame! 
Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield 
Retreated from so sad a field. 

Since Norman William came. 
Oft mav thine annals justly boast 
Of battlfs stern by Scotland lost; 

Grudge not her victory. 
When for her fieeborn rights she strove ; 
Rights dear to all who freedom love. 

To none so dear as thee ! 
XXXVl. 
Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear 
Must from Fitz- Louis tidings hear; 
With him. a hundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

" For the mute page had spoke.'' — 
" Page !" said Fitz-Louis, " rather say, 
An angel sent from realms of day, 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume and bonnet drop. 
When hurrying from the mountain top . 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave. 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as lif^ht upon the green. 
As if his pillions waved unseen !"— 
"Spoke he with none?"— "With none— one 

word 
Burst when he saw the Island Lord, 
Returning from the battle-fieid " — 
"What answer made the Chief?" — "He 

kneel'd. 
Durst not look up. but niutter'd low. 
Some mingled sounds that none might know. 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear. 
As being of superior sphere." 

xxxvn. 

Even upon Bannock's l)loody plain, 
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain, 
'Mid victor monarch's musinsrs high. 
Mirili laugh'd in good King Robert's eye. 
" And bore he such angeli"c air. 
Such noble front, such waving hair? 
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him ?" he said, 
'■ Then must we call the church to aid — 
Our will be to the Abbot known. 
Ere these strange news are wider blown. 
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass. 
And deck the church for solemn mass. 
To pay for high deliverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. 
Let him array, besides, such state. 
As should on princes' nuptials wait, 
Ourself the cause, through fortune's sDite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace, with early morn. 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn." 



CONCLUSION. 
Go forth, mv Song, upon tliv venturous way, 
Go boldly f('irlh; nor yet thv master blame. 
Who choe no patron for his humble lay. 
And gr;:ci'(l thy numbers with no friendly name, 



1 See Arpeiidil, Nolc 4 F, 



^ 



^ 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Whose partial zeal might smooh thy path to 

fame. 
There tons — and O ! how manv sorrows crowd 
Into those two brief wowUl—thfre wns a claim 
By generous friendship given — had fate 

alldw'd. 
It well had hid thee rank the proudest of the 

proud! 

All angel now— yet little less than all, 
Wliile siiU a pilgrim in our world below! 



What 'vnils it us that patience to recall. 
Which hid its own ft) sooihe all other woe: 
What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest 

glow 
Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair: 
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should 

know, 
That one poor garland, twined to deck thy 

hair. 
Is huna: upon thy hearse, to droop and wither 

there ! 



381 \ 



APPENDIX, 



Note A. 

Thy rugged halJs, Artornish ! ruruj- — P- 346. 

The rums of the Castle of Artornish are 
situated upon a promontory, on the Morven, 
or mainland side of the Sf)Und of Mull, a 
name given to the deep arm of the sea, which 
divides that island from the continent. The 
situation is wild and romantic in the hishest 
decree, having on the one hand a high and 
preciiiitdus chain of rocks overhanging the 
sea. and on the other the narrow entrance to 
the beautiful sait-water lake, called Loch 
A nine, which is in many places finely fringed 
with copsewood The ruins of Artfirnish are 
not now very considerable, and consist chiefly 
of the remains of an old keep, or tower, with j 
fraiments of outward defences. But. in for- [ 
mer days, it was a place ofereat coiisequeiice, 
heins one of the principal s'mncrlnilils. wliich 
the Lords of the Isles, during the period of 
their stormv indepeuilpLce. possessed upon the 
mainland of Ar^yleshire Hrre they assembled 
what popular trailition calls their parliarnenis, i 
nieanin?. I suppose, their rmtr plenirre. or as-] 
semhly of feudal and patriarchal vassals and 
dependents. From this Castle of ArUirnish. 
noon the 13th day of October, U61. John de 
Yie. desisrning himself F^arl of Ross and f^ord 
of the Isles, ffranted, in the stvle of an inde- 
pendent sovereign, a commission to his trns'y 
and well beloved cousins. Ronald of the Isles, 
and Duncan. Arch-Dean of the Isles, for em- j 
powerin? them to enter in'o a treaty with the | 
most evcellen^ Prince Edward, by the erace 
(if (iod. King of France and Ensland.and Lord 
of Ireland. Edward IV . on his part, named ; 
Laurence, Bishon of Durham, the Earl of i 
Worcester, the Prior of St. John's. Lord Wen-' 
lock, and Mr. Robert Stillinsrton. keeper of the ■ 
privv seal, his deputies and commissioners, to 
confer with those named bv the Lord of the 
Isles. The conference terminated in a treatv, ! 
by which the Lord of the Isles asreed to be- ! 
come a vassal to the crown of F'nffhmd. and 
to assist Edward IV. and James Earl of Don- ; 
glas, then in banishment, in subduing the 
realm of Scotland 

The first article jirovides, that John de Isle, 
Earl of Ross, witli his son Donald Balloch, 
and his grandbon John de Isle, with all their ; 



subjects, men, people, and inhabitants, become 
vassals and liegemen to Edward IV. of Eng- 
land, and assist him in his wars in Scotland or 
Ireland ; and then follow the allowances to he 
made to the Lord of the Isles, in recompen.se 
of his military service, and the provisions for 
dividing such conquests as their tmited arms 
should make upon the mainland of Scotland 
among the confederates These appear sucli 
curious illustrations of the period, that they 
are here subjoined : 

" Item. The seid John Erie of Rosse shall, 
from the seid fest of Whittesoniyde next 
comyng, yerely. duryn? his lyf. have and take, 
for fees and wa?es in tyme (if peas, of the seid 
most hieh and Christien prince c. mnrc sfer- 
lyng of Englysh money ; and in tyme of werre, 
as Ions as he shall en'ende with his mysht 
and power in the seid werres. in manner and 
t'ournie ahoves iid. he shall have wages of co. 
lb. steilyiis: of Enslish monev yearlv; and 
after the mte of the lyme that he shall be oc- 
cupied in the seid werres 

■' Iletn. The seid Donald shall, from the seid 
feste of Whittesontyde. have and take, during 
his lyf. yerly, in tyme of peas, for his fees and 
wa^es. XX I. sferlyng of Enslysh monev ; and. 
when he shall be occupied and intend to the 
werre. with his mysht and power, and in man- 
ner and finirme aboveseid. he shall have and 
take, for his wages yearly, xl. I steilynse of 
Eimlysh money ; or for the rate of the tyme 
of werre 

" Ittm. The seid John, sonn and heire appa- 
rant of the seid Donald, shall have atid take, 
yerely, from the seid fest. for his fees ai d 
wages, in the tyme of peas, x I. sterlynge of 
Englysh money ; and for tyme of werre. and 
his intendyng thereto, in manner and founne 
aboveseid, he shall have, for his fees and 
wages, yearly, xx I. sterlynge of Englysh mo- 
ney ; or after the rate of the tyme that he 
shall be occupied in the werre : And the seid 
John, th' Erie Donald and John, and eche of 
them, shall have good and sufficiaunt palment 
of the seid fees and wages, as wel for tyme of 
peas as of werre. accordyng to thees articules 
and anpoyntenieiits. llftn. It is appointed, ac- 
corded, concluded, and finally determined, 
that, if it so be that hereafter the said reauine 
of Scotlande, or the more part thereof, be coii- 



N. 



^ 



J7^ 

y' 382 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



^ nu 



qiiered.sutulued.aiul bioiiKlit to the obeissauce 
of the seid most hisli and Christ ien pi jiir.e. mid 
his heires, or siiccessoiires. of theseid Lionell, 
in lourine ahoveseid desceridyns. he t he assist- 
ance, helpe. and aide of the seid John Erie of 
Kos.se. and Dona)d, and of Jnnies Erie of Dou- 
phis, then, Ihe seid fees and waf^es for tiie 
lynie of peas ressyiris, tiie same erles and 
Donald shall have, by the Rraunle of the same 
nii«l Christieii prince, all the (lossessions of 
the seid reauine heyonde Scoltishe see. lliey 
to be departed equally belwix them : eche of 
them, his heires and successoiirs. to holde his 
p^rie of the seid most- ("hrisi ien prince, his 
heires and successoiirs, for evermore, in rijjht [ 
of his croune of Kneland, by homage and \ 
feaute to be done therefore. 

•' hem. If so he that, by th' aide and assist- 
ence of the seid James Erie of Douglas, Ihe 
Feid reaume of Scot lands be conquered and 
subdued as above, then he shall have, erijoi'e, 
and inherite all liis own possessions, hindes. 
and inheritaunce, on this syile the iScoiiishe 
see; that is to saye, betwixt the seid Scottisiie 
S(;e atul Enplmiide, such he halh rejoiced and 
be pos.vesse«l of before this; there to holde 
them of the seid most liish and Christieii 
prince, his heires, and si)cces.-<ours, as is ahove- 
seid, for evermore, in right of tlie coroime of 
Knglonde. as weel the seid Erie of Douglas, 
as his heires and successoiirs, by homage and 
feaute to be done therefore. " — Rymer^s Fcedera 
Conventiones Literae el, ciijuscunqut yeneris Ada 
Fiiblica, fol. vol. v., 1741. 

Such was the treaty of Artornish ; but it 
does not appear that the allies ever made any 
very active eliort to realize their ambitious 
designs. It will serve to show both the power 
of these reguii, and ttieir independence ujion 
the crown of Scotland. 

It is only farther necessary to say of the 
Castle of Artornish, that it is almost opposite 
to the Bay of Aros, in the Island of Mull, where 
there was another castle, the occasional resi- 
dence of the Lords of the Isles. 



Note B. 

Rwie Hnskar's seal through surges dark. 
Will long pursue the minstrel' s bark.— V. 346. 
The seal displays a taste for music, which 
could scarcely he expected from his habits 
and local predilections. They will long follow 
a boat in which any musical instrument is 
played, and even a tune simply whisiled has 
attractions for them. The Dean of the Isles 
says of Heiskar, a small uninhabited rock, 
about twelve (Scottish) miles from the isle of 
Uist, that an infinite slaughter of seals takes 
place there. 



Note C. 

a turret's atry head, 

Sli nder and steep, and battled round. 
Overlook' d, dark Midi ! thy mighty Sound. 

F. 317. 
The Sound of Mull, which divides that island 
f-oni Ihe colli ineiit of Scotland, is one of the 
niiyst striking scenes which the Hebrides afford 



to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, 
or Tobermory, through a narrow channel, yet 
deep enough to bear ve.>;sels of :he largest 
burden, he has on his left, the hold and moun- 
tainous shores of Mull ; on the right those of 
that district of Argyleshire, called Morven, or 
Morvern. successively indente<l by deep salt- 
water lochs, running up many miles inland. 
To the south-eastward arise a prodigious rangfe 
of mountains, among which Cruaclian-Ben is 
pre-eminent And to the north-east is the no 
less huge and pictiiresuue range of Ihe Ardiia- 
niurchaii hills. Many ruinous casiles. siiiiaU-d 
generally upon clifls overliangini; ihe ocean, 
add interest lo the scene '1 i.o.'-e of Donoily 
and Dunslaffnage are tir.st pas>ed. ilieii tl,:it of 
Diiait. formerly belonging to Ihe chief of the 
warlike and powerful sept of Macleans, and 
the scene of .Miss Baillie's beatiijful tragedy, 
entitled the Family Legend Still passing on 
to the noithward, Ariornish and Aros becnine 
visible Upon Ihe opposite shores ; and. lastlv, 
Mingairy. and other ruins of less distinumslied 
note. In tine weaiher. a grander and more 
impressive scene, both from its natural beau- 
ties, and associations with ancient history and 
tradition, can hardly he imasiined. V\ he'ii Ihe 
weather is rough, liie passage is both didlcult 
and dangerous, from Ihe narrowness of the 
channel, and in part from Ihe ntimber of in- 
land lakes, out of which sally forth a number 
of conflicting and thwarting tides, making the 
navigation perilous to open boats. The sud- 
den flaws and gusts of wind which issue wiUi- 
out a moment's warning from the mountain 
glens, are equally fornndable. So that in iin- 
seliled weather, a stranger, if not much ac- 
customed to Ihe sea, may sometimes add to 
the other sublime sensations excited by the 
scene, thai feeling ol dignity wliich arises 
Irom a sense of danger. 



Note D. 

— — — . — " these !ieas behold, 

Round twice a hundrrd islands rolVd, 
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, 
'lo the green Hay's Jertile shore." — P. 347. 

The number of the western isles of Scotland 
exceeds two hundred, of which St Kilda is 
the most northerly, anciently called Hirth, or 
Hirt, probably from "earth," being in fact the 
whole globe lo its inhabitants. Hay. which 
now belongs almost entirely to Walter Cam()- 
bell, Esq. of Shawfield, is by far the most fer- 
tile of the Hebrides, and has been greatly 
improved under ihe spirited and sagacious 
management of the present proprietor. This 
was in ancient times the principal abode of 
the Lords of the Isles, being, if not the largest, 
the most important island of their archifielago. 
In Martin's time, some relics of their grandeur 
were yet extant. " Loch-Fmlagan. about three 
miles in circumference, affords salmon, trouts, 
and eels: this lake lies in Ihe centre of the 
isle. The Isle Finlaaan, from which this laka 
halh its name, is in it. It's famous for tieing 
once the court in which the great MacDonald, 
King of the Isles, had Ins residence ; his houses, 
chapel, &c. are now riiiiioiis. His guards de 
corps, called Luchttach, kept guard on llie 



7 



z 



z. 



APPENDTX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



!83 

take Jtiile nearest to the isle;; the walls of hpcii detaclied for Mie purpose by Moiitri 
their houses are still to he seen there. 'I'he TItese particnUirs are hardly worlli nieiitioii- 
hii^li court of juilutature. c(i:isistni^ of four- \\\\z. were they not comieded wiih the iiieuio- 



383 >. 



leeii, sal always here ; auil there was an ap- 
peal to liieni from all the (uiurls in the islers: 
the eleventh share of the sum ni deliate was 
due to the principal jud?e. There was a l)is 
stone of seven foot siiuare. In which there 
was a deep iin|)ression made to receive the 
feet of MacDoiiaUl ; for he was crowned Km? 
of the Isles staiuhn^ in this stone, and swore 
that he would coulinue his vassals in the pos- 
session of their lands, and do exact justice to 
all his subjects : and then his father's sword 
was put into his iiand. The Bishop of Argyle 
and sevtn priests anointed him king, in pre- 
sence of all the heads of the tribes in the 
isles and (lontinent, and were his vassals; at 
which lime the orator rehearsed a catalogue 
of his ancestors," &c. — Martin's Accouul of 
the Westerri Isles, 8vo, London, 1716, p. 210, 1. 



Note E. 

Minonrry strrnly placed. 



rable successes of Monirose. related l>y an 
eyewitness, and hitherto unknown to Scottish 
hislurians. 

Note F. 

The heir of mtghly Somarkd.—?. 344. 

Somerled was thane of Ar?vle and Lord of 
llie Isles, about the middle of the twelfth ceu- 
[ tury. He seem? to have exercised his uiuho- 
! rity in both capacities. inde|>eiideiit of the 
[crown of Scotland, asfainst winch he often 
; stood in hostility. He made various incursions 
I upon the western lowlands durin? the reisii 
I of Malcolm IV.. and seems to have ma'le 
! (mace with him u()on the terms of an indeiien- 
dent prince, almut the year ll.'i?. In W.\. he 
resumed the war asai'nst Malcolm, and in- 
vaded Sco'land with a larse. but [)nibably a 
tumultuary army. coUetaed in the isles, in ihe 
inainland of ArVyieshire. and in Ihe nei^'li- 
bourin? provinces of Ireland lie whs de- 
„, ., ,, , 1 ,u , n oi»r feated and slam in an encasement with a very 

O erawes the woodland arid the waste.-P. .147. j,„-g,.j„^ ^^^.^^^ ^^.^^ Renfrew. His son Gil l.c.o'- 

The Castle of .Mincarry is situated on the ! lane fell in the same tiattle. This misruty 
sea-coast of the district of Ardnamurchan i chieftain married a dauuiiter of Olaiis. Km? 
The ruins, which are tolerably entire, are ! of Man. From him our genealogists deduce 
surrounded by a very hi?h wall, forininc: a i two dynasties. di.Ntm^uislied in the stormy 
kind of polygon, for the purpose of adaptin? j history of the middle a^'es ; the Lords of the 
itself to the projecting ansles of a precipice I L-les descended from his elder son Koimld, — 
overhanging the sea. on which the castle i and the Lords of Lorn, who t(w)k their siniame 
stands. It was anciently the residence of the of .M'Dougal, as descended of his second sou 
Mac-lans, a clan of Mac-Donalds, descended Dougal. That Someiled's lerntories upon tli« 
from Ian, or John, a srandson of Ansus Os, mainland, and upon the islands, shouid have 
Lord of the Isles. The last time that Min- been thus divided between his two mhis, in- 
parry was of military importance, occurs in stead of passing to the elder exclusively, may 
the celebrated Leabhar dearg. or Red-book of illustraie the uncertainty of descent among 
Clanronaid. a MS. renowned in the Ossiamc ; the great Highland families, wiiich we sliail 
oiiiroversy. Allaster Mac-Donald, commonly | presently notice. 
Called Colguitto. who commanded the Irisli 
auxiliaries, sent over by the L'arl of Antrim 
during the great civil war to the assistance of 
Montrose, began his enterprise m 1614. by 
taking the castles of Kinlocli-Alline and .Min- 
garry, the last of wtiicli made considerable 
resistance, as might, from the slren:<th of the 
sitiialion. be expected. In the meanwhile. 
A Master Mac- Donald's ships. which had brousJit 
linn over, were attacked in Loch Eisnrd, in 
Skye. t»y an armament sent round by the cove- 
naiiLing parliament, and his own ves.sel was 
taken. Tins circumsiance is said chiefly to 
have induced him to continue in Scotland, 
where there seemed little prospect of raising 
an army in behalf of the King He had no 
sooner moved eastward to join Montnjse, a 
junciion which he etfected in the braes of 
Atliole. than the Marquis of Argyle besieged 
the castle of Min^arry, hut without success. 
Among other warriors and chiefs whom Argyle 
suminoned to his camp to assist upon this oc- 
casion, was John of Moidart, the Captain of 
Clanronaid. Chmronald appeared; but, far 



Note G. 

Lord of the Isles— P. 347. 
The representative of this independent prin- 
cipality, for such it seems to have been, though 
acknowledging occasionally the pre-eminence 
of the Scottish crown, was, at trie jjeriod of 
the poem. Angus, called Angus Og; but the 
name lias betiii. euphowcE gratia. excUaused for 
that of Konald. whicli frequently occurs in ihe 
genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert 
Bruce, whom he received at his Castle of Duii- 
naVerty. during ihe time of his greatest dis- 
tress. As I shall be equally liable to censure 
f.tr ailempiing to decide a <-ontroversy wincli 
I has long e.xisted between three distinguished 
chieftains of this family, who have long dis- 
puted the repieseritatioii of the Lord of the 
isles, or for leaving a question of such import- 
ance altogether untouched. J cho()Se. in the 
first place, to g.ve such information as I have 
been able to derive from Highland genealo- 
froni yielding ettectual assistance to Argyle, i gists, and which, for those who have patience 



he tbok the opportunity of being in arms to 
lay waste the district of Sunarl, then belong- 
ing to the adherents nf Argyle, and sent part 
r>f the spoil to relieve the Castle of .Mingarry. 
I'hiis theca.stle was maintained until relieved 
by Allaster Mac- Donald (ColquiHoJ, who had 



to invesiigale such sutjects. reaby conl; 
some curious mronnation concerning the 
tory of Ihe Isles In the second place. I s 
offer a few remarks upon the rules of suci 
sion at that period, wiihoui pretending lo d 
cide their bearing upon the questim at iss 



V 




^ 884 



V 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



wliicli must ileiienil upon eviJeiine wliich I 
have tiad no opportunity to examine 

"Ansus Og." says an ancient nianiisoript 
translated from the Gaehc, "son of Angus 
Mor, son of Donal.l, son of Ronald. sonOf 
Sonierleil, high chief and superior Lord of In- 
ni.-gall, (for liie Isles of the U.iel, the general 
name given to the Hebrides.) he married a 
daughter of Cunhui, namely, ('ailian; she was 
mother to John, son of Angus, and witti her 
came an unusual portion from Ireland, viz 
twenty-four clans, of whom twenty-four fami- 
lies \\\ Scotland are descended Angus had 
aiw)ther son. namely, young John Fraocli, 
whose descendants are called Clant^an of 
Glencoe, and the iM'Donalds of Fraoch. 'I'liis 
Angus Og died m Isia, where his body was 
interred. Hi*i .son John succeeded to the in- 
heriiance of Innisgall. He liad good descend- 
ants, namely, three sons procreate of Ann. 
daughter of Kodric, high chief of Lorn, and 
one daughter, Mary, m;irried to John .Maclean, 
Laird of Duart, and Lauchlan, his brother. 
Laird of Col! ; she was interred in the church 
of the Black Nuns. The eldest sons of Jolin 

were Roiuild. Godfrey, and Angus 

He gave Hoiiald a great inheritance. These 
were Ihe lands which he gave him. viz. from 
Kilcumin in Abertarf to the river Sell, and 
from thence to Beilli. north of Kig and Kum, 
and the two Uists. and from thence to the foot 
of the river Glaichan, and threescore long 
ships, .lohn married afterwards Margaret 
Stewart, daughter to Robert Stewart. King of 
Scotlanil. called John Fernyear; she bore him 
three good sons, Donald of the Isles, the heir. 
John Llie Taimster, {i. e. Thane,) the second 
son, and Ale.xander Carrach. John had an- 
other Mill called Marcus, of whom the clan 
Macdonald of Ciioc. in Tirowen, are descend- 
ed. This John lived long, and made donaliims 
to Icoluinkill; he covered the chapel of Eor- 
say-b;ian. the chapel of Fmlagam. and the 
chapel of the Isle of Tsuibhne, and gave the 
proper furniture for the service of God, up- 
holding the clergy and monks; he built or 
repaired the church of the Holy Cross imme- 
diaielv iiefore his death. He died at his own 
castle of Ardtorinish, many priests and monks 
took the sacrament at his funeral, and they 
embalmed the body of this dear man. and 
brought it to Icolumkill; the abbot, monks, 
and vicar, came as they ought to meet the 
King of Fiongal,' and out of great res|)ect to 
Ills memory mourned eight days and nights 
over It, and laid it m the same grave with his 
father, in the church of Oran, 1380. 

" Ronald, son of John, was chief ruler of 
Ihe Isles in his father's lifetime, and was old 
ill the government at his father's death. 

•' He assembled the gentry of the Isles, 
brought the sceptre from Kildonan in Eig, 
and delivered it to his brother Donald, who 
was thereupon called M'Donald, and Donald 
Lord of the Isles. 2 contrary to the opinion of 
the men of the Isles 

" Ronald, son of John, son of Angus Og, w,is 
a great supporter of the ctiurch and clergy; 
his descendants are called Clanivmald. He 
gave the lands of Tiruiiia, in Uist, to the 
minister of it for ever, for the honour of God 
and Columkill; he was proprietor of all the 



lands of the north along the Coast and the 
isles; he died in the year of Christ 1386. in 
his own mansion of Csisile Tirim, leaving five 
children, Donald of the Isles, son of John, 
son of Angus Og, the brother of Ronald, look 
possession of Inisgall by the consent of his 
brother and the gentry thereof; they were all 
oliedient to him : he married Mary Lesley, 
daughter to the Earl of Ross, and bv her came 
the Earldom of Ross to the Macdonalds. 
After his succession to that earldom, he was 
called M'Dcmald, Lord of the Isles and Earl 
of Koss. There are many things written of 
him in other places. 

"He fought the battle of Garioch, ((. f. Har- 
law) against; Duke Murdoch, the governor, the 
Earl of Mar commanded the army, in sup|)ort 
of his claim to the earldom of Ko>s, wliich 
was ceded to him by King James the First, 
after his release from the King of England; 
and Duke Muidoch, his two sons and retainers, 
were beheaded : he gave lands in MuU and 
Isla to the minister of Hi, and every privilege 
which the minister of lona had formerly, be- 
sides vessels of gold and silver to Columkill 
for the monastery, and became himself one of 
the fraterniiy. He left issue, a lawful heir to 
Innisgall and Ross, namely. Alexander, the 
son of Donald : he died in Isla. and his body 
was interred in the south side of the temple 
of Oran. Alexander, called John of the Isles, 
son of Alexander of the Isles, son of Donald 
of the Isles. Angus, the tliird son of John, 
son of Angus Og, married the daughter of 
John, the son of Allan, which connexion 
caused some disagreement betwixt the two 
families about their marches iMid division of 
lands, the one party adhering to Angus, and 
the other to John: the differences increased 
so much that John obtained from Allan all the 
lands betwixt Ahhnn Fahda, (i. e. the long 
river) and old na siotmach, {i. e. the fox-burn 
brook,) in the upper part of Cantyre. Allan 
went to the king to complain of Ins son-in- 
law ; in a short time I hereafter, there happen- 
ed to be a great meeliiig about this young 
Angus's lands to the north of Inverne.ss, 
where he was murdered by his own harper 
Mac-Cairbre. by cutting his ihroat with a long 
knife. He 3 lived a year thereafter, and many 
of those concerned were delivered up lo the 
king. Angus's wife was pregnant at the time 
of his murder, and she bore him a son who 
was named Donald, and called Donald Du. 
He was kept in (Hinhnement until he was 
ihirly years of age, when he was released by 
the men of Glenco, by the strong hand Afier 
this enlargement, he came lo the Isles, and 
convened the gentry thereof. There happen- 
ed great (mds betwivL these families while 
Donald Duvvas m coniinement, insomuch that 
Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan desiroyed the 
greatest part of the posterily of John Mor of 
the Isles and Canlvre. For John Caihanach, 
son of John, .son of Donald ISalloch. son of 
John Mor. son of John, son of Angus Og. (the 
chief of the de.sceiidanis of John .Mor.) ami- 
John .Mor. son of John Caihanach, ami young 
John, son of John Cathaiiach, ami young 
Donald Ualloch. son of John (Jaih;tna(!h[ were 
treacherously taken by .Mar-Ceaii in the i>laMd 
of Finlagan. in Isla, and car/ied to Edinburgli, 



y- 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



^5 ^^ 



where he got thf-m h:inseil at the Biim>w- 
niuir. and their bodies were Imried in the 
Church of St. Anthony, ml led the New 
Church. There were none left alive at that 
time of the r.hildien uf John ("athauiich. ex- 
cept Alexani'er. the son of John Catharnich. 
an I Ajjnes Flarh, who conneale*! themselves 
in the slens of Irebind. Mac-Cean, hearins 
of tlieir hidins-places. went to out down the 
woods of these glens, in order to des roy Alex- 
ander, and extirpate the whole race. At 
length Mar. Cean and Aleximler met. were 
reconciled, and a marriage alliance took place ; 
Al X, Older married Mar Cem's dausiiiei', and 
s .e hrousht him sood children. The Mac- 
DonaMs of the north had also descendaiit.s ; 
for, after the death of Jolin, Lord of the Isles. 
Earl of Ross, and the niurder of Angus, Alex- 
ander, the Son iif Archibald, the son of Alex- 
ander of the Isles, took possession, and John 
Wis in possession of the e irldotn of Ross, and 
the nonh Imiderin? country; he married a 
daughter of the Earl of Moray, of 'vhoin some 
nf I lie men of tlie north had descended. The 
Mac-Kenzies rose against Alexander, and 
f .light the battle calle 1 Blar nn Faire. Alex- 
ander had onlv a few of the men of Ross at 
the battle. He went after that battle to take 
possession of the Isles, and sailed m a ship to 
the south to see if he could find any of the 
posterity of John Mor alive, to rise along with 
bun ; biit Mac-Cean of Ardnaniurchaa watch- 
ed him as he sailed past, followed him to 
Oraiisay and Colonsay. went to the house 
wtiere he was, and he and Alexander, son of 
John Cathanach, murdered him iheie. 

"A good while after these things fell out, 
Donald Galda, son of Alexander, son of Archi- 
bald, became major; he, with the advice and 
direction of the Earl of Moray, came to the 
Isles, and MacLeod of the Lewis, and many 
of the gentry of the Isles, rose with him : they 
went by the promontory of Ardnamurchan, 
where they met Alexander, the son of John 
Caranach, were reconciled to him. he joined 
Ins men wi:h theirs against Mac-Cean of Ard- 
namuichan. came upon him at a place called 
the Silver Craig, where he and his three sons, 
and a great number of his people, were killed, 
and Donald Galda was immedia'ely declared 
Mac-Donald : And, after the atfair'of Ardna- 
murchan, all the men of the Isles yielded to 
him, but he did not live above seven or eight 
weeks after it; he died at Carnaborg, in Mull, 
without issue. He had three sisters' daughters 
of Alexander, son of Arciiitiald, who were 
portioned in the north upon the continent, but 
the earldom of Koss was kept for them. 
Alexander, the son of ArcliibaUI. had a natu- 
ral son. called John Cam, of whom is de- 
.scended Achnacoich.in, in Rumoeh. and Do- 
nald Gorm, son of Ronald, son of Alexander 
Duson, of John Cam. Donald Du, S(m of 
Angus, son of John of the Isles, son of Alex- 
ander of the Isles, son of Donald of the Isles, 
Son of John of the Isies, son of Angus Og, 
namely, the true heir of the Isles and Ross, 
came af^er his release from captivity to the 
Isles, and convened the men thereof, and he 
and the Earl of Lennox agreed to raise a great 
army for the purpose of taking possession', and 
a ship came from England with a supply of 
money to carry on the war, which landed at 
Mull, and the money was given to Mac-Lean 

33 ; 



of Duart to be disHibuied among the com- 
mander» of the army, which ihey not receiving 
ill protiortion as it should have been disinlmted 
among them, caused the army to disperse, 
which, vvhen the fcJarl of Lennox heard, he 
disbanded his own men, and made it up with 
the king. .Mac-Donald went to Ireland to 
raise men. but he died on his way to Dublin, 
at Drogheda, of a fever, without issue of either 
sons or daughters " 

In this history may he traced, though the 
Bard, or Seannachie. touches such a delicate 
discussion with a gentle hand, the point of 
difference between the three principal septs 
descended from the Lords of llie Isles. The 
first question, and one of no easy solution, 
where so little evidence is produced, respec's 
the nature of the connexion of John, called 
by the Archdean of the Isles "the Good John 
of Ua," and "the last Lord of the Isles," with 
Anne, daughter of Roderick Mac-Dougal, 
high-chief of Lorn. In the ab.sence of posi- 
tive evidence, presumptive must be resorted 
to, and 1 own it appears to render it in the 
highest degree improbable that this connexion 
was otherwise than legitimate. In the wars 
between David II and Edward Baliol. John 
of the Isles espoused the Baliol interest, to 
which he was probably determined by his al- 
liance with Roderick of Lorn, who was, from 
every family predilection, friendly to Baliol 
and hostile to Bruce It seems absurd to 
suppose, that between two chiefs of the same 
descent, and nearly equal power and rank, 
(though the Mac-Dougals had been much 
crushed by Robert Bruce,) such a connexion 
should have been that of concubinage ; and 
it appears more likely that the tempting offer 
of an alliance with the Bruce family, when 
they had obtained the decided superiority iu 
.Scotland, induced "the Good John of lla"to 
disinherit, to a certain extent, his eldest son 
Ronald, who came of a stock so unpopular as 
the Mac Dougals. and to call to his succession 
his younger family, born of Margaret Stewart, 
daughter of Robert, afterwards King of Scot- 
land. The setting aside of this elder branch 
of his family was most probably a condition 
of his new alliance, and his being received 
into favour with the dynasty he had always 
opposed. Nor were the laws of suct:essiou at 
this early period so clearly understood jis to 
bar such transactions. The numerous and 
strange claims set up to the crown of Scotland, 
when vacant by the death of Alexander III., 
make it manifest how very little the indefea- 
sible hereiliiary right of primogeniture was 
valued at that period. In fact, the title of the 
Bruces ihemselves to the crown, though justly 
the most popular, when assumed with the de- 
termination of asserting the independence of 
Scotland, was. upon pure principle, greatly 
inferior to that of Baliol. For Bruce, the 
competitor, claimed Jis son of Isabella, seco/w! 
daughter of David, Earl of Huntingdon; and 
John Baliol, as grandson of Margaret, the 
elder daughter of that same earl. So that the 
plea of Bruce was founded upon the very loose 
idea, that as the great-grandson of David 1 , 
King of Scotland, and the nearest collateral 
rela'ion of Alexander III., he was entitled to 
sucx;eed in exclusion of the great-great-grand- 
son of the same David, though by an elder 
daughter. Tlus maxim savoured of the 



T 



7 



386 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 




cient practice of ScDtland, which often called 
a bi other to succeed to tlie crown as nearer 
ill blood than a srand-child, or even a son of a 
deceased monarch. But, in IruUi.the maxims 
of inheritance in Scotland were sometimes 
departed from at periods when they were 
much more distinctly understood. Such a 
transposition took place in the family of Ha- 
milton, in 1513. wiien the descendants of 
James, third Lord, by Lady Janet Home, were 
set aside, with an apiiaiiage of great value in- 
deed, ill order to call to the succession those 
which he had by a subsequent marriage with 
Janet Beatoun. In short, many other exam- 
ples might be quoted to show that the question 
of lepiiiniacy is not always determined by the 
fact of succession ; and there seems reascm to 
believe, that Ronald, descendant of '•John of 
IJH," liy Anne of Lorn, was legitimate, and 
therefore Lord of the Isles de jure, though de 
Jucto his younger half-brother Donald, son of 
his father's second marriage with the Princess 
of Scotland, superseded hiin in his right, and 
apparently by his own consent. From this 
Donald so preferred is descended the family 
of Sleat, now Lords Mac-Donald. On the 
other hand, from Koiiald, the excluded heir, 
U[ioii whom a very large appanage was settled, 
descended the chiefs of Glengary and Clanro- 
nald, each of whom had large possessions and 
a numerous vassalage, and boasted a long de- 
scent of warlike ancestry. 'I'heir common 
ancestor Ronald was murdered by the Earl of 
Ross, at the Monastery of Elcho, A. D. 1346 
1 believe it has been subject of tierce dispute, 
whether Donald, who carried on the line of 
Glengary, or Allan of Moidart, the ancestor of 
the captains of Clanronald, was the eldest son 
of Ronald, the son of John of Isla. A humble 
Lowlander may be permitted to waive the 
discussion, since a Sennachie of no small note, 
who wro'e in the sixteenth century, expresses 
himself upon this delicate topic in the follow- 
ing words : — 

" 1 have now given you an account of every 
thing you can expect of the descendants of 
the clan Colla, (?. e. the MacDonalds.) to the 
death of Donald Du at Drogheda. namely, the 
irue hue of those who possessed the Isles, 
Ross, and the mountainous countries of Scot- 
land. It was Donald, the son of Angus, that 
was killed at Inverness, (by his own harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre,) son of John of the Isles, son 
of Alexander, son of Donald, son of John, son 
of Angus Og. And I know not which of his 
kindred or relations is the true heir, except 
these five sons of John, the son of Angus Og, 
whom 1 here set down for you, namely, Ro- 
nald and Godfrey, tlie two sons of the daugh- 
ter of Mac-Donald of Lorn, and Donald and 
John Mor, and Alexander Carrach, the three 
sons of Maigaret Stewart, daugliter of R(jbert 
Stewart, King of Scotland." — LcaOhar Dearg. 



Note H. 

The House of Urn.—V. 347. 

The House of Lorn, as we observed in a 
former note, was, like the Lord of the Isles, 
descended from a son of Somerled. slain at 
J\eiifrew, in 1164. I'his son obtained the suc- 
cession of his mainland territories, coin|ire- 
heiidmg the greater part of the three districts 



of Lorn, m Argyleshire. and of course might 
rather be considered as petty princes than 
feudal barons. They assumed the patronymio 
appellaiioii of Mac-Dougal, liy which they are 
distinguished in the history of the middle 
ages. '1 he Lord of Lorn, who flourished dur- 
ing the wars of Bruce, was Allasier (or Alex- 
ander) Mac-Dougal, called Allaster of Argvle. 
He had married the third daiigliier of Ji'ihn, 
called the Red Comyn,i who was slam by 
Bruce in the Dominican Church at DumlriHS, 
and hence he was a mortal enemy of that 
prince, and more than once reduced him to 
great straits during the early and disiiesscd 
period of his reign, as we shall liave repealed 
occasion to notice Bruce, when he began to 
obtain an ascendency in Scotland, took I he 
first opportunity in his power to requite these 
injuries. He marched into Argyleslitre to lay 
waste the country. John of Lorn, son of the 
chieftain, was posted with his followers in 
the formidable- pass between Da.mally and 
Bunawe. It is a narrow path along the verge i 
of the huge and precipitous moinitaiii. called 
Cruachan-Ben, and guarded on tlie other side 
by a precipice overhanging Lorli Awe The 
pass seems to the eye of a soldier as strong, 
as it IS wild and romantic to ihat of an ordi- 
nary traveller. But the skill ot Bruce had 
anticipated this difficulty. V\'hile his mam 
body, engaged in a skirmish with the men of 
Lorn, detained their attention to the front (»f 
their position, James of Douglas, with Sir 
Alexander Fraser, Sir William VXiseman, and 
Sir Andrew Grey, ascended the mountain with 
a select body of archery, and obtained posses- 
sion of the' heights which commanded the 
p;iss. A volley of arrows descending upon 
them directly warned the Argyleshire men of 
their perilous situation, and their resistance, 
which had hitherto been bold and manly, wa.'i 
changed into a precipitate flight. The deep 
and rapid river of Awe was then (we learn 
the fact from Barbour with some surprise) 
crossed by a bridge. This bridge the mouii- 
ta neers attempted to demolish, but Bruce's 
followers were too close upon their rear ; they 
were, therefore, without refuge and defence, 
and were dispersed with great slaughter. John 
of Lorn, suspicious of the event, had early be- 
taken himself to the galleys which he had 
upon the lake ; but the feelings which Barbour 
assigns to him, while witne.ssing the rout and 
slaughter of his followers, exculpate bim from 
the charge of cowardice. 

" To Jhone off Lome it suld displese 
1 trow, guhen he Ins men myclit se, 
Owte of!' his schippis fra the se, 
Be slayne and chassyt in the hill. . 
That he niycht set na help thar till. 
Bot It angrys als gretumly. 
To gud hartis that ar woithi, 
To se thar fayis lulfiU thair will 
As to ihaini seltf to thole the ill." 

B. vii., V. 394. 



1 The aunt, according to Lord Hailes. But the genealogy 
i distinctly given by Wyutoun :— 

" The thiyd donchtyr of Red Cwmyn, 
Alysawndyr of Argayle syne 
Tuk, a;id weddyt til hya wyf. 
And on hyr tie gat in-til hys lyfe 
Jhon of Lome, the quhilk gat 
Kwyn of Lome eftyr that." 
Vfyntuun's Chronicle, Book viii. Chaji. vi. line XlC 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



After this decisive ens:isement. Brnre laid 
waste Afij.vlesliue, and hesieRed DiiiistaffiiaRe 
Ciistle, (in the wesierii shore of Lorn, com- 
pelled it to sui render, and placed in that prin- 
cipal stronghold of the MacDougais a gtirnson 
and governor of his own. 'I'lie eider .Mac- 
Roiigal, now wearied with the rontesl. snh- 
iniited to the victor ; but his son, " rehellioiis," 
says Barbour, " as he wont to be." fled to Eng- 
land hy sea. When the wars he ween the 
Bi lice and Baliol factions a^ain broke out in 
the reign of David II . the Lords of Lorn were 
again found Uiion the losing side, owing to 
tht'ir hereditary enmity lo the house ofBuce. 
Accordingly, npim the issue of that contest, 
they were deprived by David IL and his suc- 
cessor of by far the greater (lart of their ex- 
tensive tern'ories, winch were conferred 'JP"n 
Stewart, called the Knight of Lorn. The 
iionse of .Mac Donga I coniiniied. however, to 
survive the loss of power, and affords a very 
rare, if not a unique, instanc^e of a family of 
such Uiiliniiied power, and so distinguis'hed 
during the middle ages, surviving the decay 
of tlieir grandeur, and flourishing in a private 
siation The Castle of Duiiolly, near Oban, 
witii its dependencies, was the principal part 
of what remained to them, with their right of 
chieftainship over the families ot their name 
and blond. These they continued to enjoy 
until ihe year 17l.i, when the representative 
incurred the penalty of forfeiture, for his ac- 
cession to the instirrection of that period; 
thus losing the remains of his inheritance, to 
replace upon the throne the descendants of 
those princes, whose accession his ancestors 
had <ipi)osed at the expense of their feudal 
grandeur. 'I'he estate was, however, restored 
about 1745. to the father of the present pro- 
prieior, whom family experience had taught 
the hazard of interfering witli the established 
government, and who remained quiet upon 
that occasion. He therefore regained his pro- 
perty when many Highland chiefs lost theirs. 

Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than 
the situation of Dunolly. The ruins are situ- 
ated upon a bold and precipitous promontory, 
overhanging Loch Etive. and distant about a 
mile from the village and port of Oban The 
principal part which remains is the donjon or 
keep; but fragments of other buildings, over- 
grown with ivy, attest that it had been once a 
place of importance, as large apparently a.s 
Artornish or Dunstafthage. These fragments 
enclose a courtyard, of which the keep pro- 
bably formed one side : the entrance being by 
a steep ascent from the neck of the isthmus, 
formerly cut across by a moat, and defended 
doubtle.ss by outworks and a drawb idge. Be- 
neath the castle stands the present mansion 
of the family, having on the one hand Loch 
Eiive, with Its islands and mountains, on the 
other two romantic eminences tutted with 
Ciipsewood. There are other acconipaninients 
suited to the scene ; in particular, a huge up- 
right pillar, or deiaclied fragment of that sort 
of rocK Called pluni-pudding stone, upon the 
shore, about a quarter of a mile from the 
castle. It is called Clach-na-cau. or the Dog's 
Pillar, because Fingal is said to have used it 
as a stake to which ne bound his celebrated 
dog Bran. Others say, that when the Lord 
of the Isles came upon a visit to the Lord of 
Lorn, the dogs brought for his sport were kept 



beside this pillar. Upon the whole, a more 
delightful and romantic spot can scarce be 
Conceived; iitid it receives a moral inteiest 
from the considerations attached to tlie resi- 
dence of a family once powerful enough to 
coiilroiit and defeat Robert Bruce, and now 
sunk into the shade of private life. It is at 
present possessed by I'atrick Mac-Dougal, 
Esq.. the lineal and undisputed representative 
of the ancient Lords of Lorn. The heir of 
Dunolly fell lately in .Spain, fighting under the 
Duke of \\ ellington,— a death well becoming 
his ancestry. 



Note I. 

Awaked before the rushing prow. 
The mimic fires of ocean ijlow, 

Those U(jhlnin<js of the wave. — P. 349. 
The phenomenon called by sailors Sea fire, 
is one of the most beautit'ui and interesting 
which is witnessed in the Hebrides. At times 
the ocean appears entirely illiiimnated around 
the vessel, and a long train of lambent ci>rus- 
cationsare perpetually bursting upon the sides 
of the vessel, or pursuing her wake through 
the darkness. These phosphoric appear.inces, 
concerning the origin of which naturalists are 
not agreed in opinion, seem to be called into 
action by the rapid motion of the ship through 
the water, and are probably owing to the 
water being saturated with fish-spawn, or 
other animal substances. They remind one 
strongly of the description of the sea-snake-s 
in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical 
ballad of the Ancient Mariner :— 

" Beyond the shadow of the ship 
1 watch'd the water snakes. 
They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they rear d, the elvish light 
Fell oft' in hoary flakes." 



Note K. 

The dark fortress -p. 349. 

The fortress of a Hebndean chief was al- 
most always on the sea-shore, for the facility 
of communication which the ocean afforded. 
.Nothing can be more wild than the situations 
which they chose, and the devices by which 
the architects endeavouied to defend Ihem. 
Narrow stairs and arched vaults were the 
usual mode of access; and the drawbridge 
appears at Dunsiatinage. and elsewhere, to 
have fallen from the gate of the building to 
the top of such a staircase; so that any one 
advancing with hostile purpose, found" him- 
self in a state of exposed and precarious ele- 
vation, wuh a gulf between him and the 
otiject of his attack. 

These fortresses were guarded with equal 
care. T'he duty of the watch devolved ciuefly 
upon an oflScer called the Cocknian. who had 
tlie charge of challenging all who approached 
the castle. The very ancient family of Mac- 
Niel of Barra kept this attendant at their 
castle about a hundred years ago. .Martin 
gives the following account of the diflSculty 
which attended his procuring entrance there : 
— " The little island Kisinul lies about a quar- 




^ 



^ R88 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



ter of a mile fmm the soiitli of this isle 
(Baria) ; it is the seat of Murkneil of Barra ; 
liiere is a stone wall iouikI it two stories hish, 
leHChiiiff the sea; and within the wall tliere 
is an old tower aud an hall, with other houses 
Hbo\it it. There is a little niai^azine in the 
lower, to which no stranger has arcess 1 
saw the officer called the Cockmnn. and an 
old cock he is; when I bid him ferry me over 
the water to the island, he lold trie that he 
was but an inferior officer, his business being 
to attend in the tower; but if (says he) the 
constable, who then stood on the wall, will 
give you access, I'll ferry you over. I desired 
him to procure me the constable's permission, 
and I would reward him; but haviiiR waited 
Slime hours for the Constalile's answer, and 
tiot receivmif any, 1 was ol)li^ed to return 
without seeins this famous fort. Macknell and 
his lady beins absent, was the cause of this 
difficulty, and of my not seeing the place, I 
was told some weeks after, that the constable 
was Very apprehensive of some design I mipht 
have in viewins the fort, and thereby to ex- 
pose it to the conquest of a foreiKii power; 
of which I supposed there was no great cause 
of fear." 



Note L. 

Thai keen knight, De Argentine.—?. 350. 
S.r Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one 
of the most accomplished knights of the pe- 
riod. He had served in the wars of Henry of 
Luxemburg with such high reputation. I hat he 
was. in popular estimation, the third worthy 
of the age. Those to whom fame assigned 
iiiecedence over him were, Henry of Luxem- 
bura: himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine 
iiad warred in Palestine, encountered thrice 
with the Saracens, and had slain two antago- 
nists in each engagement : — an easy matter, 
he said, for one Christian knight to slay two 
Pagan dogs. His death corresponded with his 
high character. With Aymer de Valance, Earl 
of Pembroke, he was appointed to attend im- 
mediately upon the person of Edward II at 
Baiinockburn When the d:iy was utterly lost 
they forced the king from the field. De Ar- 
gentine saw the king safe from immediate 
danger, and then took his leave of him;— 
*-G(id be with you, sir." he said, "it is not my 
wont to fly " So saying, he turned his horse, 
cried his war-cry, plunged into the midst of 
the combatants, and was slain Baston. a 
rhyming monk who had been brought by Ed- 
ward to celebrate his expected triumph, and 
who was compelled by the victors to compose 
a i)(iem on his defeat, mentions with some 
feeling the death of Sir Giles de Argentine : 

Nobilis Argmlum. pugil. inclytr, dulris Egidi, 
Vix sderam menttm cum Ic succumbere vidi. 

"The first line mentions the three chief re- 
quisites of a true knight, noble birth, valour, 
and courteousness Few Leonine couplets can 
be produced that have so much sentiment 
I wish tiiat I could have collected more ample 
memorials concerning a cliaracter altogether 
difl'erent from modem manners. Sir Giles 
d'Arsentine was a hero of romance in real 
hfe." So observes the excellent Lord Hailes. 



Note M. 

" Fill mp. Ihp miphly cup /" hp snid, 

" Ersl own'd by royal Someiltd "—P. 351. 

A Hebridean drinking CU[). of the most an- 
cient and curious workmanship, has been lon^ 
preserved in ttie castle of Dunvegan. in Skye, 
the romantic seat of Mac-Leod of MacLeod, 
the chief of that ancient and powerful clan. 
The horn of Rorie More, preserved in the same 
family, and recorded l>y Dr. Johnson, is not to 
be compared with this piece of aniiquity. 
which is one of the greatest curiosiiies in 
Scotland. The following is a pretty accurate 
description of its .^hape and dimensions, but 
cannot, I fear, be perfectly understood without 
a drawing 

This very curious piece of antiquity is nine 
inches and' three-quarters in inside depth, and 
ten and a half in height on the outside, the 
extreme measure over the lips being four 
inches and a half The cup is divided imo 
two parts by a wrought ledge, beautifully 
ornamented, about three-fourihs of an inch ill 
breadth. Beneath this ledge the shape of the 
cup is rounded off, and terminates in a flat 
circle, like that of a tea-cup; four short feet 
support the whole. Above the projecting 
ledge the shape of the cup is nearly square, 
projecting outward at the brim. The cup is 
made of wood, (o;ik to all appearance.) but 
most curiously wrought and embossed with 
silver work, which projects from the vessel. 
There are a number of regular projecting 
sockets, which appear to have been set with 
stones ; two or three of them still hold pieces 
of coral, the rest are empty. At the four 
Corners of the projecting ledge, or cornice, are 
four sockets, much larger, probiibly for peb- 
bles or precious sttmes. The workmanship of 
the silver is exiremelyelegaiit. and appears to 
have been highly gilded. The ledge, brim, 
and legs of the Clip, are of silver. I'lie family 
tradition bears that it was the pioneriy of 
Neil Ghlune dim, or Black-knee. But who 
tins Neil was. no one pretends to say. Around 
the edge of the cup is a legend, perfectly legi- 
ble, in the Saxon black-letter, which seems t(» 
run thus: 

Ufo : JoHis : Mich : H Mgn : Pncipis : De : p 
IIr : Man.\e : Vich : || Liahia : Mgrtneil : |j 
Et : Spat : Do : Ihu : Da : |i Clea : Ilpra 
Ipa : II Fecit : Ano : Di : Ix : 93o Onli 
Dime : 1| 

The inscription may run thus at length : Ufo 
Johnnis Mich Mngni Principis de Hr Mnnae 
Vich Liahia Magryneil et sperat Donnno Ihfsu 
dari clemenlinm ilLnrum opera Fecit Anno 
Domini 993 Onili Oimi. Which may run in 
English : Ufo, the son of .lolin. the son of 
Magnus, Prince of Man. the grandson of Liahia 
Macgryneil, trusts in the Lord Jesus that their 
works (i. €. his own and those of his ance.s- 
tois) will obtain mercy. Oneil Oimi made 
this m the year of God nine hundred and 
ninety-three. 

But this version does not include the 
puzzling letters hr before the word Manae. 
Within the mouth of the cup the letters .ThS. 
(Jesus) are repeated four times. From this 
and other circumstances it would seem to 
have been a chalice. This circumstance may 



y 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



perhaps account for tiie use of the two 
Afiibio numerals 93. 'I'liese tisfures were iri- 
trodticei] bv P.ipe Sylvester, A. [). 991, anil 
mifflit be used iu a vt'ssel fornieii for cliurcb 
service so earlv as 99J Tlie workmanship 
of tlie whole cup is extremely eiefcaiil, and 
resembles. I am told, an'iques of ihe same 
nature preserved in Ireland. 

The cups, thus elepuitly t'ormcd.and hishlv 
valued, were by no mesMis utensils of mere 
show. Martin |?ives the followms account of 
the festivals of his time, and I have heard 
similar instances of brutality m the Lowlands 
at mi very distant period. 

"The manner of drinkin? used by the cliief 
men of the Isles is called in their lansuasre 
Streah, I e. a Round; for the company sat in 
a circle, the cup-bearer till'd the drink round 
to them, and all was drank out, whatever the 
licjuor was, whether strong or weak; they 
continued drinkini; someliines twenty-four, 
sometimes forty-ei^lit hours: It was reckoned 
a piece of manhood to drink until they be- 
came drunk, and there were two men with a 
barrow atiendina: punctually on such occa- 
sions. They stood at the door until some 
became drunk, and they carry'd them upon 
the barrow to bed. and returned asain to their 
post as ion? as any continued fresh, and so 
carried ottthe whole company, one by one, as 
they l)eci:me drunk. Several of my acquaint- 
ance have been witnesses to this custom of 
driiikmtf, but it is now abolished " 

This savase custom was not entirely dime 
away within this last eeneration 1 have 
heard of a Ken'leman who haopened to be a 
water-drinker, and was permitted to abstain 
from the strona pntations of ihe company 
The hearers carried away one man after 
another, till no one was left but this Scottish 
Mirglip. They then came to do him the s;inie 
Rood office, which, however, he declined as 
unnecessary, and proposed to walk to his hed- 
roiim. It was a permission he could not 
obtain. Never such a thing; had happened, 
ttiey said, in Ihe castle ! that it was imposs.b e 
hut he must require their assistance ; at any 
rate he must submit to receive it; and carried 
him off in the barrow accordinerly. A classical 
penalty was sometimes imposed on th"Se who 
balked the rules of ^ood fellowship by evadma 
their share of the banquet. I'he same author 
Continues:— 

" Anions persons ofdistinction it was reckon- 
ed an affront put upon anv company to broach 
a piece of wine, ale, or aquavitie. and not to 
see It all drank out at one meeiina. If any 
man chance to po out from ttie companv 
though but for a few minutes, he is oblnjed, 
U|K>n his return, and before he take his seat, 
to make an apoloay for his absence in rliyme ; 
which if he cannot perform, he is liable to 
such a siiare of tlie reckonni!? as the company 
thinks tit to impose : which cu-tom obtains iii 
many places siill. and is called Bianchiz Bard, 
which, in their languase. signifies the poet's 
congratulating the company." 

Few cups were belter, at least more active- 
ly, emploveil m the rude hospitality of ilie 
period, than those of D.invesran ; one of wlncn 
we have just described There is in tiie l.eab- 
har Dears, a son?, intiniaiins the overtlowina: 
gratitude of a bard of Clan-Ronald, after the 
exuberance of a Hebridean festival at the 



patriarchal fortress of Mac-Leod. The irii 
iatioii tieiiis obviously very literal, has greatly 
flattened, as 1 am iiiforiiied. the enthusiastic 
gratitude of the ancieni bard ; and it must be 
owned that the works of Homer or Virg:il. to 
say nothing of Mac- Vuinch, might have suifer- 
ed by their transfusion through such a me- 
dium It is pretty plain, that when the tribute 
of poetical praise was bestowed, the horn of 
Korie More had not been inactive. 

Upon Sir Roderic Mor Mocleod, by NiaLl Mor 
Mac Vuirtck. 

" The six nights I remained in the Dunve- 
gan, it was not a show of hospitality I met 
with there, but a plentiful feast in thy fair iiall 
among thy numerous host of heroes. 

"The family placed all around under the 
protectKm of their great chief, raised by his 
prosperity and respect for his warlike feats, 
now enjoying the company of his friends at 
the feast. — Amidst Itie sound of harps, over- 
flow ;ii!; cups, and happy youth uiiaccusiomed 
to guile, or feud, partaking of the generous 
fare by a flaming fire. 

•• Miijhty Chief, liberal to all in your princely 
miinsion. filled wiih your numerous vv.nlike 
ho>t. whose generous wine would overcome 
the hardiest heroes, yet we continued to enjoy 
the feast, so happy our host, so generous our 
fare." — Translateii by D. Maclnlosti. 

It would he unpardonable in a modern bard, 
who has experienced the hospitality of Dun- 
vegan Castle in the present day to omit paving 
his own tiibule of gratitude for a recepiion 
more elegant indeed, bui not le>s kindly sin- 
cere, than Sir Roderick More himself could 
have afforded. But Johnson has already de- 
scribed a similar scene in the same ancient 
patriarchal residence of the Lords of Mac- 
Leal :—•' Whatever is imaged in the wildest 
tales, if giants, dragons, and enchantment be 
excepted, would be felt by him who, wander- 
ing in the mountains without a i^uide. or upon 
the sea without a pilot, should be carried, 
amidst his terror and uncertainly, to the hos- 
pitality and elegance of Raasay or Dunvegan." 



Note N. 

With solemn step, and silver wand, 
'ihe Seneschal the presence sciinn'd 
Of these strange ym sis. — P. 351. 
The Sewer, to wiiom. rather than the Senes- 
chal, the office of arranging the guests of an 
island chief appertained, was an ofl;icer of im- 
portance in the family of a Hebridean chief — 
•■ tveiy family had commonly two stewards, 
which, m their language, were called Mans- 
chal Tach; the first of these served always at 
home, and was obliKed to Ije versed m the 
pedigree of all the tribes in the isles, and in 
the highlands of Scotland ; fur it was his pro- 
vince to assign every man ai table his seat 
according to his quality; and this was done 
without one word speauing, milv bv di.iwmyr 
a score with a white rod, winch tlus.Vlarischal 
had ill his hand, liefore the person who was 
bid by him to sit down; and this was neces- 
sary to prevent disorder and contention; and 
though the Marischal might sometimes be 



389 > 



V 



33* 



z 



^- 



/ 



7^ 

^ 390 



^; 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



niistiiken. the master of the fariiily incurred 
iio neiisiire by such ane^OHpe; but ihls custiiiii 
liHS heeii liiid aside <if late. 'I hey h;id also 
cup-hearcrs, who always filled and carried the 
cup roiiuil ihe (roiiipaiiy. arid he limiself al- 
ways drank off the tirst draught. They had 
likewise purse masters, who Kept their money. 
Boih these officers had an hereditary right to 
their office in writing, and each of them had a 
town and land for Ins service; scuine of those 
rights i have seen fairly written on good 
parchment. '■ — MarlitCs Wtstern hies 



Note 0. 

Thf rebdiiotis Scolt'sh crew. 

Who to Rdlh-Enn's shcller drew. 

With Carnck's outlawed Chief ?— P. 351. 
It must he remembered by all who have 
read the Scottish history, that after he had 
slain Comyn at Dninlries. and asserted his 
right to the Scottish crown, Robert Bruce was 
reduced to the gieatesl extiennty hy the Eng- 
lish and their adherents. He was crowned at 
Scone hy the general consent of the Scottish 
baiiins. bul his auihonty endured hut a short 
time. According to the phrase said to have 
been used by his wife, he was for that year 
'•a summer king, but not a winter one." On 
the 29th .March. 1306, he was crowned king at 
Scone. Upon the 19lh June, in the same year, 
he was totally defeated at Melhven. near 
Ferih; and his most inifiortant adherents, 
wiih few exceptions, were either executed or 
compelled to embrace the English interest, for 
safety of their lives and fortunes. After this 
disas'er. his life was that of an outlaw, rather 
than a candidate for monarchy. He separated 
himself from the females of his retinue, whom 
he sent for safety to the Castle of Kildrummie 
ill Abenleenshire, where they afterwards be- 
came captives to England. From Aberdeen- 
shire. Bruce retreated to the mountainous 
parts of Breadalbane, and approached the 
borders of Argyleshire. There, as mentioned 
in the Appendix, i\ote H. and more (ully in 
Note P. he was defeated by the Lord of Lorn, 
who had assumed arms against him in revenge 
of the death of his relative. John the Red 
Coniyn. Escaped from this peril. Bruce, wiih 
his few attendants, subsisted by hunting and 
fishing, until the weather compelled them to 
seek better sustenance and shelter than the 
Highland mountains afforded. With great 
difficulty they crossed, from Rowardennaii 
probably, to the western banks of Lochlo- 
moiid, partly in a miserable boat, and partly 
by swimming. The valiant and loyal Earl of 
Lennox, to whose territories they had now 
found their way, welcomed them with tears, 
hut was unable to assist them to make an 
effectual head. The Lord of the Isles, then 
ill possession of great part of Canty re, received 
the fugitive monarch and future restorer of 
bis country's independence, in his castle of 
Duimaveity. in that district But treason, 
says Barbour, was so general, that the King 
durst iioi abide there. Accordingly, with the 
remnant of his followers, Bruce embarked for 
Kath-Erin, or Rachrine, the Recina of Ptolo- 
niy, a small island lying almost opposite to 
Itie shores of Ballycaslle, on the coast of Ire- 



land. The islanders at first fled irom their 
new and armed gnesls, but upon some expla- 
j nation submitted themselves lo Bruce's sove- 
1 reignty. He resided among them until the 
I approach of sfiring [1306,] when he again 
j returned to Scotland, with the desperate reso- 
lution l() reconquer his kingdom, or perish in 
the attempt. The progress of his suc(-hss, 
from its commencement to its completion, 
forms the brightest {period in Scottish iiistory. 



Note P. 

ITie Brooch of Lorn.— P. 352. 

It has been generally mentioned in the pre- 
ceding notes, that Robert Bruce, after his 
defeat at Meihven. being hard pressed by the 
English, endeavoured, with the dispirited 
remnant of his followers, to escape from 
Breadalbane and the m<Mintains of Perthshire 
into the Argyles-liire Highlands. But he was 
encountered and repulsed, afier a very severe 
engagement, by the Lord of Lorn Bruce's 
personal strength and courage were never 
displayed to greater advantage than in this 
conflict. There is a tradition in the family of 
the iMac-Dougals of Lorn, that their chieftain 
engaged in personal batile with Bruce him- 
self, while the latter was employed in pro- 
tecting the retreat of his men ; that Mac-Dnii- 
gal was struck down by the king, whose 
strength of body was equal to his vigour of 
mind, and would have been slain on the spot, 
had not two of Lorn's vassals, a father and 
son.whom tradition terms Mac- Keoch, rescued 
him, by seizing the mantle of the monarch, 
and dragging him from above his adversary. 
Bruce nd himself of these foes hy two blows 
of his redoubted battle-axe, but was so closely 
pressed by the other followers of Lorn, that 
he was forced to abandon the mantle, and 
brooch which fastened it. clasped in the dying 
grasp of Ihe Mac-Keochs. A studded brooch, 
said to have been that which King Robert lost 
upon this occasion, was long preserved in the 
faimly of Mac-Dougal, and was lost in a fire 
wliich Consumed their temporary residence. 

The metrical history of Barbour throws an 
air of credulity upon "the tradition, although 
It does not entirely coincide either in the 
names or number of the vassals by whom 
Bruce was assailed, and makes no mention of 
the personal danger of Lorn, or of the loss of 
Bruce's mantle. The last circumstance, in- 
deed, might be warrantably omitted. 

According to Barbour, the King, with his 
handful of followers, not amounting probably 
to three hiwidred men, encountered Lorn wiih 
about a thousand Argyleshire men. in Glen- 
Douchart, at the head of Breailalbane, near 
Teviidrum. Tl«e platre of action is siill calletl 
Dairy, or the King's Field. The field of battle 
was unfavourable to Bruce's adherents, who 
were chiefly men-at-arms. Many of the horses 
were slain by the long pole-axes, of which the 
Argyleshire Scottish had learned the use frcn 
the Norwegians. At length Bruce coinmaiided 
a retreat up a n;.rrow and difficult pass, he 
himself bringing up the rear, and repeatedly 
lurning and driving back the more venturous 
assailants. Lorn, observing the skill and va- 
lour used by his enemy in protecting the 



y^ 



7" 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



301 \ 



ler ue i>ayrs, proieciiiiK iiie lora^pis 
L aerainsi the attacks iif Alexander " 

I yiers, the strdiig^esl ariinn;; Lurn's 

" whose iiaiiies Barbour calls Mackyi 



\ 



retiTut of his foUowers, " Methinks, Aliirtliok- 
soii." said he, addresMti^ one of his followers, 
"he resembles Gol Mak-iiiorn. proteclins: his 
followers from Fiiisal." — "A iiiosi imworihy 
c<ii7i()arisoii." observes the Archdeacon of 
Aherdeeti, unsiis(ii(;u)us of the future fame 
of these names; "lie rniirht with moie pro- 
priety have cor7ipar<-d the Kins to Sir Gaude- 
fer de Layrs, protectiiiK I he foragers of Gadyrs 
Two bro 
followers, 
nckyn-Drosser. 
(intt-r()reted Durwaid, or Porlerson.) resolved 
to rid their chief of this formidable foe. A 
third person (perhaps the Mac Keoch of the 
family tradition) associated himself with them 
for tins purpose. 'I'hey watched their oppor- 
tuniiy untd Bruce's party had entered a pass 
between a lake (Loch Dochart. (iroliahly) and 
a precipice, where the King, who was the last 
of the |i irty. had scarce room to manase his 
s!eed Here Ins three foes sprun? upon him 
at once. One seized his bridle, but received a 
wound which hewed off his arm; a second 
grasped Bruce by the stirrup and leg, and en- 
deavoured to dismount him, but the King, 
putting spurs to his horse, threw him down, 
still holdina; by the stirrup. The third, taking 
advantage of an acclivity, sprung up behind 
iiim upon his horse. Bruc«, however, whose 
personal strength is uniformly mentioned as 
exceeding that of most men. extricated him- 
self from his grasp, threw him to the ground, 
and cleft his skull with his sword. By similar 
exertion he drew the surrup from his grasp 
wh(Mn he had overthrown, and killed him also ! 
with his sword as he lay among the horse's i 
feet. 'I'he story seems romantic, but this was j 
the ase of roniantio exploit; and it must be I 
remembered that Bruce was armed cap-a-pie, 
and the assailants were half-clnd moun- 
taineers. Barbour adds the following circum- 
stance, highlv characteristic of the sentiments 
of chivalry .Mac \au?lit(m. a Baron of Gowal, 
pointed out to the Lord of Lorn the deeds of 
valour which Brmte performed in this memo- 
rable retreat, with the highest expressions of 
admiration. " It seems to give thee pleasure," 
said Lorn. '" that he makes such havoc among 
our friends '■—•' .Not so. by my faith.'' replied 
Mac-Naugliton; 'but be he friend or foe who 
achieves high deeds of chivalry, men should 
bear faithful witness to Ins valour; and never 
liave I heard of one. wlio. by his knightly feats, 
has eiiricated himself from such dangers as 
have this day surrounded Bruce." 



Note Q. 

WrniKjht and chased with fair deirire. 
Studded fair with, geins of price. — P. 352. 

Great art and expense was bestowed upon 
lilt: fibula, or brooch, which secured the plaid, 
when the wearer was a person of importance 
Martin mbiitions having seen a silver brooch 
of a hundred marks value. •' It was broad as 
any ordinary pewter |daie. the whole curiously 
engraven with various animals. &c. There 
was a lesser buckle, which was wore in the 
imdiile of the larger, and above two ounces 
weigiit ; it had ill the ceutre a large piece of 



crystal, or some finer stone, and this was set 
ali round with several finer stones of a lesser 
size." — Wester7i Islands. Pennant has siven 
an engraving of such a brooch as Marl in de- 
scribes, and the workmanship of which is 
very elegant U is said lo have belonged to 
the family of LocJibuy — See J'tnnant's Tour, 
vol. Ill p U 



Note R. 

Vain teas Ihrn the Douglas brand- 
Vain the CamjibeH's vaunted hatui.—P. 3r>^. 
The gallant Sir Jame.s, called the Good Lord 
Douglas, the most faithful and valiant of 
Bruce's adherents, was wounded at the battle 
of Dairy. Sir Meel, or Ned Campbell, w.is 
also in that unfortunate skirmish. He married 
Marjorie, sister to Robert Bruce, and was 
among his most faithful followers. In a ma- 
nuscript account of the hou.se of .4rgyle, sup- 
plied, it would seem, as mateiials for Arcii- 
bishop Spottiswoode s History f.f Ihe Church 
of Scotland, 1 find the following passaue con- 
cerning Sir Neil Campbell : — ' .Moreover, when 
all the nobles in Scotland had left Kins Ro- 
bert after his hard success, yet this noble 
knight was most faithful, and shrinked not, 
as It is to be seen in an indenture hearing 
these words : — Memorandum quod cum ab m- 
carnatione Domini V308 conuentum fwt el ron- 
cordatum inter nohiles viros Dominum Alexan- 
drum de Seatoun militem et Dominum Gilliertmn 
de Haye mUilem et Dominum Ni<jellum Camp- 
btU militem apud monasterium de Cambusken- 
neth 9o Septembris qui facta sancta eucharisia, 
magnoque juramento fncio, jurarunt se drhere 
liber tatem regni et Robertum nuper regtm coro- 
nalum contra omnes moi tales Francos Anglos 
Scolos dejtndere usque ud ullimum terminum 
mtOB ipsorum. Their sealles are appended to 
the indenture in greene wax, togitlier with the 
seal of Gulfnd, .^bbot of Cambuskennelh." 



Note S. 

When Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fed homicide -Vlv. Bruce.— P. 3.00. 
Vain Kirkpalmk's b'oody dirk. 
Making sure of murders work.— P. 352. 
Every reader must recollect that the proxi- 
mate cause of Bruce's asserting Ins right to 
the crownof Scotland, was the death of John, 
called the Red Comyn. The causes of tins 
act of violence, equally extraordinary from the 
high rank both of the perpetrator and sufferer, 
and from the place where the slaughter was 
committed, are variously related by the Scot- 
tish and English historians, and canno'. now 
be ascertained. The fact that they met at ihe 
high altar of the -Minorites, or Greyfnar's 
Church in Dumfries, that their dirtierence 
broke out into high and insulting language, 
and that Bruce drew tiis dagger and statibej 
Comyn, is certain Hushing to the lioor of the 
church, Bruce met two powerful barons, Kirk- 
pairick of Closeburu, and James de Lindsay, 
who eagerly asked him what tidings? " B.ul 
tidings," answered Bruce; "I doubt I have 
slain Comyn "— •' Doubie^i ihou V said Kirk- 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



tWi 

^ wir 

4^ 



Patrick; "I make sicker," (i. e. sure.) With , 
these words, he and Lindsay rushed into the j 
cliiirch, and despatched the wounded Comyn. 
The Kirkpatricks of Closehurn assumed, in 
memory of this deed, a hand holding a diif^ger, 
with the memorable words. "I make sicker." 
Some ilonht having been started by tiie late 
Lord Hailes as to the identity of ihe Kirk- 
patrifk who completed tliis day's work wiih 
Sir Roger, then representative of the ancient 
family of Closeburn. my kind and ingenious 
friend, Mr. Charles Kirkpatricke Sharpe, has 
furnished me with the following memoran- 
dum, which appears to fix the deed with his 
ancestor: — 

•' The circnnistancps of the Recent Cum- 
min's murder, from which the family of Kirk- 
pat rick, 111 Nithsdale, is said to have derived 
its crest and motto, are well known to all con- 
versant with Scottish hi.sfory ; but Lord Hailes 
lias started a doubt as to the auttienticity of 
this tradition, when recording the murder of 
Roger Kirk[)atnck. in his own Castle of Caer- 
laverock, by Sir James Lindsay. 'Fordun,' 
s;iys his Lordship, ' remarks that Lindsay and 
Kirkpatnck were the heirs of the two men 
who accompanied Robert Bruce at the fatal 
conference with Comyn. If Fordun was rightly 
informed as to this'particular, an argument 
arises, in support of a notion which I have 
long entertained, that the person who struck 
his dagger in Comyii's heart, was not the re- 
presentative of the honourable family of Kirk- 
jnitrick 111 Nithsdale. Roger de K. was made 
prisoner at the battle of Durham, in 1346. 
Roger de Kirkpatrick was alive on the 6th of 
August, 1367; for, on that day, Humphry, the 
son and heir of Roger de K.. is proposed as 
one of the young gentlemen who were to be 
hostages for David Bruce. Roger de K. Miles 
was present at the parliament held at Edin- 
burgh, 25lh September. 1357, and he is men- 
tioned as alive 3d October. 1357. (FcEdera;) it 
follows, of necessary consequence, that K'oger 
de K., murdered in June 1357, nius' have been 
a dift'erent person.'— .Awnate o/ Scotland, vol. ii. 
p. 2t2. 

"To this it may be answered, that at the 
period of the regent's murder, there were only 
two jamilies of the name of Kirkpatrick 
(nearly allied to each other) in existence — 
Stephen Kirkpatrick. styled in the Charlulary 
of Kelso (1278) Doniinus viUce de Ctnsfbnrn. 
Filius et hceres Domini Ade de Kirkpatrick, 
Mililis. (whose father. Ivone de Kirkpatrick, 
witnesses a charter of Robert Bros, Lord of 
Aniiandale, before the year 1141.) had two 
»;ons. Sir Roger, who c.irned on the line of 
Closehurn. and Duncan, who married Isobel. 
daughter and heiress of Sir David Torthor- 
wakl of that Ilk; they had a charter of the 
lands of I'orthorwald from King Robert Brus, 
dated 10th August, the year being omitted — 
Umphray. the son of Duncan and Isabel, got a 
charter "of 'I'orthorwald from the king. 16!h 
July, 1322— his son, Roger of Torthorwald. got 
a ciiarter from John the (5rahame, son of Sir 
John Grahame of Moskessen, of an annual 
rent of 40 stiillings. out of the lands of Over- 
dryft, 1355— his son, William Kirkpatrick. 
grants a charter to John of Garroch. of the 
twa merk land of Glengip and GarvellgiU. 
within the tenement of Wampiiray. 22d April. 
1372. From this, it appears that the Torthor- 



wald branch was not concen.ed in the affair 
of Comyn's murder, and the inflictions ol Pro- 
vidence which ensued : Duncan Kirkpatrick, 
if we are to believe tlie Blind Miiisirel. was 
the firm friend of Wallace, to whom he was 
related : — 

' Ane Kyrk Patrick, that cruel was and keyne. 
In Esdail wod that half yer he had beyne ; 
With Ingliss men he couth nocht weyll accord. 
Off Torthorowald he Barron was and Lord, 
Off kyu he was, and Wallace niodyr iier ;'—&*. 
B. v.,v. 920. 

But this Baron seems to have had no share in 
the adventures of King Robert ; the crest of 
his family, as it still remains on a carved stone 
built into a cotlage wall, in the village of 
Torthorwald, hears some resemblance, says 
Grose, to a rose. 

"Universal tradition, and all our later his- 
torians, have attributed the regent's death- 
blow to Sir Roger K. of CMoseburn. The au- 
thor of the MS. History of the Presbytery of 
Penpont, in the Advocates' Library, aiiirnis, 
thtit the crest and motto were given by the 
King on that occasion; and proceeds lo relate 
some circumstances respecting a grant to a 
cottager and his wife in tlie vicinity of rin.st- 
burn Castle, which are ceitainly auihentic, 
and strongly vouch for the truth of the other 
rejiort. — 'i'liesteef) hill,' (says he.) 'called the 
Dune of Tynroii. of a consideralile height, 
upon the top of which there hath been some 
hiibitation or fort. There have been in ancient 
times, on all hands of it, very thick woods, 
and great about that place, which made it the 
more inaccessible, into which K Ro. Bruce is 
stiid to have been conducted by Roger Kirk- 
patrick of Cio.seburn, after they had killed the 
Cumin at Dumfriess, which is nine miles from 
this place, whereabout it is probable that he 
did abide for some time thereafter; and it is 
reported, that during his tibode there, he did 
oiten divert to a poor man's cottage, named 
Brownrig, situate m a small parcel of stoney 
ground, encompassed with thick woods, where 
he was ciuitent sometimes with such metin 
Jiccommodation as the place could afford. 
The poor man's wile being advised to petition 
the King for somewhat, was so modest in her 
desires, thtit she sought no more but security 
for the croft in her husband's possession, anil 
a liberty of pasturage for a very few cattle of 
ditrereiit kinds on the hill, and the rest of 
the bounds. Of which privilege that ancient 
family, by Ihe injury of time, hath a long time 
been, and is, de|)rived : but the crol't continues 
in the possession of the heirs and succe.ssouis 
lineally descended of this Brownrig and his 
wife ; so that this family, being more ancient 
than rich, doth yet continue in the name, and, 
as they say. retains the old charter.'' — MS. 
History of the Presbytery of Penpont, in Itie 
Advocates' Library of Edintmryk. 



Note T. 

Barendoun fled fast away. 
Fled the fiery De la Haie.—P. 352. 
These knights are enumerated by Bailtonr 
among the small number of Bruce's adherents. 



y^ 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



398 



\ 



who reinained in arms with him after tlie 
battle of Melliveu. 

'• Wi'h him WHsa hold haron. 
Schyr William the Barouridoun, 

Schyr Gilbert de la Haye aslua." 

Tliere were mure than one of the noble family 
of llav eii'iaiiecl in IJrnce's cause; l>ut the 
l.riiinpal was Gilbert ile la Have, Lunl of 
Knol. a stanch adherent to Km? Kobert's 
in'eresl, and whom he rewarded bv crealiiis: 
hiMi hereditarv Lord Hish Constable of Scot- 
land, a title which he nsed IBtli March. 1308. 
uheie. in a leUerfroni the peers of .ScoMaiiil 
to Pliilip the Fair of Krance, he is designed 
fV/ hntus ii>' Uny Const-'ilmlnrnis Srnhcp.. He 
was siaiii at the bai I le of I lalidonn-hill. Hush 
de la llase. Ins brother, was made prisoner al 
ine b.iiUe of Metliven. 



Note U, 

Welt hast thou framed, Old Man. thy strmn.t, 
Tu praise the hand that pays thy pains. — R 352. 

'{'he character of the Highland bard.s, how- 
ever hish in an earlier period of society, seems 
soon to have degenerated The Irish atRrm. 
that in their kindred tribes severe laws be- 
came necessary to res rain their avarice. In 
the Highlands they seem srradually to have 
sunic into contempt, as well as the orators, or 
men of speech, with whose office that of 
family pttet was otleti united. — '•'I'he orators, 
in their lansuaije called Isdane, were in high 
esteem both m these islands and the coii'i- 
iient ; until within these forty ye;irs, they sat 
always among the nobles and chiefs of fami- 
lies ill the .streah. or circle. Their houses and 
little vilUiges were sanctuaries, as well as 
cliurches. and they took place before doctors 
of physick. The orators, afier tlie Druids 
were e.viinct, were brought in to preserve 
the genealoijy of families, and to repeal the 
same at every succession of duels; and upon 
the occasion of marriages and births, they 
made epitlialamiums and panegyncks, which 
the poet or bard pronounced. The orators, 
by the force of their eloquence, had a power- 
ful ascendant over the greatest me.n m their 
time; for if any orator did but ask the habit. 
arms, horse, or any v»i her t bins belonging to the 
greatest man in these islands, it was readily 
granted them, sometimes out of respect, and 
sometimes for fear of being exclaimed against 
by a satyre, winch, in those days, was reckoned 
a great dishonour. But these gentlemen be- 
coiiiing insolent, lost ever since boi h the profit 
and esteem which was formerly due to their 
character; for neither their panegyricks nor 
satyres are regarded to what they have been, 
and they are now all iwed but a small salary. 
1 must not omit to relate their way of study, 
which IS very singular: They shut their doors 
and windows for a day's time, and lie on their 
hacks, with a stone upon their belly, and 
plads about their heads, and their eyes being 
covered, they pump their brains for rhetorical 
encomium or panegyrick ; and indeed tiiey 
furnish such a style from this dark cell a- is 
undei- 'oud by very few; and if they purchase 



a couple of horses as the reward of their 
ineditaiioii, tliey think they have done a great 
matter The poet, or bard, had a title to the 
bridegroom's upper garb, that is. the plad and 
bonnet; but now he is satisfied with what the 
hndegrofnti pleases to give him on such occa- 
sions." — Mur tin's Western Isles. 



Note V. 

Wast not ennuiih to Rnnnld's bower, 
I brow J lit thee, like a paramour. — P. 'i^i. 

It was jincientlv customary in the Highlanils 
to bring the bride to the house of the hus- 
band. Nay. in some cases the complaisance 
was stretched so far. that she remained there 
upon trial for a twelvemonih ; and the bride- 
groom, even afier this period of cnhahit.ition, 
retained an option of refusing to fultil hia 
engagement. It is said that a desperate tend 
ensued between the clans of Mac-Donald of 
Sleate and Mac-Leod, owing to the former 
chief having availed himsell of this license li) 
send back to Dunvegan a sister, or daughter 
of the latter. Mac-Leod, resenting the in- 
dignity, observed, that since there was no 
wedding bonfire, there should he (me to so 
lemnize the divorce .Accordingly, he burned 
ami laid wasie the territories ot Mac Donald- 
who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all us 
accompaniments took place in form. 



Note W. 

Since matchless Wallace first had been. 
In moc/t'ry crown d with wreatlis of yreen. 

P. 354. 
Stow gives the following curious account 
of the trial and execution of this celebrated 
patriot: — "William Wallace, who had oft- 
times set Scotland in great trouble, was taken 
and brought to London, with great numbers 
of men and women wondering upon him. He 
was lodged in the himse of William Delect, u 
citizen of London, in Fenchurch street. On 
the morrow, being the eve of St. Bartholo- 
mew, he was brought on horseback to West- 
minster. John Legrave and Getfrey, knights, 
the mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen of London, 
and many others, both on horseback and on 
foot, accompanying him; and in the great 
hall at Westminster, he being placed on the 
simth bench, crowned with laurel, for that he 
had said in times past that he ought to bear a 
crown in that hall, as it was commonly re- 
ported ; and being appeached for a traitor by 
Sir Peter Malorie, the king's justice, he 
answered, that he was never traitor to the 
King of England ; but for other things wliere- 
of tie was accused, he confessed them; and 
was after headed and quarieied."— .S/mu;, Chr. 
p. 2()9. There is something singularly doubt- 
ful about the mode in which Wallace was 
taken. That he was betrayed to the Eiiglisii 
is indubitable; and popular fame charges Sir 
John Menteilh with the indelible infamy. 
"Accursed," says Arnold Blair, "he the dav 
of nativity of John de Menteith, and may Ins 
name be struck out of tlie hook of life." But 



Nr 



7 



^ 



394 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



> lui- 



John lie Menteith was all alons a zealous 
favourer of the Enslisli interest, and was 
governor of Duinhiirtoti Castle hy commission 
from Kilwaril tlie First,; and therefore, as the 
acciiraip Lord Hailes has observed, could uoi 
he the friend and ronfidiint of Wallace, as | 
tradition states him to he. 1"he truth seems 
to he, that Menteith, thoron£;hly engaged in 
tlie Enelish interest, ptirsned Wallace closely, 
and made him prisoner through the treachery 
of an attendant, whom Peter Laugtoft calls 
Jack Short. 

'• VVillium Waleis is nomen that master was 

of theves. 
Tidin? to the kiiiR is comen that robbery 

misciieives. 
Sir John of Menetest. sued William so nigh, 
He took him when he ween'd least, on 

night, his leman him hy. | 

That was through treason of Jack Short his 

man, 
He was the encheson that Sir John so him 

ran. 
Jack's brother had he slain, the Waleis that 

IS said. 
The more Jack was fain to do William that 

braid." 

From this if would appear that the infamy of 
seizinpf Wallace must rest between a de- 
generate Scottish nobleman, the vassal of 
England, and a domestic, the obscure agent 
of bis trearlierv; between Sir John \fenteitii. 
son of Walter, Earl of Menteith, and the 
traitor Jack Short. 

NOTK X. 

Whfirn's Ni(jfl Bruce ? and. De la Huge, 
And val.iriiit Stolon — where, are Ihtij 1 
Where Somerville. the kind and free 7 
And Eraser, Jlower of chivalry .?— P 354. 

When these lines were written, the author 
was remote from the means of (lorrecimg his 
indistinct recollection concerning the indi- 
vidual fate of Bruce's followers, after the 
battle of .Methven. Hugh de la Haye. and 
'I'himias Somerville of Lintoun and Cowdally, 
ancestcn- of Lfird Somerville. were both made 
prisoners at that defeat, but neither was 
executed. 

Sir Nisei Urnce was the younger brother 
of Robert, to whom he commiMed the charge 
of his wife and d;ingiiter. Marjorie. and the 
defence of his strong c;istle of Kildrummie, 
near the head of the Don. in A!)er(lep,nshire. 
Kildrummie long resisted the arms of the 
Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, until the 
magazine was treacherously burnt. The gar- 
rison was then compelled to surrender at dis- 
cretion, and Nigel Bruce, a ycmth remarkable 
for personal beauty, as well as for gallantry, 
fell into the hands of the unrelenting Edward 
He was tried by a special commission at Ber- 
wick, was condemned, and executed. 

("hristopher Seatoun shared the same un- 
fortunaie fate He also was distinguished bv 
personal valour, and signalized himself in the 
f.ial battle of Methven Robert Bruce ad- 
veiiuied his person in that battle like a 
Imi gut of romance.' He dismounted .Aymer 
d Valence. Earl of Pembroke, but was in his 
turn dismounled by Sir I'hilip .Mowbray In 



this emergence Seatoun came to his aid, and 
r mounted him. Langtoft mentions, that in 
this battle the Scottish wore white surplices, 
or shirts, over their armour, that those of 
rank might not be known. In this manner 
both Bruce and Seatoun escaped. But the 
laiterwas afierwards betrayed to the English, 
through means, according to Barbour, of one 
MacNab. "a disciple of Judas," in whom the 
unfortunate knight re[)osed etitire confidence. 
There was some peculiaritv respecting his 
punishment: because, according to Matthew 
of Westminster, he was considered not as a 
Scottish subject, but an Etiglisbmau He 
was iherefore laken to Dumfries, where he 
was tried, condemned, and executed, for the 
murder of a soldier slain by him. His bid- 
Iher, John de Seton. had the same fate at 
Newcastle: both were considered as accom- 
plices in the slaughter of Comyn, but in what 
manner they were particularly accessary to 
that deed does not appear. 

The fate of Sir Simon Frazer. or Frizel, 
ancestor of the family of Lovat. is dwelt 
upon at great length, and with savage exulta- 
tion, by the Fnglish historians. This knight, 
who was renowned for personal g-allantry, 
and high deeds of chivalrv, was also made 
prisoner, after a gallant defence, in the battle 
of Methven. Stmie stanzas of a ballad of the 
times, which, for the sake of rendering it in- 
telligible. I have tr.inslated out of its rude 
orthography, give the minute particulars of 
his fate. It was written immediately at the 
period, for it mentions the Earl of Atliole as 
not yet in custody It was first published by 
the indefatigable Mr. Kiison, hut with so 
many contractions and peculiarities of cha- 
racter, as to render it illegible, excepting by 
antiquaries. 

'•This was before Saint Bartholomew's mass. 
That Frizel was y-taken, were it more other 

less. 
To Sir Thomas of Multon. gentil baron and 

free. 
And to Sir Johan Jose be-take tho was he 
To hand 
He was y fettered wele 
Both with iron and with steel 

To hringen of Scotland. 

"Soon thereafter the tiding to the king come. 
He sent him to London, with mony armed 

groom. 
He came in at Newgate. I tell you it on a- 

plight. 
A garland of leaves on his head y-dight 
Of green. 
For he should be v-know, 
Both of high and of low. 

For tiaitour I ween. 

"Y-fettered were his legs under his horse's 
worribe. 
Both with iron and with steel mancled were 

his h(uid. 
A garland of pervynk' set upon his heved.2 
Much was the power that him was bereved, 
In land. 
So God me amend, 
Littie he ween'd 

So to be brought in hand. 



2Hr 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



J9o 



"Tliiswas upon our lady's even, forsooth 1 
un(ler>taiul. 
The justices sale for the knights of Scotland, 
Sir 1 honias of Muliou. an kinde knj ght and 

wise. 
And Sir Ralph of Sandwich that mickle is 
told in price, 

And Sir Johan Abel, 
More I mi?ht tell liy tale 
Both uf preat and of small 

Ye know sooth well. 

"Then said the justice, that sentil is and free. 
Sir Simon Frizel the king's trailer hast thou 

he; 
In water and in land that moiiv mighlen see. 
What sayst tliou thereto, how will thou 
(lUlie tliee, 

Do say. 
So foul he him wist, 
Nede war ou trust 

For to say nay. 

" With fe'ters and with gives i y-hot he was 
to draw 
From the Tower of London that many men 

misht know. 
In a kirtle of liurel. a selcouth wise. 
And a garland <m his head oi the new guise. 
ThrouiiU Clieape 
-Many men of England 
For to see .*»yinoiid 

'I'liitherward can leap. 

"Though he cam to the gallows first he was 
on hung, 
All quick heiieailed that him thought long; 
'I'hen he wasy-opeued. his bowels y-brend,2 
The tieved to London-Pridge was send 
To sliende. 
So evermore mote 1 the, 
Sunie while weened he 

Thus little to stand. 3 

" He rideth through the ci y, as I tell may. ' 
With gainen and with solace that was their 

play. 
To London bridge he took the way, 
Alony was the wives child that thereon 
iacKeth a day,* 

And said, alas! 
That he was y-born 
And so vilely Jorelorn. 

So fair man he was.* 

"Nowstandeth the lieved above the tu-brigge. 
Fast by V\allace sooth for to segge ; 
Afier succour of Scdtlaiul long may he pry. 
And after help of France what hak it to lie, 
1 ween. 
Better him were in Scotland, 
VV ith his axe in his hand, 

To play oa the green," Sac. 

The preceding stanzas contain probably as 
minute an account ius can be found of the 
trial and execution of state criminals of the 
period. Supersliijon mingled its horrors with 
those of a ferocious state policy, as appears 
from the following singular narrative. 

•'The Friday next, before the assumption 
of Our Lady, King Edward met Robert the 



vAH condpmneU to be driiwn. 

rd —3 Mf.ining, at oii* time he M 

u«. -- 4 VII. Saith Lack-a-day. — c 



Bruce at Saint Joliiistouiie. in Scotland, and 
wiih his c()iii|>aiiy, of which company King 
Edward quelde seven thousand. Wli'eu Ko- 
bert the Bruce saw this mischief and gan to 
flee, and hov'd hiin that men might not him 
find ; but S. Simond Frisell pursued was so 
sore, so that he turned again and abode bat- 
aille. for he was a worthy knight and a bolde 
of hodye, and the Englislinien pursuede him 
sore on every side, and quelde the steed that 
Sir Simon Frisell rode upon, and then toke 
liim and led him to the host. And S. Symoiid 
began for to flatter and speke fair, and saide. 
Lordvs. I shall give you four thousand markes 
of silver, and myne horse and harness, and 
all my armoure and income. Tho' answered 
Thobaude of Pevenes. that was the kiiiges 
archer. Now, God me so helpe. it is for nought 
that thou speakest. for all the gold of England 
I would not let thee go witlioiil c;imiiiandinent 
of King Edward And tlio' he was led to the 
King, and the King would not see him. hut 
commanded to lead liiiii away to his doom m 
London, on Our Lady's even nativity. Ami he 
was hung and diavvii and Ins head smitten 
oflf, and hanged again with chains of iron upon 
tlie gallows, and his head was set at London- 
bridge upon a spear, and against Christmas 
the body was burnt, for encheson (reason) 
that the men that keeped the body saw many 
devils ramping with iron crooks, running upon 
the gallows, and horribly tormenting the body. 
And many that thein saw, anon thereafier 
died for dreaii. or waxen mad, or sore sickness 
they had.-' — MS Chronicle in the British Mu- 
seum, quoted by Rilson. 



Note Y. 

Was not the life of A thole sited, 

Tu soothe the tyrant's sickened bed —P. 354. 

JohQ de Strathbogie. Earl of Athole. had 
attempted to escape out of the kingdom, but a 
storm cast him upon the coast, when he was 
taken, sent to London, and executed, with 
cinmmslances of great barbarity, being first 
haLf strangled, then let down from the gallows 
while yet alive, barbarously dismembered, and 
his body burnt. It may surprise the reader to 
learn, that this was a mitigated punishment; 
for in respect that his mother was a grand- 
daughter of King John, by his natural son 
Richard, he was not drawn on a sledge to 
execution, "that point was forgiven." and he 
made the passage on horseback. Matthew of 
Westminster tells us that King Edward, then 
extremely ill, received great ease from the 
news that his relative was apprehended. 
•• Quo aiidilo. Rex Anylice, ctsi (jravisdmo niorho 
tunc lanijuerel, levius tnmen lulit dolorcm" To 
this singular expression the text alludes. 



Note Z. 

And must his word, till dying day. 

Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay. — P. 2fA. 

This alludes to a passage in Barbour, singu- 
larly expressive of the vindictive spirit of Ed- 



^: 



knight, like others in the game situation, was pitinl by tli 
thouffht to female S|><a-latorii ai* "a proper yoime man. 
rhe gallant 



J ' 396 



:^ 



N 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



ward I The prisoners lakeii at the castle of 
Kildnimmie had surreiuiered upon condition 
that I hey should lie at Kitij? bid ward's disposal 
" Biit Ills will," says Barhoiir. •' was always evil 
towards t5C()ttisliiiieii." The news oi the sur- 
render of Kildruniinie arrived when he was 
m his molt 1 sickness at Bnrg;h-up<)n-Saiids. 

" And when ne to the deatli was near, 

The folk that at Kyldroiiiy wer 

Come with prisoners that they had tane, 

And syne to the kins are Kane. 

And for to comfort him they tauld 

How they the castell to thnm yauld; 

And how they till his will were brout^ht. 

To do otf that whatever he thought ; 

And ask'd what men should oft" tliem do. 

'I'hen look'd he angryly them to. 

He said, sriniiinsr, • hangs and draws.' 

That was wonder of sic saws. 

'I'hal he, that to the death was near, 

Should answer upon sic luaner, 

Forouten moaning and mercy ; 

How might he iru.sl on hini io cry, 

Thvit sooth-fastly dooms all thing 

'I'o have mercy for his cryiiis. 

Off hirn that, throw his felony, 

Into SIC point had no mercy .'" 
There was much truth in the Leonine couplet, 
with which Matthew of Westminster con- 
cludes his encomium on the first Edward : — 

" Scotos Edwardus, dum vixit. siippeditavit, 
Tenuit, afflixit, depressit, dilaniavit." 



Note 2 A. 

While I the blessed cross advance. 

And expiate this wihappy chance. 

In Palestine, with sword and Lance. — P. 355. 

Bruce uniformly professed, and probahly 
felt, compimciion for having violated the 
sanctuary of the chiir<-h liy I he slausrhter of 
Comyn ; and finally, m his iasi hours, in tesii- 
inony of Ins faith, penitence, and zeal, he re- 
quested James Lord Douglas Io carry his heart 
to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the Holy 
Se[tulchre. 



Note 2 B. 

Be Bruce ! J rose with purpose dread 
To speak my curse upon thy head. — P. 355. 
So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter 
reached Home, Bruce and his adherents were 
excommuiiKvated. It was pulilished first by 
the Aichbisliop of York, and renewed at dif- 
ferenttiiiies. particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop 
of St. Andrews, m 1308 ; but it does not appear 
to have answered the (lurpose which the Ens: 
li<h monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons 
which it may be difficult to trace, the thunders 
of Rome descended upon the Scottish moun- 
tains with less effect than in more fertile 
countries. Probably the comparative poverty 
of the tienefices occasioned that fewer foreign 
clergy settled in Scotland; and the interests 
of the native churchmen were linked with 



that of their country. Many of the Scottish 
[(relates. Lambyrton the primate particularly, 
declared for Bruce, while he was yet under 
the ban of the church, although he afterwards 
again changed sides. 



Note 2 C. 

/ feel within mine axted breast 

A power that will not be repress d. — P. 355. 

Bruce, like other heroes, observed omens, 
and one is recorded by iradilion. After he 
tiad retreated to one of the miserable place.s 
of shelter, in which he could venture to take 
some reiKise after his disasters, iie lay stretch- 
ed upiiii a handful of straw, and abandoned 
himself to his melancholy meditations. He 
had now been defeated four times, and was 
upon I he point of resolving to abandon all 
hopes of further opposition to his fate, and to 
go tn the Holy Land It chanced, his eye, 
while he was thus pondering, was attracted 
by ihe exertions of a spider, who. in order to 
fix his web. endeavoured to swing himself 
from one bt:am to another above Ins head. 
Involuntarily he became interested in the per- 
tinacity with which the insect renewed his 
exertions, alter fiilinu six tunes; and it oc- 
cuireii to him that he would decide his own 
course accoriliiig to the success ur failure of 
Ihe spider. At the seventh effor; the insect 
gained his obje(n. ; and Bruce, m like manner, 
perseveied and carried his nwii. Hence it has 
been held unlucky or uimratefiil. iir both, in 
one of the name of Bruce to kiU a spider 

The Archdeacon of Aberdeen, instead of 
the abbot of this tale, introduces an Irish 
Pythoness, who not only predicted his good 
fortune as he left the island of Hachrin. but 
sent her two sons along with hiin, to ensure 
her own family a share m it. 

" Then in schort time men mycht thaim so 
Scliute all thair ealayis to the se. 
And l)er to se haiili ayr and ster, 
And othyr thmgis that mystir ' wer. 
And as the king apon the sand 
U'es gangand wp and doun. bidand^ 
'I'lil that his menye redy war. 
His ost come rycht till him tliar. 
And Qnhen that scho him lialyst had. 
And priwe spek till him scho made ; 
And said, "Takis gud kep till my .-aw : 
For or ye pass I sail vow schaw'. 
Off your fortonn a gret party. 
Bot our all speceally 
A wyttring her i sail yow ma, 
Quhal end that your purpo.ss sail ta. 
Kor in this land is nane irewly 
Wate thmgis to cum sa weill as I. 
Ye pass now I'urth on your wiage. 
To wenge Ihe harme, and the owtrag. 
That Ingliss men has to yow done; 
Bot ye wat nocht quhatkyne fortou 
Ye mon drey m your werraying. 
Bot vvyt ye weili, with outyn lesing. 
That fra ye now haiff takyn land. 
Nane sa iiiychty. nti sa strenth thi of hand 
Sail ger yow pass owl, of your countre 
Till all to yow abandownyt be. 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



397 ^^ 



With in schort tynie ye shU he king, 
And hiiifT the laiul al your likmg, 
And ourcimi vour layis iill. 
But lele amivis lliole ye sail. 
Or tliat your piirposs end liaiff taiie : 
But ye sail ihaiin ourdryve ilkaiie. 
And, tliat ye irow this sekerly. 
My twii soiiiiys with yow sail I 
Send t(i tak part of your trjiwaill ; 
For I wate weill lh;ii sail ii.iclit laiU 
'I'o he rewanlit, weill ai ryclii, 
Quhen ye ar lievit to yowr invnht.'" 

, Barbour's Bruce. Book in., v. 856. 



NoTK 2 D. 

A hunted warrior on the wild, 
Oajoieign shoris <i mnn txibd. — P. 355. 
This IS not nieiafihoncal. 'i'lie echoes of 
Scotland did actually 

With the bl'iodtiouuds thai hayed for her fuRi- 

live km;;." 
A very curious and romantic tale is told by 
Barlxiur upon this suliject, which may be 
ahridijeil as follows : — 

When Bruce had a?ain sot fooUnar in Scot- 
land ill the sprintf of H06. he cunMiiued to be 
ill a very weak and precarions roiidiDon. eain- 
iiis:. indeed, occasional advaiiraifes but obliged 
to fly before his eiieniies whenever they as- 1 
senibled in foice Upon one occasion, while I 
he was lying with a small party in the wilds I 
of Cuinnitck, in .Ayrshire. Ayiiier de Valence, 
Earl of HenibroUe. with his inveterate foe 
John of I.oni.caiiie ascam-t him suddenly with j 
eisht hundred HiKhlauders. Iiesuies a large 
body of iiien-at-arins They brouijlit With 
tlier'n a shiuuhdo:;, or liloodhoiind, which, 
some say. had been once a favourile with the 
Bruce himself, and llieiefore was least likely 
to lose the trace. 

Bruce, whose force was under four hundred 
men, continued to make head against i he ca- 
valry, till the men of Lorn had nearly cut off 
his relreat Peiceivinsj tln^ dansjer of his situ 
ation. he acted as the celebrated and lU-re- 
quiled .\lina is saiil to have done in similar 
Circumstances. He divided his force into 
thret: parts, appointed a place nf rendezvous, 
and Coniiiianded I hem to retreat by dili'erent 
routes But when John of born arrived at 
the spot where they divided, he caused the 
hound to be put upon the trace, which imme- 
diately directed him to the pursuit of tiiat 
iiany which Bruce headed. This, therefore. 
Lorn pursued with his whole force, payii s. no 
atteiHion lo the others The kimj aa:ain sub- 
divided his small body into tliree |iar:s. and 
wuh the same resuh, for the pursuers at- 
tached themselves exclusively to that which 
lie led ill prrsoii He then cau.sed his lolluwers 
to disperse, and retained only his foster-lini- 
Iher III Ins company. I'lie >li'ugh-dog followed 
their. ice. and, nea:lec!in;; the oitiers. attached 
himself and his aiteinlants to the pursuit of 
tilt; kins. Lnrn became convinced that his 
eiieinv was nearly in his povver, and detached 
f7Ve of his most active atlendanis to follow 
1 im, and in'errupt his flight They did so 
wiUi all the asiliiy of nioiiiiaineers. -Whai 
aid wilt thou make '." said Brucc; to his single 



attendant, when he saw the five men eain 
ground on him. "The best I can," replied his 
foster brother. '• Then," said Bruce, '• here I 
make my stand." The five pursuers came up 
fast. 1 he king took three to liimself, leaving 
the other two to his foster-brother. He slew 
the first who encountered him ; but, observing 
his foster-brother hard jiressed, he spruiis to 
his assistance, and despatched one of his as- 
sailants Leavins; him to deal with I he sur- 
vivor, he returned upon the otlier two. both 
of whom he slew before his foster-brother 
had despatched his single antagonist When 
this hard encounter was over, with a courtesy, 
which in the whole work marks Bruce "s cha- 
racter, he thanked his fosler-lirollier fiir his 
aid. '-It likes you to say so.'' answered Ins 
fodower; 'but vou yourself siew four of the 
five."— 'True." said the king. - but only be- 
cause I had better opportunity than you. 
They were not apprehensive of me when they 
saw'me encj>uiiler three, so 1 had a moment s 
time to spring to I by aid. and to return equally 
unexpecied upon my own opponents " 

In the meaiiwliile Lorn's party approached 
rapidly, and the king and his foster brother 
betook themselves to a neishbouiing wood 
Here they sal down, for Bruce was e.xliaus'ed 
bv fatigue, until the cry of the slomih hound 
came so near, that his foster brother entreated 
Bruce to provide for Ins safety by retreating 
further. " I have heard." answered the km?, 
■• that whosoever will w.ide a bow-shot length 
down a runnms stream, shall make the sloiish- 
hound lose .scent. — Let ns try the experiment, 
for were yon devilish h.iund silenced, I should 
care little for the rest." 

Lorn III ttie meanwhile advanced, and found 
the bodies of his slain vassals, over whom he 
made his moan, and threatened the most 
deadly vengeance. Then he followed the 
hound to the side of the brook, down which 
the king had waded a i;reat way. Here the 
hound was at fault, and John of Lorn, afler 
long atiemptins in vain lo recover Bruce s 
trace, relinquished the pursuit. 

-Others," savs Barbour, - affirm, that upon 
this occasion the king's life was saved by an 
excellent archer who ac.companif-d him. and 
who perceiving they w.ml.l be tiiiaily ta^eii 
by means of the bloodhound, hid liimseil in 
a tliiCKet, and shot him with an anow. In 
which way." adds the metrical biographer, 
••this escape happened 1 am umterlam. but 
at ihal brook the King escaped iroin Ins pur- 
suers." 

'• Qiihen the chasseris relyit w.ir. 
And Jhon of Lorn had met thaim tliar. 
He tauld Schyr Aymer all the cass 
How that the kins eschapyt wass ; 
And how that he his five men slew, 
And sviie lo the wode him drew. 
Quheii Schyr Aymer herd tins, in hy 
He saiivt hini tor the fei ly : 
And said ; ' He is metly to pryss; 
For I kiiaw nane that iilfand is, 
Tliat at my.-cheyfr gan tielp him swa. 
I trow he suUl be hard lo sla. 
And he war bodvn ' ewynly." 
On this wiss spaic Schyr Aymery." 

Bai hour's Bruce, Book v , v. 391. 



f 398 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 



The English historiiuis agree with Barbour peilling and spiilzeing of poor pepill. This ile 
as to the mode in which the Eiighsh pursued \. perieins to M'Giilychiillaii of Raarsay by force, 
Bruce and liis foilnwers. and the dexterity and to the bishope of the lies be heritaue.''— 
Willi which he ev;ideii theni. The following Sir Donald Monro's Dfscription of the Wmtnn 
IS the lestimony of Harding, a great enemy to Islands of Scotland. Edinburgh, 1805, p 22. 
the Scottish nation : — 



'The King Edward with boost hyni sought 

full sore, 
But ay lie fled iut(» woodes and slrayte forest, 
And slewe Ids men at staytes and daungei-s 

tliore. 
And at marreys and mires was ay full prest 
Kiiiilysliiiien in kyll wiihoutyii any rest; 
In llif iiioiiiitayiies and cragges he slew ay 

where. 
And in the nyght his foes he frayed full sere : 

'The King Edward with homes and houndes 

hiin soglit. 
With menne on Ibie, tlirougli marris, m()sse. 

and myie. 
Through wodes also, and mountens (wher 

tliei fouglit,) 
And euer the Kyng Edward hifflit men greate 

hyie, 
Hym for to take and by myslft conquere ; 
But tliei might hym not gette by force ne by 

train. 
He satte liy the fyre wlieu tliei went in the 



rail 



Hardyw/s Chronicle, p. 303^. 



san 
V rug 



Heter Lang to ft h 
mg the exlreiiiilies 
reduced, whicli he eniiLles 

Df^ Roberto Brus el fuija circuni circa fit. 

" And wele I nndersiode that the Kyug Kohyn 

Has ilrunkeii of lliat lilode tlie drink of Dan 

Waryn. 
Dan Waryn he les tounes that he held, 
\N'iih vvri'iiif he mad a res. and imsberyng of 

sciield. 
Sithen into the forest he yede naked and 

wude, 
Als a wild beast, ete of the gias tliat stode, 
'I'll us of D.iu Waryn iii his boKe men rede, 
God gyf the Kiii!,' koOyn. I hat alle Ins kynde 

so spede, 
Sir Robynei the Urns lie durst noure abide. 
That thei mad hiiii rest us, both m more and 

wod side. 
To while be mad this tr;iiii. and did umwliile 

ou rage."' (tc. 
Fcler LautjloJI's Chrowclr. vol. ii. p. 335, 
8vo, Lond>)n, 1810. 



Note 2 E. 

For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A tnrate sworn was Cormuc Doil — P. 356. 
A sort of persons common in the isles, as 
may be easily believed, until the iiitioductioii 
of civil polity Witness the Dean of tlie Isles' 
account of Ronay. " At the north end of 
Kaarsay, he half myle of sea frae it. layes ane 
ile callit Ronay. rtiaire then a myle in iengthe. 
full ol wood and heddir. with ane havein for 
lieiland ealeys in the middis of it, and the 
same havein is euid for fostering of theives, 
ruggairs. and reivuirs, till a nail, upon the 



Note 2 F. 

" Alns! dmr youth, the unhappy time," 
Answered the Bruce. " must bear the crime. 

Since, (juiltier far than you, 
Even 7" — he pausfd ; for Falkirk^s woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose. — 1'. 357. 
I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate 
tradition, tlial Bruce fonghi asiuust Wallace, 
and ili<i array of Scotland, at the fatal battle 
of l-'alkirk. The story, winch seems to liave 
no Itetler aiithoiiiy tlian that of Blind Harry, 
oears. that having made much slaughter dur- 
ing tile enya^ement, he sat down to dine with 
the conquerors witlioiit waslung the filthy 
witness from his hands. 

'• Fasting he was. and had been itcpreat need, 
Blofided were all Ins weapons and Ins weed ; 
Soul heron lords scorn 'd him in terms rude. 
And saul. Behold yon Scot eats his own blood. 

" Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known, 
Tbai blood and land alike should be his own ; 
With them he long was, ere he got away. 
But coniiair Scots he fought not from that 
day." 

Tiie account given by most of our historians, 
of the conversation between Bruce and Wal- 
lace over the Canon river, is equally apocry- 
phal, '{'here is full evidence that Brurte was 
not at that lime on the English side, nor pre- 
sent at the battle of I'alkirk; nay, that he 
acted as a guardian of Scotland, along with 
John Comyii. in the name of Baliol. and in 
opposition to the Ijiulish. He was the grand- 
son of the comiieiiior. with whom he has been 
sometimes conl'oiiiided. Lord Hailes has well 
described, and in sonir degree apologized for. 
the earlier part of his life.—" His graniifather, 
the (vimpelitor. had paiiently acquiesced in 
the award of Edward. His fatlier, yielding to 
the times, had served under the En,;lisli ban- 
i Hers But young Bruce had more ambition, 
and a mnre restless spirit, lii his earlier years 
he acied upon no regular plan. By turns the 

Sirtisan ol Edward, and the vicegerent of 
.iliol. he seems to have forgotten or stifled 
I Ins pretensions to the crown. But his cliarai;- 
ter developed itself by degrees, and in iiia- 
turerage became firm and consistent." — An- 
nals oj Scolland, p. 290, quarto, London, 1776. 



Note 2 G. 

These are the savage wUds that lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye.—V. 357. 
The extraordinary piece of scenery which I 
have here attempted to describe, is. I think, 
unparalleled in any part of Scotland, at least 
in any which 1 have iiappened to visit. It lies 
just upon the frontier of the Laird of Mac- 
Leod's country, which is thereabouts divultd 



J 



7 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



from the estate of Mr. Marcnlister of Straih- 
Aird, called SiraihnardiU by the Dean of ihe 
Isles. 'I'he foUowm^ account of it is extracted 
from niv journal kept during a tour through 
tht- Scottish islands : — 

"The western coast of Sky is hisrhly roman- 
tic, and at the same time displays a" richness 
of vegetation in the lywer grounds to whicii 
We have hitherto been strangers. We passed 
three salt-water lochs, or deep embaynients, 
called Loch Bracadale, Loch Emort. and Looh 

. and about 11 o'clock opened Loch Slayig. 

VV e were now under the western termination 
of the high ridge of monntains called Guillen, 
or Quillin, or Coolin, whose weather-beaten 
and serrated peaks we had adnnred at a dis- 
tance from Dunvegan Thev sunk here upon 
the sea, but with the same hold and peremp- 
tory aspect which their distant appearance 
indicated. They appeared to ronsis' of [ireci- 
piloiis sheets of naked rock, down which the 
torrents were leaping in a hundred lines of 
foam. The tops of the ridge, apparently inac- 
cessible to human foot, were rent and split 
into the most tremendous pinnacles. Towards 
the base of these bare and precipitous crags, 
the ground, enriched by the soil w<islied down 
from ihem, is comparatively verdant and pro- 
diic ive Where we passed within the small 
isle of Soa. we entered Loch Slavig. under the 
shoulder of one of these grisly mountains, and 
observed that the opposite side of the loch 
was of a milder character, the mountains be- 
ing soltened down into steep green declivities. 
From the bottom of the I5uy advanced a head- 
land of high rocks, which divided its depth 
into two recesses, from each of which a brook 
issued. Here it had been intimated to us we 
would find some romantic scenery ; hut we 
were uncertain up which inlet we should 
proceed in search of it. We chose, againsi 
our better judgmen', the southerly dip of the 
bay, where we saw a house which might 
afford us inforaiation. We found, upon in- 
tjuiry, that there is a lake adjoining to each 
braiicli of the bay ; and walkt-d a couple of 
miles to see that near the farm-house, merely 
because tiie honest Highlander seemed jea 
lous of the honour of his own loch, though 
we were speedily convinced it was not tiiat 
which we were recommended to examine. 
It had no particular merit, excepting from its 
neighbourhood to a very high cliff, or preci- 
j)iioiis iiiountain. oi herwise the sheet of water 
had nothing differing from any ordinary low 
country lake. We returned and re-embarked 
m our boat, for our guide shook his head at 
our proposal to climb over the peninsula, or 
rocky headland which divided the two lakes. 
In rovvmg round the headland, we were sur- 
prised at the mtimte number of sea-fowl, then 
busy apparently with a shoal of fish. 

"Arrived at the depth of the bay, we found 
that the discharge from this second lake forms 
a sort of waterfall, or rather a rapid stream, 
which rushes down to the sea with great fury 
and precipitation Round this place were as- 
seinbled hundreds of trouts and salmon, strug- 
gling to get up into the fresh water: with a 
net we might have had twenty salmon at a 
haul; and a sailor, with no better hook than 
a crooked pin. caught a dish of trouts during 
onr absence. Advancing up this huddling 
und riotous orook, we found ourselves in a 



most extraordinary scene ; we lost sight of the 
sea almost immediately after we had climbed 
over a low ridge of crags, and were surround- 
ed by mountains of naked rock, of the boldest 
and most precipitous character. The ground 
oil which we walked was the margin of a 
lake, which seemed to have sustained the 
con.stant ravage of torrents from the.«;e rude 
neighbours The shores consisted of huge 
strata of naked granite, here and there inter- 
mixed wiih bogs, and heaps of gravel and 
sand piled in the empty water-courses. Vege- 
tation there was little or none ; and the moun- 
tains rose so perpendicularly from the water 
edge, that Borrowdale. or even Glencoe, is a 
jest to them. We proceeded a mile and a 
half up this deep, dark, and solitary lake, 
which was aliout two miles long, half a mile 
broad, and is, as we learned, of extreme depth. 
The murky vapours which enveloped the 
mountain ridges, obliged us by assuming a 
thousand varied shapes, changing their dra- 
pery into all sorts of forms, and sometimes 
clearing off all together. It is true, the mist 
made us pay the penality by some heavy and 
downright showers, from the frequency of 
wliicti a Highland boy, whom we brougiit 
Irom the farm, told us the lake was popularly 
called the Wjiter-kettle The proper name is 
Loch Corriskin, from the deep cinrie, or hol- 
low, in the mountains of Cuilin, whurh affords 
the basin for this wonderful sheet oi water. 
It la as exquisite a savage scene as Loch Ka- 
trine is a scene of romantic beauty. Alter 
having penetrated so far as distinctly to ob- 
serve the termination of the lake under an 
immense precipice, which rises abrup ly from 
the water, we returned, and often stopped to 
admire the ravages which storms must have 
made in these recesses, where all human 
witnes.ses were driven to places of more shel- 
ter and security. Stones, or rather large 
masses and fragments of rocks of a compost e 
kind, perfectly different from the strata of the 
lake, were scattered upon the bare rocky 
beach, in the strangest and most precarious 
situiitions, as if abandoned by the torrents 
which had borne them down from above. 
Some lay loose and tottering upon the ledges 
of the natural rock, with so little security, 
that the slightest push moved them, though 
their weight might exceed many tons. 'I'hese 
detached rocks, or stones, were chietly what 
is called plum-puddmg stones. The bare 
rocks, which formed the shore of the lakes, 
were a species of granite. 1 he op[)Osite side 
of the lake seemed quite pathless and iiiac- 
cesrSible, as a huge mountain, one of the de- 
tached ridges of the Cuilin hills, sinks in a 
profound and perpendicular precipice down to 
the water. On the left-hand side, which we 
traversed, rose a higher and equally inaccessi- 
ble mountain, the top of which strongly re- 
sembled the shivered crater of an exhausted 
volcano. 1 never saw a spot in which there 
was less appearance of vegetation of any kind. 
The eye rested on nothing but barren and 
naked crags, and the rocks on which we 
walked by the side of the loch, were as bare 
as the pavements of Chea[)Side. There are 
one or X.'Mo small islets m the loch, which 
seem to bear juniper, or some surh low biisliy 
shrub I'pon the whole, though 1 have seen 
many scenes of more extensive desolation, 1 




^ 



eii 



■M MM^ 



^ 



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never witnessed any in which it pressed more 
ilei^ply upon the eye and the heart than at 
Loch Corriskiii ; at tlie same time tliat; its 
pranleur elevated and redeemed it from the 
wild and dreary character of utter barren- 
ness." 



■^ 



Note 2 H. 



Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-took' d, unwilliny to be seen. — P. 358. 

The story of Brace's meeting the banditti is 
copied, with such alterations as the fictitious 
Mf-Vrative rendered necessary, from a slriking 
incident in the nioiiarcii's history, told by Bai- 
b lur, and which 1 shall give in I lie words of 
tlie hen's biosraiiher. It is tiie sequel to tlie 
adventure of the liloodliound, narraied ml 
Nole2L). It will lie renif inhered that the 1 
narrative broke oil', leaving the Bi uce escaped 
imm Ins pursueis. but worn out with faiigue, 
and having no oilier attendant but his fuster- 
biother. 

"And the Kude king held forth his way, 
Betuix him and his man, quIiiU thai 
t'assyt owl throw tlie lorest war; 
Syne in the more thai entryt tliar. 
It wes bathe hey, and laiig. and braid ; 
And or thai halif it passyt hiid. 
Thai saw on syd thre men cummand, 
Lik to lycht men and wauerand. 
Sweidis thai had, and axys als; 
Alio aiie off tiiaim, apon his hals,! 
A mekill Ijoundyn wethir bar. 
'I'liai met the king, and hailsts him thar: 
And the king tliaiin I bar hailsmg yanld ; 3 
And askvt Ihaim quetliil lliai waiild. 
Thai said, Robt-rl the Bruyss thai soncht; 
For meie wHn hiin sitf tnat iliai moucut, 
Thar duelliiiii wiih liim wauld thai ma. 4 
The King said, ' Giff ih;it ye will svva, 
Hajdys lurth your way with me. 
And I sail ^er yow sone him se.' 

"Thai persavvyt, be his spekiiisr, 
That he wes the seivvn Kobert king. 
And chauiigvt comenance and late ;5 
And heid iiochi m llie f> rst stale. 
For tliai war fayis lo tne King; — 
And thoucht lo cum m to sciiikmg. 
And dueil with him, quhili-lhat thai saw 
Tliar poyiil, and orviik hmi than oif daw. 6 
Tliai grantyl lili liis fpeK foithi.7 
Bot the kins;:, that wes wiity, 
Persawyt weill, oy tnar nawin?. 
That thai Ititt'yc hmi na thing : 
And said, ' Kalowis, ye mon. all thre, 
Forthir aqweiit till that we be. 
All be your selwyn forth ga ; 
And. on the samyn wyss. we twa 
Sail folow behind Weill ner.' 
Quoth thai, ' Scliy r, it is na myster 8 
To trow 111 ws oiiy ill.' — 

• Nane do I,' said he ; • hot I will, 
That yhe ga fourth thus, qiihill we 
Better with othyr knawin lie.' — 

* We grant,' thai said, 'sen ye will svva : 
And furlh apon ihair gate gan ga. 



"Thus yeid thai till the nycht wes ner, 
And than the formast cummvn wer 
Till a waist houshand houss;9 and thar 
"^I'liai slew the wethir lliat thai bar: 
And slew fyr for to rnsl thar mete ; 
And askyt the kin? giff he wald ete, 
And rest him till the mete war dyclit. 
The king, that hungrv was. Ik hycht, 
As.sentyt till thair s[ifek in by. 
Bot he said, he wald anerly '0 
At a fyr: and thai all thre 
On na wyss with Ihaim till gyddre be. 
In the end off the liou.ss tnai suld iiia 
Ane othyr fyr; and tliai did swa. 
'1 hai drew tliaim in the houss end, 
And halff the wethir till him send. 
And thai rosiyt in by thair me'e : 
And fell rvclit freschly for till ete. 
For the kin- weiU lans laslyt had ; 
And had rychl niekiU trawaill mad: 
Thai tor he eyt full egrely. 
And quiien he had etyn hastily, 
He had to slen sa mekiU will, 
I hat he niouchl set na let thar till. 
For quiien iiie wanys " fillyt ar. 
Men worthys 12 hewy eujrmar; 
Anil to siepe draw\s hewynes. 
The king, that all forlrawaiUyt '3 wes. 
Saw that hym worihyt slep nedwayis. 
Till his fo.'-tyr-brodyr he sayis; 
'May 1 trais!. in the. me to walk, 
Till Ik a little sleping lak?'— 
' Ya, Schyr,' he sa d, ' till I may drey.'i* 
The king then wynkyt a litill wey ; 
And slepyt nocht full encrely; 
Bot eliffnyt wp oft sodanly. 
For he had (ireid off thai thre men, 
That at the tot by r fyr war then. 
That thai his fais war he wy.st; 
Tiiarlbr he slepvt as foule on twyst.'* 

•'The kiiiffsei.yt bot a Iiiill than; 
Quiien SKt slep tell on his man. 
That he nivcht nocht bald w[> his ey, 
But fell III s!ep. and lowiyi liey. 
Now IS the kiiiii m giei p'erile : 
For slep he swa a litiil quhile, 
lie s.d he ded, for outyn dreid. 
For the thre tiatours tiik gud heid. 
That he on slep wes, and his man. 
Ill full grel hy thai raiss wp than, 
And drew the suerdis hastily ; 
Ami went towart the king m hy, 
Quheii that thai saw him sh-iii swa, 
And slepand thouchi thei wald hiin sla. 
The kina wp blenkit haslily. 
And saw his man sleiiaiid him by; 
And saw cummand the toihyr thre. 
Deliuerly on fute gat he ; 
And drew Ins suenl owl. and thaiin tiiete. 
And, as lie yiule, his fute he set 
Apon his man. weill hewyly. 
He waknyt. aiid laiss diMiy : 
For the slep maistiyt hym sway. 
That or he gat wp. ane off thai. 
That come for to sla the king, 
Gaiff hym astrak in his rysing, 
Swa that he mycht help him no mar. 
The kill'; sa straitly si ad 16 wes thar, 
That he wes neiiir yeyi sa si ad 
Ne war the armyng ''* that he had, 



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APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



He liad been dule, for owtvn w r. 
Hut iiocht for till " (Ml sic iiiiin.-r 
Ke lielpyt hitii. i[i tlutt. I);ir(»:iyiie,2 
'lliat thiii ihie traiowns lie Iihs slim, 
Tliniw Gddtlis araoe. and his mauheid. 
His fosl.yr-hrniliyr lliur w;is de(ie 
'I'lieu Wfs lie woiidre will of wayii,3 
Qiilieii lie saw lum left aliaiie. 
His fusty r-brodyr iiienyt he; 
Aiitl Wiiryil< ail tlie toihyr tlire. 
And syiie liys way tuk liiin alliine, 
And rycUl towaii his iryst^ is Kane." 

The Bruci, Book v., v. 405. 



Note 2L 

A ml mrrmaurs alfibnster grot, 

Who hnllus her limhs in sunkss well 

iMcp in Strathuird's enchanted Cf.U.—P. 360. 

Imasinatifin can hirdly conceive any thins 
nixre l)eau iful tlian tlie extraordinary srotto 
discovered not nay ye irs since upon the 
estate of Alexander Mac Allister, Esq., of 
Strathaird. It iias since been much and de- 
servedlv celel.rated, and a full account of its 
beauties has been u"bl:shed by Dr. Mac Ltai- 
of Oban. The sent^ral impression may per- 
haps be gathered Ironi the lollnwinK extract 
from a journal, which, written under I he teel- 
in^iS of Hie monvent. is likely to be more accu 
rale than any attempt to le ollect the impres- 
sions tiien rere veil —"The tir.st entrance to 
this celebrated rave is rude and nnpromisin? ; 
but Ihe lisht of ihe torches, witti which we 
were proviiled. was soon reflected from the 
ro'if. noor. and wall-, which s em as if they 
were sheeted with marble, partly smooth, 
parilv rough with frost-work and rustic oriia- 
nients. and partly seeminsr to be wroiiKht into 
statuary. The floor furms a steep and difficult 
ascent, and misht l)e fannluUy compared to a 
sheet of water, which, wliile it ru.-hcd whiien- 
nig and foamina; down a declivity, had been 
suddenly arrested and (Mm-olnlated by Ihe 
spell of an enchanter. Upon attaining the 
summit of this ascent, the cave opens into a 
splendid gullery. adorned with the most daz- 
zling crystalliz.itions, and finally descends 
with rapiditv to the brink of a pool, of the 
most limpid water, about f mr or live yards 
broji'J. There opens heyond this pool a porial 
arch formed bv two colutnns of white spar, 
with beautiful chasing upon the sides, which 
promises a continuation of the cave. One of 
oiir sailors swam acro.-s. for there is no other 
mode of passing, and mfonned us (as indeed 
we partly saw bv the lialit he earned) that the 
encliantmeiit of Mac Allister's cave terminates 
with this portal, a little beyond which there 
was only a rude cavern, speedily clioked with 
stones and earth. But Ihe pool, on the brink 
of which we stood, surrounded by the most 
fanciful mouldings, in a substance resemblin!; 
white H.arble, and distinguished by the depth 
and puntv of its waters, might have been the 
li;itliing grotto of a naiad. The groups of 
coiiibined fiaures projecting, or embossed, by 
which Ihe pool is surrounded, are exquisitely 



2 Frav, oi 
4 Curned. 






eiegimt and fanciful. A statuary might catch 
leautiful hints from Ihe singular and romantic 
ili>[,osition of 1 hose stalactites. There isscarce 
a toi m, or yroup, on which active fancy may not 
trace figures or irrotesque ornaments, which 
have been Kradually mor.lded in this cavern 
bv the dropping of the calcareous water hard- 
eiimg into petrifactions. .Many of tlmse tine 
groups have been injured by the senseless 
rage of appropriation >.f recent tourists; and 
the grotto has lost, (lam inioi med.) through 
the smoke of torches, something of that vivid 
Sliver tint which was originally one of its 
chief distinctions. But enough of beauty re- 
mains to compensate for all that may be 
lost."— Mr. Mac-Allister of Strathaird has, 
with great propriety, bu It up the exterior en- 
trance to this cave, in order that straiigoi-s 
may enter properly attended by a guide, to 
prevent Hiiy repetitam of the wanton and 
selfish injury which this singular scene has 
already sustained. 



Note 2 K. 

Yet to no sense of selfish wronns. 
Bear witness with me. Heuveti. belonas 
My joy o'er Edwards bier.— P. 362. 

The generosity which does justice to the 
character of an enemy, often marks Briice's 
sentiments, as recorded by the faithful Bar- 
bour. He seldom mentions a fallen enemy 
without [)raising such goo<l qual.ties as he 
might possess. I shall only take one instance. 
Shortlv after Bruce landed in Garrick. in 1306, 
Sir Ingram Bell, the English governor of Ayr, 
engaged a wealthy yeoman, who had hitherto 
been a follower of Bruce, to uiideriake the 
task of assassma'ing him The King learned 
this treachery, as he is said to have done other 
secrets of the enemy, by means of a female 
with whom he had an intrigue. Short Iv after 
he was possessed of this information, Bruce, 
resorting to a small thicket at a distance from 
his men. with only a single page to attend 
iiim, met the traitor, accompanied by two of 
liis sons. They approached him with their 
wonted famiiiarity, tjut Bruce, taking his 
page's bow and arrow, commanded them to 
keep at a distance. As they still pressed for- 
ward with professions of zeal for his (lersou 
anu .service, he, after a second warn iig. shot 
the fatlier with the arrow: and being assault- 
ed successively by the two sons, despatched 
first one, who vvas armed with an iixe. then 
as the other charged him with a spear, avoitled 
the thrust, struck the head from the spear, 
and cleft the skull of the assas.Mii with a blow 
of his two-handed swiird. 

•' He rushed down of blood all red. 
And when the king saw they were dead, 
All three lying, he wiped his brand. 
With that his boy came fast running. 
And said, 'Our lord might lowyi 6 he. 
That granted you might and powesle ' 
To fell the felony and the pride. 
Of three in so little tide.' 



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I be kmsr said. • So our lord me see, 
1 hey iiave lieen wonby ineu all ibree. 
Had s hey not been iiul of treason ; 
Bat that maiie liieir couAk>i<>u ' '' 

Barljours Bruce., b. v. p. 1; 



Note 2 L. 

Sftch hate was his on Solxcoy's strand, 
Wnm veiuftance citnch'd has paisini hand. 
That pomttd yet to SaMaruTs lasuL—\'. 352 

To establish his dominion in Scotland had 
been a favounte object of Ld ward's amhition, 
aiid noihinsr could exceed the pertmaraiy wiih 
whicii he pursued it, aiiiess his inreierate re- 
seiitMieuC Jisainst the lusurseuis. who so fre- 
quently broke the Enelii^h yoke uhen he 
deemed it iii<«&t firmly nveted ' After liie li:it- 
lles c.f Faikirk ami ilethven. and the dre:idrul 
exauiples which he had made ot Wallace and 
other champions of uati.iual independence, he 
probably concluded every chance of insurrec- 
tion was completely aniiiiiii.ited. This «as in 
13^6. when Bruce, as we have seen, wa«i uiierly 
expelled from Sfu>:land : yet. m the c»inciasion 
oi the same year. Bruce was as~.«in in aniis 
and formidable; and in 1307. Edward, tli-iuffh 
eiliausled by a lou? and wastm? malajdy, pm 
himself at the head of the army destined lo 
destroy him usieriy. This was. perhaps, partly 
III consequence of a tow which he had taken 
upon mm, with all the pomp of chivalry, upon 
the day in which he dubbeil his son akniilU, 
fur which see a subsequent note. Bat even 
Ills spirit of venicauce was umibie to restore 
ills exhausted sireneth. He reachetl Bur?[h- 
upou-Saiids, a petty village <ii Cumberland, on 
tie shores of the Solway Firth, and there. 6th 
Jii'v. 1307. expired in sixht of the detested and 
devoted country of Scotland. His dying in- 
janr iKi-s to his son required him to conVmue 
tiie Scottish war.aud never to recai] Gavestiin. 
iniwanl II distibeyed both charffes. Yet. 
more to mark his ammosi y. the dying monarch 
oniered his b<ines to l»e carried with the in- 
vaOiu:; army. Froissart, who proliably had 
the authonty of eye-wiinesses. h;is given us 
the following account of this remarkable 
charge : — 

- In the said forest, the old King Robert of 
Scotland dyd kepe hymse'fe. whiu King Ed- 
ward the Fyrst conquered nygh ail Scotland ; 
for he was so often chased, that none durst 
loge him in castell, uor foriresse. for leare of 
the said Kyug. 

•• .\nd ever whan the King was returned into 
Inglund, than he would gainer together agayu 
his people, and couquere townes, castells. and 
fortresses, luste to Berwick, some by battle 
and s<ime by fair speech and love : and when 
the said King Edward heard thereof, than 
would he assenible his power, and wyii the 
realme of Scotland a;raiii; thus the chance 
went between these two foresaid Kines It 
was shewed me. how that this King Robert 
wan and lost his realme v times. So thi> 
continued till the said King Edward died at 
Berwick : and wlien be saw that he should 
die. he called before him his eldest son. who 
w:is Kins after him. and there, before all tiie 
baroiies, he caused him to swear, that as soon 



as he were dead, that he should take his btxh, 
and Ijoyie it in a caQ.droii. till ir.e flesh de- 
parted rlean from the boues. and than t<j bury 
ihe flesh, and keep siill the U<nes; and that 
as often as the Scotts should rebeil asuinst 
him. be should a&sembie the people a^aiu^t 
them, and carry witu him the boues of his 
Cither; for he believed veriiy. tiiai if iney h<id 
Ills bones with them, that the ScoUs should 
never attain any ViC"ory against them The 
which thing was not a(5CompiisiieiJ, for when 
the King died his son earned I im to I>iiidou " 
— BtTiurs Froissan's Chjowcie. London, 1812, 
pp. 39. -U). 

Edward s commands were not obeyed, for 
he was interred in Westm iisltf Abbey, with 
the appropnaie i:i&crip:iiiu : — 

" Edicardus Pnmus Srttontm mallexts hie est. 
Pacium Stri'a'' 

Yet some stei* seem to have been taken to- 
wards rendei ing his body cpable i f occa.M0uaI 
rrrtUSjiortiiiou. for it was eiqu.silely eiiibalm- 
ed. as was ascertained when his tomb was 
opened some years ago. Edward II. judgetl 
wisely lu not carryins the dead Ixdy ui liis 
father iout Scotland, since he would not obey 
his livius Cfiunsels. 

It ought to l>e observed, that though the 
order of tne incidents is reversed in the r«jem, 
yet. in point of historical accuracy, Bruce had 
landed in Sc^illand. and obUtmcMl sbiue suc- 
cesses of couseq-ieuce, before the neata of 
Edward 1. 



Note 



M. 



Catuui's tower, ihnl. sleep tmd grn>, 

Ukejotcon-msl o'trhojufs the Oag—l'. 3tJ2. 

The little island of Canna.orCaiiiiay.adjo.ns 
to those of Rum and .Miiick, wi h which it 
fora:s one parish. In a pretty liay openius Up- 
wards ihe east, there is a lofty and slnider 
rock deiached from the shore. Lpfm ibe 
summit are the ruins of a very small lower, 
scarcely accessible by a steep and precipitous 
path. "Here, it is said, one of the kiu^s, or 
Lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, 
of whom he was jealons. The ruins are of 
course haunted by her restle.<« spin . and mauy 
romaiitic stories are t.ild by the agol people 
of the island concemiiig her fate in lile. and 
her ajipearauces after death. 



Note 2 N. 

And Ronxn's mountains dark have tmt 
Tfmr hunttrs to the shore. — R 363. 

Rouin (iiopularly called Kam. a name which 
a [>oet may be pardoned fi>r avoiding if possi- 
ble ) is a very rousb and mountamoiis island, 
adjacent lo those of Kigg and Cannay. There 
IS almost no arab.e ground upon it, stJ thai, 
eii-ei>t m the plenty of the deer, which of 
course are now nearly extirpjited. it still de- 
serves the description bestowed by the arch- 
dean of the Isles. "Ron>n. sixteen myle 
iiortli-w:ist from tlie ile of Coll. Ives ane'iie 
callit RoDiii He, of sixteen luyle long, and six 



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APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



403 



\- 



in bredtlie in the narrowest, aiie forest uf 
hejg;h mouiitaiiis, amJ abiiiidaiioe of Utile deir 
in It, qiihilk deir will never be siaue doune- 
Nviili. but ilie principal saittis man be \\\ the 
heisrlit i)f ihe Inll. becan>e ; he deir will be 
callit upwart ay be the tainoliell, or withont 
lynchel they will pass upwart perforce. In 
this ile will be ei>tten about Bniane als many 
Willi nests upon the plane mure as men pleasis 
to yadder, and yet by resson the fowis lies few 
to start tneni except deir. This ile lyes from 
the west to Ihe eist m lenth, and pertains to 
M'Kenabrey of CoUa. Many solan j^eese are 
in this lie."— 3foMro'* Descnpliun o/tfu: Western 
hits, p. 18. 



Note 2 0. 

O.i Srooreigo next a warning lioht 
Sumnum'd titr wiirriors lu the Jljht ; 
A numirous race, ert slern Mac/rod 
O'er Ihtir bkak shores in veiiyeance strode. 

P. 363. 
These, and the followins: lines of the stanza, 
refer to a dreaiiful tale of feudal venseance, 
of which 'unfoituiiately there are relics that 
still attest the truth. Scoor-Eig:? is a high 
peak in the centre of the small Isle of Eig^, 
or Ea^ It is well known to mineralogists, as 
atfciidiiii many inlerestins specimens, and lo 
otiiers whom chance or curiosity may lead to 
the Island, for tlie astonishing: view of the 
mainland and neighbouring isles, which it 
coiniiiands. I shall ag^ain avail myself of the 
jourird 1 have quoed.i 

'•2'itk Auijusl. 18U. — At seven this niornins: 
we were in the Sound which divides the Isle 
of Rum fiom that of Eisg The latter, al- 
though hilly and rocky, and traversed by a 
remarkaldy hi^h and barren ridge, called 
Scoor-Kiag, has. in point of soil, a mu<-h more 
nroinisiiig appearance. Southward of both 
lies the Isle of .\luich, or .Muck, a low and 
fertile island, and thoiigh the least yet proba- 
bly the most valuable of the three. We 
manned the boat, and rowed along the shore 
of Egg in quest of a cavern, wnicii had been 
the memorable scene of a horrid feudal ven- 
geance We had rounded more than half the 
isl.iiid. admiring the entrance of many a bold 
natural cave, which lis rocks exhibited, with- 
out finding that which we sought, until we 
procured a guide Nor. indeed, was it sur- 
prising that It should have escaped the search 
of siransers, as there are no outward indica- 
tions more than might distinguish the entrance 
of a lox-earlh. I his noted cave has a very 
narrow opening, thi'ousli wnich one can hardly 
creep on his knees alid hands. It rises sieep 
and lofty within, and runs into the bowels of 
the rock to the depth ol 255 measured feet; 
the lieisht at Iht; entrance may be about three 
feel, but rises within to eighteen or tw nty, 
and the breadth may vary in the same propor- 
tion. The rude and stnny bottom of this cave 
is sfreweii with the bones of men, women, 
and children, tlie sad relics of the ancient in- 
habitants of the island, 20() in number, who 
were slain on the f.illowmg occasion : — The 
Mac- Donalds of the Isle of Egg, a people de- 
pendent on Clan-Ranald, had done some in- 



1 Scr Note % ( 



357. 



jury to the Laird of .Mac-I.eod. The tradition 
o( the isle says, that it was bv a personal at- 
tack on the chieftain, in winch his back was 
broken But this of the other isles hears, 
j more probably, that the injury was otfered to 
! two or three of the MacLeods, who. landing 
I upon Eigg, and usiin; some freedom wiih the 
young women, were seized by the islandeis, 
I bound hand and foot, and turned adrift in a 
j boat, which the winds and waves salely con- 
I ducted to Skye To avenge ihe offence given, 
j Mac-Leod sailed with such a body of men, as 
rendered resistance ht>peless. The natives, 
fearing iiis vengeance, concealed themselves 
in this Cavern, and,afier a strict search, the 
Mac-Leocis went on board their galleys, alter 
doing what mischief they could, coiicluilnig 
the inhaliitants had left the isie, and betaken 
lliemselves to the Long Island, or some of 
Clan-Ranald's other possessions. But next 
morning they espn d from Ihe vessels a man 
upon the island, iiiid immediately landing 
again, they traced his retreat by the marks of 
his footsteps, a light sn4)w being unhappily on 
the ground. MacLeod then surrounded the 
cavern, sunimoned the suliierranean garrison, 
j and lieniaiuled that ihe individuals who had 
ort'eniied him should be de ivered up to him. 
This WHS perenipioniy refused. The chieftain 
then caused Ins people to divert the course of 
I a nil of water, w inch, faliini; over the entrance 
. of the cave, would have preveir.eil his pur- 
I posed vengeance. He then klmiled at tlie 
; entrance of the cavern a huge tire, composed 
of turf and fern, and inainlained ii with unre- 
j lenting assiduiiy, uniil all wiUiin were de- 
stroyed by suttbcaiion. The date of this 
dreadful deed must have been recent, if one 
may judge from the fresh a|)pearance ot those 
i relics. I brought off. in spile t)f the prejudice 
; of our sailors, a skull from among the nuiner- 
1 ou> specimens of inorialily which the cavern 
aiforded. Before le-embarking we visited an- 
other cave, opening to the sea, but of a clia- 
rac:er entirely different, lieing a large open 
I vault, as iiigii as that of a cailiedial, and run- 
ning back a great way into the rock at the 
I same height. The heiuht and width of the 
j opening gives ample light to tlie whole Here, 
after 1745, when the Catliolic priests were 
! scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used lo 
! perforin ine Roman Catholic service, most of 
!the islanders being ol that persuasion. A 
j huge ledge of rocKs rising about liall-way up 
lone side of the vault, served for altar and 
pulpit; and the a|ipearance of a priest and 
Highland congregaiion in such an exiiaonli- 
nary place of worslup. might have engaged 
llie pencil of Salvator." 



Note 2 P. 

that wondrous dome. 

Where, a.i lo sknvie the Innplfs dtck'd 
By skill, of em tidy aiclulecl. 
Nature hersHj. it seem'd, vwuld raise 
A Minster lo her Maker's praise .'—P. 363. 
It would be unpaidonaJile lo detain the 
reader upon a wonder .so often described, and 
yet so incapable of heniiT understood by de- 
scripiion. I'liis palace of Neptune is even 
grander upon a second than the hrsl view. 



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'S 



The stupendous columns which form the sides 
of the cave, the depth and strKiisHi of the tide 
which mils Its deep and heavy swell up tc» the 
extremity of the vault — the variety of the 
tnits formed hy white, crimson, and yellow 
stalactites, or petrifactions, wliicU occupy the 
vacancies between the hase of the broken 
pillars which form the roof, and intersect 
them with a rich, curious, and variegated 
chasing, occupying each interstice — the cor- 
lespondiii!^ variety below water, where the 
ocean rolls over a dark-red or violet-coloured 
rock, from which, as from a base, the basaltic 
Columns arise — the tremendous noise of the 
swelliiiir tide, mmslingr with the deep-toned 
echoes of the vault, — are circumstances else- 
where unparalleled. 

.\olhin:; can he more interestinsr than the 
varied appearance of the little archipelago of 
islets, of which Staffa is the most remarkable. 
'I his group, nailed in Gaelic 'i'resharnish. 
affords a thousand varied views to the voyager. 
as they appear in different positions with re- 
ference to his Course. Tlie variety of their 
shape contributes much to the beauty of these 
effects. 



Note 2 Q. 



Scenes sung by him \ 



I sings no more. 

P. 363. 



The ballad, entitled -'Macphail of Colonsay. 
and the Mermaid of Corrievrekin," [see 
Border .Minstrelsy, vol, iv. p. 285.] was com- 
posed by John Leyden, from a tradition which 
he found while making a tour through the 
Hebrides about 1801. .soon before his fatal de- 
parture for India, where, after having made 
farther progress in Oriental literature than 
any man of letters who had embraced those 
studies, he died a mariyr to his zeal for know- 
ledge, ni the island t)f Java, immediately after 
the landing of our forces near Balavia, in Au- 
gust 1811. 



Note 2 R. 

Up Tarhnl's wfstern lake they bore, 

Tlieti dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er. 

P. 363. 

The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South 
Knapdale by a very narrow isthmus, formed 
by the western and eastern Loch of Tarbat 
These two saltwater lakes, or bays, encroach 
so far upon the land, and the extremities come 
so near to each other, that there is not above 
a mile of land to divide them. 

" It is not long." says Pennant, " since vessels 
of nine or ten tons were drawn by horses out 
of the west loch into that of ihe ejist. to avoid 
the dangers of the Mull of Caiityre, so dreaded 
and so little known was the navigation round 
that promontory. It is the opinion of manv, 
that these little isthmuses, so frequently styled 
Tarbat in North Britain, took their name from 
the above circumstance; Tarruing. signifying 
to draw, and Bata, a boat. This too might be 
called, by way of pre-eminence, the Tarbat, 



^ 



'^ 



from a very singular circumstance related by 
rorf(£Us. When Magnus, the barefooted king 
of Norway, obtained from Donald-bane of 
Scotland the cession of the Western Isles, or 
all those places that could be surrounded in a 
boat, he added to them the peninsula of Can- 
tyre by this fraud : he placed himself in the 
stern of a boat, held the rudder, was drawn 
over this narrow track, and by this species of 
navigation wrested the couniry from his bro- 
ther mon.in^li " — Ftnnanl's Scntlund, London, 
1790. p. 190. 

But that ]5ruce also made this passage, al- 
though at a period two or three years later 
than in Ihe poem, appears from the evidence 
of Barbour, who mentions also the effect pro- 
duci'd upon the minds of the Highlanders, 
from the prophecies current amongst them ; — 

" Bot to King Robert will we gang. 
That we haff left wnspokyn of laiig. 
Quhen he had conwoyii lo the se 
His brodyr Eduuard. and his nieiiye, 
.^nd olhyr men off gret noblay 
To Tarbart thai held thair way. 
In galayis oidanyt for thair far. 
Bot thaim worthyl i draw thair schippis 

thar: 
And a myle wes betuix the seys; 
Bot that wes lompnyt'-' all with treis. 
The King his schippis thar gert ' draw. 
And for the wynd couth'* stoutly blavv 
Apon thair bak, as thai wald ga. 
He gert men rapys and inasiis la. 
And set thaim in the schippis hey, 
And sayllis to the loppis ley ; 
And gert men gang iliar by drawaiid. 
The wyiKl Ihaim lielpyt. that was blawuiid ; 
Swa that, in a litill sjiace, 
1 hair flote all our drawin was. 

"And quhen thai, that in the llis war, 
Hard tell how the gud King had thar 
Gert hys schippis with saillis ga 
Owt our betuix [the] Tarbart [is] tvva, 
Thai war abaysit^ sa vvirely. 
For thai wysl, throw auld prophecy, 
That he suld ger6 schippis sua 
Bel nix thai seis with saillis ga, 
Suld wyiie the Ilis sua till hand. 
1 hat nane with strenth suld him withstand. 
1 liarfor they come all to the King. 
W es iKine withsiud his bidding. 
Owtakyn^ .Ihone of Lome allayne. 
Bot well! sone eftre wes he tayne ; 
And present rycht to the King. 
And thai that war of his lediiig. 
That till the King had brokyn fay.8 
V\ ar all dede, and destroyit awav." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book x., v. 821. 



Note 2 S. 

The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Bni-Ghoil. "the Mountain at the Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind. 

And bade Loch Rama smde.—P. 361. 

Loch R.-mza is a beautiful bay. on Ihe noith- 

ern extremity of Arran, opening towards E^ist 



i 



y- 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Tarhat Loch. It is well (Ips(:ril>ed by Pen- 
nntit : — ■•'I'lie approach was iii;iKiiiticent ; a 
fine hav in front, about a mile deep luivina: a 
ruiiied'cas le ii. ui ihe lower end. on a low far- 
pnoectiiisf n» ck of land, that tbrnis another 
liarlH>ur, with a narrow passage; hm within 
jia.s three fathom of water, even at tlie lowest 
ebb. Beyond is a litle plain watered by a 
stream, and inhabited by the people of n small 
Village. The whole is environed with a theatre 
of mountains; and in the background the 
serrated rrags of Grianan-Aibol soar above." 
—PmnanCs Tour to thp Wtstem Isles, p 191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil. 'the mountain of the winds." is 
peneraily known by its Unglisli, and less poeti- 
cal name, of Goattield. 



405 > 



Note 2 T. 



Earh to Lm-h Ranzn's nutrrjm sprinn ; 
That blast was wmded by the Kuiy ! 

F. 365. 

The passage in Barbour. describing the iand- 
mg of Bruce, and his being rcogni ed by 
Douglas and those of his followers who had 
preceded him. by the sound of his horn, is m 
the original singularly simple and affecMng — 
The king arrived in Arran with thirtv three 
small row-boats. He ititerr gated a female 
if there had arrived any warlike men ot late 
in that country. •' Surely, sir." she replied. •■ I 
ran tell vou of many who lately came hnher, 
discomfited the Knglish governor, am! block- 
aded his castle of Brodick. They imiintain 
themselves in a wood at no great distance." 
The king, truly conceiving that this must he 
Douglas and his followers, who had lately set 
forth to try their fortune in Arran desired Uie 
woman to conduct him to the wood. She 
obeyed. 

"The king then blew his horn on high ; 
And gert Ins men that were him by, 
Hold them still, and all privy ; 
And syne again his home blew he. 
James of Dowglas heard him blow. 
And at the last alone gan know. 
And said, "Soothly yon is the king; 
I know long while since his blowing.' 
The third time therewithal! he blew. 
And then Sir Robert Bold it knew; 
And said, 'Yon is the king, but dread, 
Go we forth till him. better speed.' 
Then went they till the king in hye, 
And him inclined courteously. 
And blithlv welcomed them the king, 
And was joyful of their meeting, 
And kissed them; and speared • syne 
How thev had fared in hunting ? 
And they him told all, but lesing : 2 
Syne laud tliey God of their meeting. 
Syne with the king till his harbourye 
Went bothjoyfu" and jolly." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book v., 
p. 115, 116. 

1 Asked. a Wittioul lying. I 



Note 2 U. 

his brother blamed. 

But sh'ired Ihr Wfakness. while nshrrrned, 

With hnU'ihly lau(jh his head he lurn'd. 

And dnsh'd away the tear he scnrn'd. — P. 365. 

The kind, and yet fiery character of Edward 
Bruce, is well painted by Barbour, in the ac- 
count of his tieliaviour after the battle of Ban- 
nockbnrn. Sir Walter Koss. r)ne of the very 
few Scottish nobles who fell in that battle, 
was ^o deaiiy beloved by Eilward, Mial he 
wished the victory had been lost, so Ross had 
lived. 

"Out-taken him, men has not seen 
W here he for any men made moaning." 

And here the venerable Archdeacon intimates 
a piece of sc;indal. Sir Edward Bruce, it 
seems, loved Hoss's sister, par amours, to the 
neglect of his own lady, sister to David de 
Stiaihhogie, Earl of At hole. This criminal 
passi.iii had evil consequences: for. in resent- 
ment to the affront done to his sister. Ailiole 
aii:icked the guard vvhich Bruce had left at 
(ambnskentieth, during tlie baltleof Bannock- 
burn, to protect his magazine of provisions, 
' and slew Sir William Keith, the commander. 
For which treason he was forfeited. 

In like manner, when in a sally from Car- 
rickfeigus. ISeil Fleming, and the guards whom 
lie commanded, had fallen, after the protract- 
ed resistance which saved the rest of Edvvard 
Bruce's army, he made such moan as surprised 
his followers: 

" Sic moan he made men had ferly,3 
l-or he was not custoinably 
Wont for to moan men any thing. 
Nor would not hear men make moaning." 

Such are the nice traits of character so often 
lost in general history. 



Note 2 V. 

Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 
In agony of travait-poin. 
And thou didst hit thy tittle band 
Upon the tnsliint turn and stand. 
And dart the worst the Joe might do. 
Rnthrr than, like a knijht untrui:, 
Leave to pursuers merdless 
A woman in her last distress. — P 366. 
This incident, which illustrates so happily 
the chivalrous generosity of Bnice's charac- 
ter, is one of tlie many simj-le and natural 
traits recorded by Barhour. It occurred dur- 
ing Ihe expedition winch Bruce made to Ire- 
land, to .support the pretensions of his brother 
Edward to the throne of that kingdom. Bruce 
was about to retreat, and his host was arrayed 
for moving. 

" The king has heard a woman cry, 
He asked what that was in hy.* 
'It is the layndar.6 sir,' sai ane. 
'That her child ill 6 right now has ta'en 



b Lauiidres*. 



(i Child bed. 



'T 



z 



f 400 

^ Anil 



:v 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Anil must leave now behind us here. 
Therefore she makes an evil cheer.' i 
Tlie kins said, 'Certes,2 it. were pity 
That she in that pfunl left should he, 
For oertes I I row there is no man 
Tiiat he no will rue 3 a woman than.' 
His hosts all there arested he. 
And ?ert-t a tent soon stinted o be, 
And ^ert her ffang in hastily. 
And other women tu he her by. 
Wliile she was delivered he hade ; 
And syne forth on his ways rade. 
And how she forth should carried be, 
Or he forth fure.S ordained he. 
This was a full g:reat court e.sy, 
Thatswilk a king and so misht.y, 
Gerr his men dwell on this manner, 
But for a poor lavender " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book xvi. pp. 39, 40 



Note 2 W. 

O'er chasms he pnss'd, where fractures wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride. — P. 368. 
The interior of the island of Arran abounds 
with beautiful Highland scenery. The hills, 
beins very rocky and precipitou.s, afford .<ome 
ruiaracls of great lieisht. though of inconsi- 
derable breadth There is one pass over the 
river Maclirai. renowned for the dilemma of a 
poor woman, who. being temped by the nar- 
rowness of the ravine to step across, succeed- 
ed ill inakins; the first riioveineiit, but took 
fright when it became necessary to move the 
other foot, and remained in a posture equally 
ludicrous and daiiserous. until some chance 
passenger assisted her to extricate herself. It 
is said she remained there some hours. 



Note 2 X. 

He crossed his brow beside the stone 
Where Driud^ erst heard Hclims yronn ; 
And at the cairns upon the wilil. 
O'er many a heatlien hero pdtd. — P. 368. 

The isle of Arran. like those of Man and 
Anulesea. abounds with many relics of hea- 
then, and probably Druididl. superstition. 
There are high erect columns of unhewn 
stone, the nio.st early of all moiiuni'ents, the 
circles of rude stones, commonly entitled 
Druidical. and the cairns, or sepulchral piles, 
within which are usually found urns enclosing 
ashes. .Much doubt necessarily rests upon the 
history of such monuments, nor is it possible 
to consider them as exclusively Teltic or 
Druidical. By much the finest circles of 
standing stones, excepting Sfonehege, are 
those of Stenhouse, at Stennis. in the island 
of Pomona, the principal isle of the Oicades 
These, of course, are neitherCeltic nor Druidi- 
cal ; and we are assured that manv circles 
of the kind occur both in Sweden and Nor- 
way. 



K 



Note 2 Y. 

Old Brodick's golhic towers were seen ; 
From HasliuQS. InU thiir Enylish Lord, 
Dotujlas had won them by the sword —P. 368. 

Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of 
Arran, is an ancient fortress, near an open 
roadstead called Brodick-Bay. and not far 
distant from a toleiahle harbour, closed in by 
the Island of Lamlash. This important place 
had been assailed a short lime before Bruce's 
arrival in the i.slaiid. James Lord Douglas, 
wild accompanied Bruce to his retreat in 
Rachrme, seems, in the spring of i;!06. to have 
tired of his abode there, and set out accord- 
ingly, III tlie phrase of the times, to see what 
adventure (jod would send him. Sir Robert 
Boyd accompanied him; and his knowledge 
of the localities of Arran appears to have 
directed his course thither. They landed in 
the i.vjaiid privately, and appear ti> have laid 
an ambusu tor Sir John Hastings, the English 
governor of Brwlick, and surprised a consi- 
derable supply of arms and provisions, and 
nearly took ihe castle itself. Indeed, that Hiey 
actually did so, hiis been generally averred by 
! historians, although it does not appear Irom 
■ the narrative of Barbour On the contrary, it 
1 would seem that they took shelter witlim a 
i fortiricatioii of the ancient inhabitants, a ram- 
' part called Tor an Schwn. When thev were 
' Jollied by Bruce, it seems probable that they 
j had gained Brodick Castle. At least traditam 
says, that from the haitlemeiits of the lower 
he saw Ihe supposed sigiial-fiie on Turnberry- 
j nook. . . . Tlie castle IS iKjw much modernized 
j but has a dignified appearance, being sur- 
rounded by flounsliuig planlaliuus. 



Note 2 Z. 

Oft. too, with unaccustom'd ears, 

A language much unmeet he hears.— P. 368. 

Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an an- 
ecdote, from which it would seem that the 
vice of profane swearing, afterwards too ge- 
neral among the Scottish nation, was, at this 
time, confined to militarv men As Douglas, 
after Bruce's return to Sco; land, was roving 
about the mouniainouscoimiry of Tweeddale, 
near the water of l.ine, he chanced to hear 
some persons in a farm-house say "the dtvil." 
C(mcliidnig. from this tiardy e.xpression. that 
the house iiontained warlike" guests, he imme- 
diately assailed it. and had the good fortune 
to make prisoners Thomas Randolph, after- 
wards the famous Earl of Murray, and Alex- 
ander Stuart, Lord Bonkle Botli were then 
in the English interest, and had come into 
that country with the purpose of driving out 
Douglas They afterwards ranked among 
Bruce's most zealous adherents. 



iUhed. 



i Moved. 



Z 




^v 



THE FINDING OF THE RING. 
With few brief words inscribed to toll, 
"This for the Lady Isabel."— Pftgre 367, Verse ii. 



T 



A 



z. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF TF^E ISLES. 



407 N 



Note 3 A. 

For, see, .' Oii' niitdij signal jnade. 
That Clifforil. wilh his mtrry-ntcn all. 
Guards carekssly our fatha's hull.—?. 369. 
The reniarkahle nirmimstaiices hv which 
Bruce was iiulnced tn enter Sooilanil, iiiuler 
the false idea that a NJjnal tire was lighted 
upon the \>\\n\f. near his (naferiial cas le uf 
Turnherry— ilie disappDiritiiieiit winch he met 
witli. and tlie Irairi (if sucrtess which arose out 
of that very disappnintnient. are too curious 
to be passed over unnoticed, 'i'he folhiwiti? 
is the HMrrative of Barbour. The introduction 
i.s a favourable spenmien of his style, which 
seems to be in some decree the model for thai 
of Gawam Douplas :— 

"This wes in ver,' quhen wynter tid, 
With his biastis hidwyss to bid. 
Was our drywvn : and byrdis smale, 
As lurtuns and the nychiyn^ale. 
Be^onth 2 rycht sanely 3 to syn? ; 
And for to niak in thair sinsryn^ 
Swete notis. and .sowiiys seK* 
And melodys plesand lo her. 
And the treis besouth to ma S 
Burfreans.8 and biycht biomvs alsua. 
To wyn the helyns 7 off thair hewid. 
That wykkyt wyntir had thaim rewid.8 
And atl g:re'ssvs heguth to sprvni?. 
In to that tyme the nohill kin>. 
W'lth his flole. and a few menve.9 
Thre hundyr 1 trow thai mychl be, 
Is to the se, owte off Arane 
A iitill forouth.io ewyn gane. 

" Thai rowit fa.st, with all tiiair mvrht 
Till that apon thaim fell the nvcht. ' 
That woux myrk n apon gret fnaner, 
Swa that thai wyst nooht quliar thai wer. 
For thai na nedill had. na stane ; 
Bot rowyt alwayis in till ane, 
Steraiid all tytne apon the fvr. 
That thai saw brynnand Ivc'ht and schyr.'S 
It wes bot auentur 13 thaim led : 
And they in schort tyme sa thaim sped, 
That at the fyr arywyt thai; 
And went to land bot mar delay. 
And Cuthbert, that has sene the fvr. 
Was full off ansyr, and off ire : 
For he durst nouht do it away ; 
And wes alsua dowtand av 
That his lord suld pass to'se. 
Tharfor thair cummyn Wavtit he ; 
And met them at Ihair arywinff. 
He wes wele sone broucht to the King. 
That speryt at him how he had done. 
And he with sar hart tauld him sone. 
How that he fand nane weill luffand; 
Bot all war favis. that he fand : 
And that the lord the Persy, 
With ner thre huiidre in ciimpany, 
Was in the castell thar besid, 
FiillfiUyt off dispyt and prid. 
Bot ma than twa partis off his rowt 
War herberyt iu the toune without ; 
' And dyspytyt yow mar, Schir King, 
Than men may dispyt ony thing ' 



1 Spring— 2 Began.— 3 Loftily —4 Several.— 5 Make • 
fi Buds— 7 Covering.— 8 Bereaved.— 9 Men. — 10 Before. 
II Dark.— 12 Clear.— U Adventure. — 14 Haste— 10 Sot 



V 



Than said the Kin?, in full srel ire; 
'Tratour, qiihv maiil ihow than the fyr?' 
' A ! Srhyr,' said he, 'sa God me se ! 
The fvr wes newyr maid for me. 
Na. or the nycht, I wvst it nocht; 
B.-t fra I wyst it. weill I thonht 
That ye. and haly your menye. 
In hy '•» suld put'yow to the se. 
For thi I cum to rnete yow her, 
To tell perellys that may aper.' 

" The Kins wes off his spek ansry. 
And askyt his prywe men. in hy, 
Quhat at thaim ihoucht wes best to do. 
Schvr Edward fryst answert ihar to, 
Hys brodyr thtil wes swa hardy. 
And saul : • I saw vow sekyrly 
Thar sail na perell. that may be, 
Dryve me efisonys J5 to the se. 
.Myne auentur her tak will 1. 
Quhethir it he esfiiU or an?ry.' — 
' Brothyr." he said, 'sen thou' will sua, 
It is Kude that we satnyn la 
rji.ssese or ese, or payiie or play, 
Eftyr as God will ws purway '8 
And sen men suyis that the Persy 
Myn heretase will occupy; 
And hi,« menye sa ner ws lyis. 
That ws dispytis mony wvss ; 
Ga we and wense i' sum'off the dispvte 
And that may we haiff done aiss tite : '8 
For thai ly tratstly.is but dreding 
Off ws. or off our her ciimmyns. 
And thoucht we slepand slew thaim all, 
Repruff tharof na man sail. 
For werrayour na forss suld ma, 
Quhethir he mycht oiircoiu his fa 
Throw strenth, or throw sutelte ; 
Bol that gud faith ay haUiyn be.'" 

Barbour's Bruce, Book iv., v. 1. 



Note 3 B. 

Now nsh you uihence that wondrous haht.. 

Whose faint (jloio beynilrd their sight 1 — 

It ne'er was known.— V. 370. 

T'he followinsj are the words of an ingenious 
correspondent, to whom 1 am obliged for much 
information respecrin? Turnberry and its 
iiei^hbriurhood. "The onlv tradition now re- 
metnhered of the landing- of Robert the Bruce 
III Carrick. relates to the tire seen by him from 
the Isle of Arran It is still generally report- 
ed, and religiously believed hy many, that this 
tire was really the work of supernatural 
power, unassisted by the hand of any mortal 
hem?; and it is said, that, for several centu- 
ries, the flame rose yearly on the same hour 
of the same nisht of the vear. on which the 
king first saw it from the turrets of Brodick 
Castle ; and some go so far as to sav. that if 
the exact time were known, it would be si ill 
seen. That this superstitious notion is very 
ancient, is evident from the place where the 
fire is said to have appeared, bein? called the 
Bogles' Brae, beyond the remembrance of 
man. In support of this curious belief, it is 
said that the practice of burninif heath f.)r 



Ueuily. 



-16 Prepare.— 17 Avenge.- 



cWy.- 19 CcqS- 



:cqS- 

A 



408 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



> Hai: 



the itiiprovenieut of land was tlieii unknown ; 
tliat a spunkie (Jack o'laiithorn) could not 
have been seen across tlie breacUh of the 
Fortli of Clyde, between Ayrshire and Arran ; 
and that the courier of Bruce was bis kins- 
man, and never suspected of treacliery."— 
Letter from Mr Joseph Train, of Newton 
Stuart, author of an ingenious Collection of 
Poems, illnstralive <t{ many ancient Traditions 
in Galloway and Ayrshire, Edinbursh. 1814. 
(Mr. Tram niade a journey into Ayrshire at 
Sir Walter Sroit's request, on purpose to col- 
lect accurate information for the Notes to this 
poem ; and the reader will find more of the 
fruits of his labours in Note 3 D. This is the 
same gentleman whose friendly assistance is 
.so often acknowledged in the Notes and [n- 
troductions of the Waverley Novels] 



Note 3 C. 

Thuy (jnin'd the Chose, a wide domain 
Left for the Castk's silvan reign— V. 371. 

The Castle of Turnberry, on the coast of 
Ayrshire, was ilie property of Robert Bruce, 
in riirlit of Ins mother. Lord Hailes mentions 
the follovvitis remarkable circumstance con- 
cernms the mode in which he became pro 
prietor of if.—" Martha, Countess of Carrick 
in her own right, the wife of Robert Bruce. 
Lord of Annandale. bare him a son, after- 
wards Robert I. (lltli July, 1274.) The cir- 
cumstances of her marriage were singular: 
happening to meet Robert Bruce in her do- 
mains, she became enamoured of him, and 
with some violence led him to her castle of 
'['uriiberiy. A few days afrer she married 
him, without the knowledge of the relations 
of either party, and williout the requisite 
consent of the king. Trie king instantly 
seized her castle and whole estates: She 
afterwards atoned by a fine for her feudal 
delinquency. Little did Alexander foresee, 
that, from this union, the restorer of the Scot- 
tish monarchy was to -.iuse."— Annals of Scot- 
land, vol. ii. p. 180. Tlie same obliging corre- 
sponiieiit, whom I have quoted in the pre- 
ceding note, gives me the following account 
of the present state of the ruins of Turn- 
berry : — •'Turnberry Point is a rock projeciiig 
into the sea; the top of it is about eighteen 
feet above high-water mark. Upon this rock 
was built the castle There is about twenty- 
five feet high of the wall next to the sea yet 
standing. Upon the land-side the wall is only 
about four feet high: the length has been 
sixty feet, and the breadth forty-five : It was 
surrounded by a ditch, but that is now nearly 
filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between 
forty and fifty feet above the water, has a 
majestic apiiearance from the sea. There is 
not much local tradition in the vicinity con- 
nected with Bruce or his history. In front, 
however, of the rock, upon which stands 
Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a romantic 
cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it 
is said Bruce and his followers concealed 
themselves immediately after landing, till 
they arranged matters for their farther enter- 
prises. I urns mentions it in the poem of 
Hallowe'en. The only place to the south of 



Turnberry worth mentioning, with reference 
to Bruce's history, is the Weary Nuik, a little 
romantic green hill, where he and his party 
are said to have rested, after assaulting the 
castle." 

Around the Castle of Turnberry was a level 
plain of about two miles in extent, forming 
the castle park, 'i'here could be nothing, I 
am informed, more beautiful than the copse- 
wood and verdure of this extensive meadow, 
before it was invaded by the plouglishare. 



Note 3 D. 

The Bruce hath won his fathf.r's hall. 

P. 373. 

1 have followed the flattering and ple;isiiig 
tradition, that the Bruce, after his descent 
upon the coast of Ayrshire, actually gained 
possession of his maternal castle. But the 
iradition is not accurate. The fact is. that he 
was only strong enough to alarm and drive in 
the outpos's of the English garrison, then 
commanded, not liy Clifl'ord. as assumed in 
the text, but by Perry. Neither was Clifford 
slam upon this occasion, though he had se- 
veral skirmishes with Bruce. He fell after- 
wards in the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, 
alter alarming the castle of Turnberry, and 
surprising some part of the garrison, who 
were quartered without the walls of the for- 
tress, retreated into the mountainous part of 
Carnck, and there made himself so stremg, 
that the English were obliged to evacuate 
Turnberry. and at length the Castle of Ayr. 
Many of his benefactions and royal gifts attest 
Ills attachment to the hereditary followers of 
his house, in this part of the country. 

It is generally known that Bruce, in conse- 
quence of his distresses after the battle of 
Meihven, was affected by a scorbutic disorder, 
which was then called a leprosy. It is said 
he experienced benefit from the use of a 
medicinal spring, about a mile north of the 
town of Ayr, called from that circumstance 
King's Case. The following is the traditioa 
of the country, collected by Mr. Train: — 
" After Robert ascended the throne, he found- 
ed the pnory of Dominican monks, every one 
of whom was under the obligation of putting 
up to Heaven a prayer once every week-day, 
and twice in holydays, for the recovery of the 
king; and, after his death, these masses were 
continued for the saving of his soul. The 
rums of this old monastery are now nearly 
level with the ground. Robert likewise 
caused houses to he built round the well of 
Kings Case, for eight lepers, and allowed 
eight bolls of oatmeal, and 28/. Scotch money, 
per annum, to each person These donations 
were laid upon the lands of Fullarton, and 
are now payable by the Duke of Portland. 
The farm of Shiels, in the neighbourhood of 
Ayr, has to give, if required, a certain quantity 
of straw for the lepers' beds, and so much to 
thatch their houses annually. Each leprous 
person had a drinking-horn provided him ny 
the king, which continued to be hereditary 
in the house to which it was first granted. 
One of those identical horns, of very curious 



I 



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APPENDIX TO THE L(MID OF THE ISLES. 



workmanship, was in the possession of the 
luie Cnlonel Fulhirton of that Ilk." 

My correspondent proceeds lo mention some 
curious remnants of antiquity respecting this 
founda'ion "In conipliment to Sir Wiihani 
VValhice. the areat delive:er of his country. 
King Robert Uriice invested the descendants 
of that hero with the nshl of piacins all the 
leper..; Upon the establistiinent of Kind's Case. 
I his patronage continued in the family of 
Craisie. till it was sold along wiili the lands 
of the late Sir Thomas Wallace. The burgh 
of Ayr then purchased the ng:ht of applyina 
the donations of Jiinir's Case to the support 
»>r Uie poor-house of Ayr. The lepers' ciiar- 
ter-stone was a basnltic bloc.k, exactly the 
shape of a sheep's kidiiev, and weia;liing; an 
Ayrshire hull of meal. 1 he surface of this 
stcme hemt; as sniooh as glass, there was not 
any other way of lifting it than by turning the 
hollow to the sroiind. there extending the 
arms along each side of the stcne. and clasp 
ins; the hands in the cavity. Young lads were 
always considered as deserving to be ranked 
amniig men, when they could lift the blue 
St (lie of King's Case. It always lay beside 
the well, till a few years ago, when some 
Kii^'lish dragoons encamped at that place 
wantonly broke it. .since which the fragments 
have been kept by the freemen of Piestwick 
in a place of security. There is one of these 
charier stones at, the village of Old Daily, in 
Carrick, which has become more celebrated 
by the following event, which happened only 
a few years ago; —The village of New Daily 
being now larger than the old place of the 
same name, the inhabitants insisted that the 
charter-stone should be removed from the 
old town to the new, but the people of Old 
Daily were unwilling to part with their an- 
cient right. Demands and remonstrances 
were made on each side without effect, till at 
last man, woman, and child, of both villages, 
ni:irched out, and by one desperate engage- 
ment put an end to a war. the commencement 
of which no person then living remembered 
Justice and victory, in this instance, being of 
the same party, the villagers of the old town 
of Daily now enjoy the pleasure of keeping 
the blue stane unmolested. Ideal privileges 
are often attached to some of these stones. 
In Girvan, if a man can set his hack against 
one of the above description, he is supposed 
not liable to be arrested for debt, nor can 
rattle, it is imairiiied, be poinded as long as 
they are fastened to the same stone. That 
stones were often used as symbols to denote 
the right of possessing land, before the use 
of written documents became general in 
Scotland, is. I think, exceedingly proliable. 
The charter-stone of Inverness is still kept 
with great care, set in a frame, and hooped 
with iron, at the market place of that town. 
It is called by the inhabitants of that district 
Clack na Couddin. I think it is very likely 
that Carey has mentioned this stone in his 
poem of Craig Phaderick. This is only a con- 
jecture, as I hrtve never seen that work. 
While the famous marble chair was allowed 
to remain at Scoon, it was considered as the 
charter-stone of the kingdom of Scotland." 

1 daid-vin, or wine-cooler. — 3 Chain. —3 Salt-cellars, 
•acicatly the object of much curioas wockaian»hip. 



409 > 



Note 3 E. 

" Bring here" he said, " Iht mmn-s four. 
My noble fathers loved of yore" — P 373. 

These mazers were large drinking cups, or 
goblets. Mention of them occurs in a curious 
inventory of the treasure ami jewels of James 
III., which will be piililished, with other cu- 
rious documents of an Hjuity, by my friend, 
Mr. Thomas Thomson. D Hesister of Scot- 
land, under the tiile of "A Collection of In- 
ventories, and other Reco ds of tlie Hoyal 
Wardrobe, Jewel- House." A-c. 1 copy Ihb 
pa.ssage in which mention is made ot the 
mazers, and also of a habiliment, called " King 
Robert Bruce's serk," i. e. shtrl. meaning, per- 
haps, his shirt of mail; althouiih nooUier 
arms are mentioned in the inventory. It 
might have been a relic of more sanctitied de- 
scripiMtn, a penance shirt perhaps. 

Extract from " Inventare of atte Parte of the 
Gobi and Stiver conyeil and tmcoiiyet/, Jaw- 
tilis, and ulhcr Sluff pprlnnitig to Urtiquhibe 
unre Soveraue Lords Fader, that he had in 
Depots the Tyme oj his Dereis. and that come 
to the Handis of owe Soverane Lord that 
now IS, M.CCCC.LXXXVIil." 

"Memorandum fiindin in a bandit kist like 
a gardeviant,' in the fyist the grete chenye* 
of gold, contenand sevin score sex linkis. 

Item, thre pi at is of silver. 

Item, tuelf salfatis.3 

Item, fyltene discheis* ouregilt. 

Item, a grete gilt plate, 

I/etH. twa grete bassingis * ouregilt. 

Item, four Masons^ called King Robert the 

Brocis, with a cover 
Item, a grete cok maid of silver. 
Item, the liede of silver of ane of the covens 

of masar. 
Item, a fare dialle 6 
Item, twa kasis of knvffis.7 
hem, a t)aie of auld kniffis. 
Itevu tukin be the smyih that opinnit the 

lokkis, in gold fourty demvis. 
Item, m Inglys grotis 8 ." . . . xxiiii. li. and 

the said silver given again to tlie lakaiis of 

hym. 
Item, ressavit in the chtssat of Davidis tour, 

ane haly water-fat of silver, twa boxis. a 

cageat tunie, a glas with rois-water, a do- 

soune of lorchis. King Robert Brucis Serk." 

The real use (tf the antiquarian's studies is 
to bring the minute information which he 
collects to bear upon points of history For 
e.xample, in the inventory I have just quoted, 
there is given the contents of the black kis/, 
or chest, belonging to James III , which wa.s 
his strong box. and contained a quantity of 
treasure, in money and jewels, surpassing 
what might have been at the period expec ed 
of "poor Scotland's gear." Th.s illustrates 
and authenticates a siriking passage in the 
history of the house of Douglas, by Hume of 
Godscrott. The last Karl of Douglas (uf the 
elder branch) had been reduced to moiiasiic 

Dial. — 7 Cases of kui' 



V 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



c 

k 



seclusion in the Abbey of Lindores, by James I 
II. James III., in his distresses, would wil- 
lingly have recalled liini to public life, and 
made him his lieutenant. " Bui he." says 
Godscroft, " laden with vears and old asre, and 
weary of troubles, refused, sayiiis, Sir, you 
have keept mee, and your hlnc.k coffer in Ster- 
ling:, too long, neither of us can doe you any 
pood : I, because my friends have U)rsaken 
me, and my followers and dependers are 
fallen from me. betaking' themselves lo other 
niasters; and your blyck trunk is too faire 
from you, and your enemies are between you 
and it: or (as others say) because there was 
in it a sort of black coyne. that the king had 
caused to be coyned by the advice of his cour- 
tiers; which moneyes (saith he) sir, if you 
had put out at the first, the people would 
have taken it; and if you had employed mee 
in due time I might h;ive done you service. 
But now there is none that will take notice of 
nie. nor meddle with your money." — Hvme's 
Hinory of the House of Douylaa, fol. Edin. 
1&14, p. 206. 



Note 3 F. 

Arotise old frieJtd^, ami gather nein. 

P. 373. 

As soon as it was known in Kyle, says an- 
cient tradition, that Kohert Bruce had landed 
m Carrick. with the intention of recovering 
the crown of Scotland, the Land of Craipie, 
and forty ei^lit men in his immediate neigh- 
bourhood, declared in favour of their legiti- 
mate piin(;e. Bruce granted them a tract of 
land, still retained by the freemen of Newton 
to this day. The (rrigiiial charter was lost 
when the pestilence was raging at Ayr; but 
It was renewed by one of the Jameses, and is 
dated at Fanlkland. The freemen of Newton 
were formerly officers by rotation. The Pro- 
vost of Ayr at one time was a freeman of 
Newton, and it happened to be his turn, while 
provost in Avr, to be officer in Newton, botli 
of which offices he discharged at the same 
lime. 

The forest of Selkirk, or EttrJck, at this 
period, occupied all the district which retains 
that denomination, and embraced the neigh- 
bouring dales of Tweedda)e, and at least the 
Upper Ward of Clydesdale. All that tract was 
probably as waste as it is mountainous, and 
covered with the remains of the ancient Cale- 
donian F'orest. which is supposed to have 
stretched from Cheviot Hills as far iis Hamil- 
ton, and to have comprehended even a part 
of Ayrshire. At the fatal battle of Falkirk, 
Sir John Stewart of Bonkill, brother to the 
Steward of Scotland, commanded the archers 
of Selkirk Forest, who fell around the dead 
body of their leader. The English historians 
have commemorated the tall and stately per- 
sons, as well as the unswerving faith, of these 
foresters. Nor has their interesting fall 
escaped the notice of an elegant modern 
poetess, whose subject led her to treat of that 
calamitous engagement. 

' The glance of the morn had sparkled bright 
On their plumage green and their actons 
light ; 



The bugle was strung at each hunter's side, 
As they had been bound to the chase lo 

ride ; 
But the bugle is mute, and the shafts are 

spent. 
The arm unnerved and the bow unbent, 
And the tired forester is laid 
Far, far from the clustering greenwood 

shade ! 
Sore liave they toil'd— they are fallen a.«sleep, 
And their .'^lumber is heavy, and dull, and 

deep I 
When over their bones the grass shall wavf, 
When the wild winds over their lornbs shall 

rave, 
Memory shall lean on their grave?, and tell 
How Selkirk's hunters bold around old 

Stewart fell !" 

Wallace, or the Fioht of Follnrk, 
[by Miss Holford.] Loud. 4li>, 
18()9, pp. 170-1. 

Note 3 G. 

Whm Bruce' s banner had victoriotis flnw'd, 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, aiid in Ury's vale. 

P. 373. 
The first important advantage gained by 
Bruce, after landing at Turnberry, was over 
Aymer de Valence, Earl of Perobroke, the 
same by whom he had been defeated near 
Methven. They met, as has been said, lnv 
appointment, at Loudonhrll, in the west of 
Scotland. Pembroke sustained a defeat ; and 
from that time Bruce was at the head of a 
cmisJilerabJe flying army. Yet he was subse- 
quently obliged ti> relreiJt into Aberdeenshire, 
and was there assailed by Comyn, Earl of 
Buchan, desirous to avenge the death of his 
relative, the Red Comyn, and supported by a 
body of English troops under Philip de MoO- 
bray. Bruce was >11 at the time of a scrofulous 
disorder, but took horse to meet his enemies, 
although obliged to be suppinted on either 
side. He was victorious, and it is said that 
the agitation of his spirits restored his health. 



Note 3 H. 

Whe7i English blood oft delwjtd Douglas-dale 

P. 373. 
The "good Lord James of Donglas," during 
these commotions, often look from the Eng- 
lish his own castle of l^ouglas, hut being un- 
able to garrison it, contented himself with 
destroying the fortilicalioiis, and retiring into 
the mountains. As a reward to hi."* patriolisni, 
it is said to have been prophesied, that how 
often soever Douglas Castle should be de- 
stroyed. It should always again arise more 
magnificent fnmi its ruins. Upon one nf tht-se 
occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing ail 
the store of provisions, which the English Imd 
laid up in his castle, to be heaped together, 
bursting the wine and beer casks among the 
wheat and flour, slaughtering the cattle upon 
the same spot, and upon the top of the whole 
cutting the throats of tlie English prisoiier.s. 
This pleasantry of the 'good Lord James ' is 
commemorated under the name of the Bouij- 
las's J/arder. A more pleasing tale of chivalry 
IS recorded by Godscroft. — ' By Ihis nicaus, 



1 



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APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



411 



and such «)tlier exploits, he so affrislited the 
eiiemv, I hut it was romiled a matter of sreat 
je i|>aid;e id keep this rastle. wtiich bexaii to 
be ralli d the udvtntuious (or hazardous) Cas- 
th- 01 Doiiyfas; whenupon Sir Jnhu Walton 
he lis 111 suit of all Enghsh lady, she wrote to 
him that when he had itept llie adVeiituron.s 
Cisile iif Douglas seven years, then he inisrht 
tiiiiik himself vvorthy to he a suitor to her. 
Upon I his occasion VVaJroii took upon hitii the 
keeping of It, and succeeded to 'I'liruswall, 
but he ran the same fortune with the fest that 
Were beloie him For Sir James, liavmi; first 
dievsed an ambuscade near unto the phu^e. 
he made fourteen of his men take so many 
sacks, and fill them with prass. as though it 
had been corn, which they carried in tlie way 
lo Lanark, tiie chief market town in that 
county ; so hoping lo draw forth ilie captain 
by that bail, and either lo take him <ir rhe 
castle, or hotli. Neither was this eX|)eciai ion 
frusTaied. for the cupiahi d:d hue. and cartie 
forth to have taken this vicinal (as he sup- 
posed). But ere lie Could reach these car- 
riers, Sir James, with hiscompunV, had gotten 
between the Castle and him; and these dis- 
guised carriers, seeini? the captain following 
after them, did quickly cast ort' their sacks, 
mounted themselves on horseback, and met 
the capain witli a sharp enroun er, bein? so 
iiiiicli the more amazed, as it was unlooked 
f(U- ; wherefore, wiieii he saw these carriers 
meiamorphosed into warriors, and ready to 
assault him. feanns that vvhidi was, that 
there was some train laid lor ihem. he turned 
ahoU! to have reined lo Ins cas le. but there 
he also met with his enemies; between which 
two coiii|ianies he and his whole followers 
were slain, so that iiinie esc.iped : the captain 
afterwards beiii;? searched, they found (as it 
is rpporied) his mistress s letter about him '' 
— Hume's History of the Home of Douglas, fol. 
pp. 29, 30. 



Note 3L 

And fUry Edward routed stout St. John. 

V. 373. 
•'John da St. John, with 15,000 horsemen, 
had advanced lo oppose the inroad of the 
Soots. By a forced march he endeavoured to 
sur|)nse them, hut intelligence of his motions 
was tiineously received. The Courage of b'd- 
ward Bruce, approachimj to temerity, fre- 
quently enabled him to achieve what men of 
nioie judicious valour would never have at- 
teiiuitrd He ordered the mfaiiiry, and the 
meaner sort of his army, to intrench them- 
selves in stnms narrow sround. He himself, 
with fifty horsemen well harnessed, issued 
forth under cover of a thick mist, surprised 
the English on their march, attacked and dis- 
persed iliem " — Dnlrymples Annals of Scot- 
land, quarto, Edmlmrgh, 1779, p. 26. 



Note 3 K. 

\\'hfn Randolph's war-cry swelVd the southern 
gale. P. 373 

Thomas Randolph, Bnice's sister's son, a 
Tenowned Scottish chief, was in the early part 



of his life not more remarkable for consistency 
than Bruce himself He espoused tii?< imrle'9 
party when Bruce first assumed the crown, 
and was made prisoner at the fatal Iraltle of 
.Vlethven, in winch his relative's hopes ap- 
peared to be ruined. Randolph accorUmgiy 
not only submitted to the English, but toolt 
an active part against Bruce ; appeared in 
arms ugHinst him; and. in the skirnnsb where 
he was so closely pursued by the bloodhound, 
it is said his nephew took his .-ttaiidurd wiili 
his own hand. But Handolpb was afierwardsf 
made prisoner by Douglas in Tweeddale. and 
brought before King Robert, borne harsli 
language was exchanged between the uncle 
and nephew, and the latter was conimilted 
for a lime to close custody. Afterwards, how- 
ever, they were reconciled, and Kandolph wa.« 
created Earl of .Moray about 1312, After this 
period he emineiiily distinguished himself, 
first by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and 
afterwards by matiy similar enterprises, Con- 
ducted with equal courage and ability. 



Note 8 L. 

— ' — — — — — Slirling's lowers, 
Beleaguerhi b\/ King Rohrrt's powers ; 
And they took term of truce.— P. 374. 
When a long train of success, actively im- 
proved by Robert Bruce, had made him master 
of almost all Scotland, Stirlmir Castle con- 
tinued to hohl out. The Care of the blockade 
was committed by the king to his brother 
Edward, who concluded a treaty wjih Sit 
Fhilip Mowbray, the governor, that he should 
surrender the fortress, if it were not succimr- 
ed bv the King of England before St John 
the Baptist's day. The King severely blamed 
his brother for the impolicy of a treaiy, which 
gave time to the King of England to advance 
to the relief of the castle with all his assem- 
bled forces, and obliged himself either to meet 
them in battle with an inferior force, or to 
retreat with dishonour "Let all England 
come," answered the reckless Edward ; "we 
will fight them were they more." 1 he con- 
sequence was. of course, that each kingdom 
mustered its strength for the expected battle ; 
and as the space agreed upon reached from 
Lent to Midsummer, full time was allowed for 
that purpose. 



Note 3 M. 

To summon prince and peer, 
At Berwick'bmcnds to miet their Liege. 

P. 374. 
There is printed in Rymer's Foeilera the 
summons issued upon ttiis occasion to the 
sheriflf of York ; and he mentions eiglifeen 
other persons to whom similar ordinanres 
were issued It seems to respect the infantry 
alone, for it is entitled, De iiediiibus ad recus- 
sum Castri de Stryvelin a Scotis obsessi, pro- 
perare facicmhs. This cirr^umstanre is also 
clear from the reasoning of the writ, wtnrh 
states : " We have understood that our Scot- 
tish enemies, and rebels are endeavouring to 
collect as strong a foi-ce as possible of infantry, 



^: 



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412 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



ill stronj?: and marshy grounds, where the ap- 
prtiacii of cavalry would he difficult, between 
us and the castle of Slirliiijr." — It then sets 
forth Mowbray's agreetnent to surrender the 
rastle, if not relieved before St John the 
Baptist's day, and the king's determination, 
with divine Rrace, to raise the sieKe. " Tliere- 
fore," the summons further bears, "to remove 
our said enemies and rebels from such phu-.es 
as above mentioned, it is necessary for us to 
have a strong force of infantry fit for arms" 
And afcorditigrly the siienff of York is com- 
manded to equip and .send forth a body of 
lour thousand infantry, to be assembled at 
Werk. uiion the tenlli day of June liist, under 
pani of the royui ilispleasure, &c. 



Note 8 N. 

And Cambria, hut of late stihdufd, 
Sent forth, tier mountain-nniUituile. 

P. 374. 
Edward the First, with the usual policy of 
n conqueror, employed the Welsh, whom he 
had sulidued, to assist him in his Scottish 
wars, lor which their habits, as mountaineers, 
particularly fitted them. But this policy was 
not without its risks. Previous to the battle 
of Falkirk, the Welsh quarrelled with the 
English men-nt-arms, and after bloodshed on 
both parts, separated themselves from his 
army, and the feud between them, at so dan- 
gerous and critical a juncture, was reconciled 
with difficulty Edward II. followed his 
father's example in this particular, and with 
no better success. They could not be broup^ht 
to exert themselves in the cause of their con- 
querors. But they had an indifferent reward 
for their forbearance. Without arms, and 
clad only in scanty dresses of linen cloth, 
they api. eared naked in the eyes even of the 
Scottish peasantry; and alter the rout of 
Bannockhurn, were massacred by them m 
great numbers, as they retired in confusion 
towards their own coiiritry. They were under 
command of Sir Maurice de Berkeley. 



Note 3 0. 

And Connonht pour'd from waste and wood 
Her hundred, tribes, whose saplre rude 
Dark Elk O Connor swai/'d. 

P. 374. 
There is in the Foedera an invitation to Eth 
O'Connor, chief of the In.-h of Connausht, 
setting forth that the king was about to move 
against his Scottish rebels, and therefore re- 
questing the attendance of all the force he 
could muster, either commanded by himself 
in person, or by some nobleman of his race. 
These auxiliaries were to be commanded by 
Richard de Burgh. Earl of Ulster. Similar 
mandates were issued to the following Irish 
chir-fs, whose names may astonish the un- 
learned, and amuse the antiquary. 



' Eth Doniiuld, Duci Hibernicoruni de Ty- 

conil ; 
Demod Kahan, Duci Hibernicorum de 

I'ernelrew; 
Doneval O Neel, Duci Hibernicoruni de 

Tryowyn ; 
Neel Macbreen, Duci Hibernicoruni de Kyn- 

allewan ; 
Eth Offyn, Duci Hibernicorum de Turlery ; 
Admely .Mac Anegus, Duci Hibernicorum ile 

Onehagh ; 
Neel O Hanlan, Duci Hibernicorum de Er- 

there ; 
Bien Mac Mahun, Duci Hibernicorum de 

Uriel ; 
Lauercagh Mac Wyr. Duci Hibernicorum de 

Loiigherin ; 
Gillys O Railly, Duci Hibernicorum de Bres- 

feny ; 
Geffrey Fergy, Duci Hibernicorum de Mon- 

tiragwil'; 
Felyn O Honughur. Duci Hibernicorum de 

Connach ; 
Dimethuth O Bien, Duci Hibernicoruni de 

Tothmund ; 
Dermod Mac Arthy, Duci Hibernicorum de 

Dessemound ; 
Denenol Carbragh ; 
Maur. Kenenagh Mac Murgh; 
Murghugh O Bryn ; 
David OTothvill; 
Dermod O Tonoghur, Doffaly; 
Fyn O Dymsy ; 

Souethuth Mac Gillephatrick ; 
Lyssagh O Morth ; 
Gilbertus Ekelly, Duci Hibernicorum de 

Omany ; 
Mac Ethelau; 

Omalaii Helyn, Diiri Hibernicorum Midie. " 
Ri/mer's Faedera, vol. iii., pp. 47tj, 477. 



Note 3 P. 

Their chief, Fitz-Lottis.—P. 375. 
Fitz-Louis, or Mac-Louis, otherwise called 
Fullartoii, is a family of ancient descent m 
the Isle of Arran. They are said to be of 
French origin, as the name intimates. They 
attached themselves to Bruce upon his first 
landing; and Fergus Mac-Louis. or Fullarton, 
received from the grateful monarch a charier, 
daied 26ih November, in the second year of 
his reign (1307). for the lands of Kilnnchel, 
and others, which still remain in itiis very 
ancient and respectable family. 



Note 3 Q. 

In battles four beneath their eyp, 

The forces of Kmy Robert lie —P. 376. 

The arrangements adopted by King Robert 
for the decisive battle of Bannockhurn. are 
given very distinctly by Barbour, and form an 
edil'yiiig lesson to ta<;ticians. Yet, till coin- 
meiited upon by Lord Hailes. this important 
passage of history has been generally and 
Strangely misunderstood by liisiorians. I will 
here eiiiieavour to detail it fullv. 

Two days before the battle, Bruce selected 



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APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



413 



the field of aotio'i. and took post there with 
his artiiy.coiisistiii'jot'ahou: 30,0()0 di.srit)lined 
n)eii. add al)nut halt" the iiuiiiher of disorderly 
attendants upon I lie caitip I'he ground was 
called the. New Park of Stiiline; it was partly 
open, and partly broken by fo[)ses of wood 
anil marshy eroiind. lie ilivided his regular 
forces into four divisions. 'I'hree of these 
occui'ied a front line, separated from each 
other, yet sulficiently near for the purjtose of 
coiiiinnnication. The fourth division funned 
a reserve. The line extended in a norih- 
e isterly direction from the hrook o{ Bannock, 
which was so ru^'sed and broken as to cover 
the right flank effectually, to the village of 
b^amt Ninians. proh ihly in the line of the pre- 
sent road from Siirling to Kilsyth. Edward 
Urnce commanded the right wing, which was 
streimlheiied by astronsj body of cavalry under 
Keith, the Maresclial of Scotland, to whom 
was commuted the important charge of at- 
tacking the l-;nghsh aiciiers; Douglas, and the 
young Steward of .Scotland, led the central 
wing; and I'liomas Randolph, Karl of .Moray, 
the left wing. The King himself commanded 
the fourth division which lay in reserve be- 
hind the others. The royal standard was 
pitched, according to tradition, in a stone, 
having a roiiml hole for its reception, and 
thence called the Bore-stone. It is still shown 
on the top of a small eminence, called Brock's- 
hiae, to the south-west of Saint Ninians. His 
main body thus disposed. King Robert sent 
the folhiwers of the carnp, fifteen thousand 
and upwards in number, to the eminence in 
rear of his army, culled from that rircum- 
staiice the Gdlits' (i. e. the servants") ///// 

The military advantages of this position 
were obvious. The Scottish left flank, pro- 
tected by the brook of Bannock, could not be 
turned; or, if that a'tempt were made, a 
movement by the reserve might have covered 
it. Again, the English could not pass the 
Scottish army, and move towards Stirling, 
without exposing their flank to be attacked 
wliile in march. 

If, on the other hand, the Scottish line had 
been drawn up east and west, and lacing to 
the southward, as affirmed by Buchanan, and 
adopted by Mr. .\iniino, I he author of tlie 
History of Stirlingshire, there appears no- 
thing to have prevented the llnglish approach- 
ing upon the carse. or level ground, from 
Falkirk, either from turning the S<-ottish left 
flank, or from passing their positifui. if they 
preferred it. without coming to an action, and 
moving on to the relief of Stirling. And the 
Gillies' Hill, if this less probable hypothesis 
be adopted, w(juld be situated, not in the 
rear, as allowed t)y all the historians, but 
upon the left flank of Bruce's army. The 
only objection to the hypothesis above laid 
down, is, that the left flank of Bruce's army 
was I hereby exposed to a sally from the gar- 
rison of Stirling. But. 1st. the garrison were 
bound to neutrality by terms of Mowbray's 
treaty ; and Barbour even seems to censure, 
as a breach of faith, some secret assistance 
which they rendered their countrymen upon 
the eve of battle, in placing temporary bridges 



I \n a«»i8lancf whjch (by tlie way) could not liav 
reiiitered, hMd not lh<^ English approactied from the 
caiii : since, had their march been due north, the whole 



of doors and spars over the pools of water ia 
the (tarse. to enable them to advance to the 
Charge. 1 2dly, Had this not been the case, 
the strength of the garrison was probabiy not 
suffi(Ment to e.xcite apprehension. 3dly, The 
adverse hyf)olhesis leaves the rear of the 
Scot:ish army as much exposed to the Stirling 
garrison, as the left flank would be in the case 
supposed 

It only remains to notice the n:«ture of the 
ground III front of Bruce's line of battle. Ile- 
ing part of a park, or chase, it was considera- 
bly interrupted with trees; and an extensive 
marsh, still visible, in some places rendered it 
inaccessible, and in all of diflicult approach. 
-More to the northward, where the natural 
impediments were fewer, Bruce fortified his 
position against cavalry, by digging a number 
of pits so close togettier. says Barbour, as to 
resemble the cells in a honeycomb. They 
were a foot in breadth, and between two and 
three feet deep, many rows of Iheiii being 
placed one behind the other. They were 
slightly covered with brushwood ami green 
soils, so as not to be obvious to an impetuous 
enemy. 

All the Scottish army were on foot, except- 
ing a select body of cavalry stationed with 
.Edward Bruce on the right wing, niider the 
immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, the 
Marshal of Scotland, who were destined for 
the important service of charging and dis- 
persing the English archers. 

Thus judiciously posted, in a situation forti- 
fied both by art and nature, Bruce awaited 
the attack of the English. 



Note 3 R. 

Beyond, the Sonthtrn host appears. — P. 375. 

Upon the 23d June. 1314. the alarm reached 
the Scottisfi army of the approacfi <jf the 
enemy. Douglas and the Marshal were seat 
to reconnoitre wiiii a body of cavalry : 

'• And soon the great host have they seen, 
Where shields shining were so sheen. 
And basiiieis burnished linaht. 
That gave against the sun great light. 
They saw so fele2 brawdyneS baners, 
Standards and pennons and spears, 
And so fele knights upon steeds, 
All flaming in their weeds. 
And so fele bataills. and so broad, 
.'^nd too so great room as they rode. 
That the niai.st host, and the stoutest 
Of Christendom, and the greatest. 
Should be abaysit for to see 
Their foes into such quantity." 

The Bruce, vol. ii., p. 111. 

The two Scottish commanders were cau- 
tious in the account which they brought back 
to their camp. To the king in priv;ite iliev 

to.d the for lable state of the enemy; but 

in public reported that the English were in- 
deed a numerous host, but ill coinmanded, 
and worse disciplined. 



^: 



been Scottish army must have been between them and Ih 
2 Many. 3 Displayed. 



^gar- 



V 



Z 



y 414 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 3 S. 

With these the iwtinnt of the Isles 
Beneath then chieftains ran/c'd their files. 

P. 375 
Tlie men of Ar^yle. the islanders, and the 
Highlanders in geTieral, were ranked in the 
rear. They niu.st have heen nninerous, for 
Brnne had reconciled himself with almost all 
their chieftains, excepting the obnoxious Mac- 
Douiials of Lorn. The following deed, con 
taming the Mihmissi^m of the potent. Earl of 
Ross to llie King, was never before published. 
It IS dated in the third year of Robert's reign, 
that IS, l;309. 

" Obliijacio Cnmilis Rossennis per Homayium 
Fuh.lit'Jtem et Xcrijtlum. 

"Universis clirisl fidelihiis ad quorum no 
ticiam presentes litere peruenermi VNiihelmus 
Comes de Hoss saiutem in domino sempiter- 
naiii. Quia magnificus pnnceps Dominus Ko- 
bertu.s dei gracia Rex ScoMorum Dommus 
mens ex iimata sibi boiiiiate. inspirataque 
clemencia. et gracia speciali lemisit michi 
pure rancorem animi sui, et relaxauit ac con- 
donauit michi omnimoilas transgressiones seu 
offensas contra ipsum et snos per me el mens 
vsque ad confeccionem hterarum presencium 
perpetratas: Et terras meas et tenementa 
mea omnia graciose concessit. Et me nichilo- 
minus de terra de Dingwal et ferncroskry 
intra comitatum de Suthyrland de benigiia 
liberalitate sua heridilarie mi'eodare carauit. 
Kgo taniam prmoipis beneunlenciam efficaoi- 
ter altendens, et pr(» tot eraciis michi t'actis. 
vicem sil)i Kralitudims meis pro viribus de 

cetero digne vite cupiens exlii- 

bere. subicio et ohliso me el heredes meos et 
homines meos vniuer^os dicto Dommo meo 

Regi per omnia erga suam 

regiam dignitatem, quod erimns de cetero 
fideles sibi et heredibus sins et fidele sibi 

seriiicium aiixilium et concilium 

contra nmries horiJines et feminas qui 

vivere poterint aut mori. et super h - - - Ego 

Willielmus pro me-- hominibus 

meis vniuersis dicto ('omino meo Regi 

. . niamhiis hom^igium sponte feci et 

super dei ewangelia saoramentum presiiti 
- In quorum omnium testi- 
monium sigiUum meum, et sigilla Hugonis 
filii et heiedis et Johannis filii niei vna cum 
sigillis venerabiliiim patrum Doiiunoruni 
Danid et Thome Moraviensis et Kossensis dei 
gracia episcoporum piesentibus liieiis sunt 
appensa. Acta scripta et data apud Aldern 
in Morauia vltimo die mensis Octobns, Anno 
Regni dicti domini nostri Regis hoberti Ter- 
tio Testibus venerabiiibiis patribus supra- 
dic'is. Domino Bernardo Cancellario Regis, 
Dominis Wiilielmo de Haya, Johanne de 
Stnuelyri. Wiilielmo VAysman. Johanne de 
Efentnn. Dauid de Berkeley, et Ualtero de 
Berkeley miliiibns. majristro VValfero Heroc. 
|)ec;iiio ecclesie .Morauie. magisiro VVil|iel;i,o 
de Creswel eiusdem ecclesie precentore et 
multis :i|iis nobililius cleiicis et laicis dictis 
die et loco congiegatis." 



-2 Haste.— 3 Without slirinkiiig. — 1 Spur- 



The copy of this curious document was 
supplied by n)y friend, Mr. Th(mison. Deputy 
Register of Scolland, whose researches into 
our ancient records are daily throwing new 
and important light upon the history of the 
country. 



Note 3 T. 

The Monarch rode along the van.—?. 376. 
The English vanguard, commanded by the 
Earls of Gloucester and Hereford, came in 
sisht of the Scottish army upon the evening 
of the 23d of June Bruce was then riding 
upon a little palfrey, in front of his foremost 
line, putting bis host in order. It was Iheu 
that the personal encounter took place be- 
twixt iiuii and Sir Henry de Bohiin. a gallant 
English knight, the issue of which had a great 
effect upon the spirits of both armies. It is 
thus recorded by Barbour:— 

" And quhen Glosyster and Herfurd war 
With thair bataill, approchand ner, 
Befor thaim all thar come rydand. 
With helm on heid, and sper in hand, 
Schyr Henry the Boune, the worthi. 
That wes a wycht knycht. and a hardy; 
And to the Erie off Herfurd cusyne, 
Armyt in armys gud and fyne ; 
Come on a sted, a bow sch(»te ner, 
Befor all othyr that thar wer: 
And knew the King, for that he saw 
Him swa rang his men on raw ; 
And by the croune, that wes set 
Alsua apon his bassynet. 
And towart him he went in by. 
And [quhen] the King sua apertly 
Saw him cum. forouth all his feris,i 
hi by 2 till him the bors he steris. 
And quhen Schyr Henry saw ihe King 
Cum on. for owiyn ab :iysing,3 
Till lum be raid in full gret by. 
He thoucht that he suld weill lychtly 
Wyn him, and haf him at his will, 
Sen he hmi horsyt saw sa ill. 
Sprent4 thai samyn in till a ling 5 
Schyr Henry mys'sit the noble King. 
And he, that in bis sterapys stud. 
With the ax that wes haril and gud. 
With sa gret mayiieC racht him a dynt. 
That nothyr hat, iia helm, mycbt stynt 
The hewy ' dusche s that he him gave. 
That ner the heid till the harynys clave. 
The hand ax schaft fruschits in twa: 
And he donne to the erd gan ga 
All flallynvs.io Un him faillvt mycbt. 
This wes the frvsi sirak off the fyclit." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book viii., v. 684. 

The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the 
King upcm his temerity He nnlv answered. 
•'I have broken my good battle-axe." —The 
Eiig ish vaneuard retreated after witnessing 
this single combat. Probably their geneials 
did nol think it advisable to hazard an attack 
while its unfavourable issue remained upon 
their mmds. 



z 



7 



^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Note 3 U. 

Vi'hat train of dufl, with trumpet sound. 
And (jlimmenng spears, is whetling round 
Our Uflward Jiank ?—P. 377. 

While the van of the English army advanced, 
a detaclied body atteinplfd to relieve Surljn?. 
Lord Hailes eives the IoIIowims account of 
this manoeuvre and the result, which is ac- 
cornpauied hy circuni>tances highly cliarac- 
teri.sti(' of tlit^ cliivalrous manners of the ase. 
and ilis[)lays that uenerosity wliich reconciles 
Us even lo tlit-ir furociiy upim other occasions. 

Bruce had eujonied Kamlolph, who com- 
manded the left wni? of his ar tny. to he vigi- 
lant in preventing any advanced ji'arties of I lie 
English from throwing succours iuio the casile 
of Srirlnig. 

•• Eislit hundred horsemen, commanded hy 
Sir Kdhert flitford. were detached from the 
English army ; they made a circuit hythe low 
grounds to the east, and approached the cas- 
tle The King perceived their motions, and, 
coming up to Kaiidolph, angrily exclaimed, 
' Thoughiless man! you h ive suffered the 
enemy to pass.' Randolph hasted to repair his 
f.iult. (ir perish. As he advanced, the English 
civalry wheeled to attack him. Randolph 
drew up his troops in a circular form, with 
their spears resting on the ground, and pro- 
tected on every side. At the first onset. Sir 
VVjliiam Daynecourt, an English commander 
of distinguished note, was slam. Tne enemy, 
far superior in nuiuliers to Randolph, environ- 
ed him, and pressed hard tni hi- little hand. 
Douglas saw his jeopardy, and reque.sted the 
Kings permission to go and succour him. 
'You shall not move from your ground,' cried 
the King; Met Kandidph exlricaie himself as 
he hest may. I will not alter my order of 
battle, and htse the advantage of my position.' 
— "In truth,' replie<l Douglas, ' I cannot stand 
|jy and see Randolph perish; and, therefore, 
Willi vour leave, I must aid him.' The King 
unwillingly consented, and Douglas flew to 
the assistance of Ins Ineiid. Whde appioach 
ing, he perceived that the English were falling 
inio disorder, and that the perseverance of 
Kandolpli had prevailed over tiieir impetuous 
courage. ' Halt.' cried Douglas, • those brave 
men nave repulsed the enemy ; let us not 
diminish their glory by sharing it.' " — Dalrym- 
ple's Annals of Hcolland, 4to, Edinburgh, 1779, 
pp. 44. 4.0. 

Two larire stones erected at the north end 
of the village of Newhouse, abou a quarter 
of a mile from the scmth pait of Stirling, as- 
certain the place of this memorable skirmish 



flank resting upon Milntown bog. it 
impossible that his infantry, moving from that 
position, with whatever celerity, could cut 
oflf from Stirling- a body of cavalry who had 
already passed St. Ninians.i or. in oilier words, 
were already between them and the town. 
Whereas, supposing Randolph's left to have 
approached St Ninians, the short movement 
to .Newhouse could easily be executed, so as 
to intercept the Englisli in the manner de- 
scribed. 



Note 3 V. 

Responsive from, the Scottish host, 
Fipe-dang and Imole-sound were toss'd. 

P. 377. 

There is an old tradition, that the well- 
known Scottish tune of " Hey, tutri taitti," 
was Bruce 's march at the battle of Bannock- 
burn The late Afr. Ritson, no granter of 
propositions, doubts whether the S<",ots had 
any martial music, quotes Froissart's account 
of each soldier in the host bearing a little 
horn, on which, at the onset, they would make 
such a horrible noise, as if all the devils tit 
hell had been among them. He observes, 
that these horns are the only music mentioned 
by Barbour, and concludes, that it must re- 
main a moot point whether Bruce's army 
were cheered by the sound even of a solitary 
bagpipe. — Historical Essay prefixed to Ri/sdn's 
ScoUish So7i(js — It may be observed in pa.s.s- 
ing. that the Scottish of this period certainly 
observed some musical cadence, even in wind- 
ing their liorns, since Bruce was at once re- 
cognized by his followers from his mode of 
blowing. See Note 2 T. on canto iv. But the 
tradition, true or false, has been the means 
of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyrics 
in the language, the celebrated war-song of 
Burns,—'- Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." 



Note 3 W. 

Now onward, and in open view. 

The countless ranks of England drew. 

P. 377. 
Upon the iith of June, the English army 
advanced to the attack. The narrowness of 
the Scottish front, and the na'ure of the 
ground, (lid not permit them to have the full 
advantage of their nuinbers, nor is it very 



415 ^ ^ 



The circumstance tends, were ciiufirmation I «'}s_>Mo_find out whaf^wastheir proposed order 
necessary, to support the ofunion of Uird 
Hailes, that the Scottish line had Stirling on 



of battle. The vanguard, however, appeared 
distinct bodv, consisting of archers and 

its left tlank. It wiYr"he""rein"end)eVedr"tiraM ^P«;''?"'*^" «" '""'^'*;i^,^"^^^^ 

Randolph commanded infantry, Daynecourt sf'^-bv the Earls of Gloucester and Heref..rd. 



cavalry. Supposing, therefore, accordin: 
the vu'lsar hypothesis, that the Scottish line 
was drawn up. facing to the south, in the line 
of the brook of Bannock, and consequently 
that Randolph was stationed with his left 



1 Barbour fajrs expressly, t 
(where Bruce'a army Uy.) 
Kirk," which cao ODiy mean : 



Barbour, in one place, mentions that they 
formed nine 6a/;fe5 or divisions ; but from the 
following passage, it appears that there w;is 
no room or space for them to extend them- 
selves, so that, except the vanguard, the whole 
army appeared to form one solid and compact 
body :— 

" The English men, on either party, 
That as angels shone brightly, 



■T 



z 



^ 



41G 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Were not array'd on such manner : 

For all their battles saniyn i were 

In a schiltrum.2 But whether it was 

Thiou?h the great straitness of the place 

'i'hat they were in, to hide fishiiiig; 

Or that It was for ahnysing ; 3 

I wete not. But in a .schiltrnni 

It seemed they were all and some; 

Out ta'en the vaward anerly."* 

That right with a great coriipany. 

Be them selwyn, arrayed were. 

Who liad been by, might have seen there 

That folk ourtake a mekill feild 

On breadth, where many a shining shield, 

And many a burnished bright armour, 

And many a man of great valour. 

Might in that great schiltrum be seen. 

And many a briglit banner and sheen." 

Barbour's Bruce, vol. ii. p. 137. 



Note 3 X. 

See where yon barefoot Abbot stands, 
And bksses them with lilted hands 

P. 377. 
" Maurice, abbot of Inchaffray. placing him- 
self on an eminence, celebrated mass in sight 
of the Scottish arniy. He then passed alimg 
ihe front bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix 
in his hands, and exhorting the Scots, m few 
and forcible words, to combat for their rights 
and their liberty. The Scots kneeled down. 
'They yield,' cried Edward ; 'see. they im- 
plore mercy.' — ' They do,' answered liigelram 
ile Umfraville, 'but not ours. On tha field 
they will be victorious, or die.' " — Annals of 
Scotland, vol. ii. p. 47. 



Note 3 Y. 

Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe f 

We'll tame the terrors of their bow. 

And cut the bow-string loose ! 

P. 378. 
The English archers commenced the attack 
with their usual bravery and dexterity. But 
against a force, whose importance he had 
learned by fatal exi)erien<>e. Bruce was pro- 
vided. A small but select bod) of cavalry 
were detached from the right, iindor com- 
mand of Sir Robert Keith. They rounded, as 
I conceive, the marsh called Aiilntown Log, 
and, keeping the rirm ground, t^htirged the 
left flank and rear of the English archers 
As the bowmen had no .'■pears nor long wea- 
pons fit to defend themselves against horse, 
they were instantly thrown into disorder, and 




2 SehiltTum. — Thia w 
extended in its signitication. in general, 
a large body of men drawn up very elosi 
it has been limited to imply a round oi 
men so drawn up. 1 cannot understand 
laiion in the present case. The schiltrum of Ihe Scolti.'ih 
army at Falkirk was undoubtedly of a circular form, in 
order to resist the attacks of the Engl sh cavalry, on what- 
quarter they might be charged. But it does not ap- 
how, or why, the English, advancing to the attack at 



been variously limited or 
eems to imply 
ogether. But 
cular body of 
lixh this limi- 



spread through the whole English army a 
confusion from which they never fairly reco- 
vered. 

"The Inglis archeris schot sa fast. 
That mycht thair schot liaff oiiy last. 
It had bene hard to Scottis men. 
Bot King Uobert, that wele gan ken 5 
That thair archeris war peralouss. 
And thair schot rycht hard and grewouss, 
Ordanyt, forouth 6 the assemble, 
Hys marschell with a gret menye, 
Fyve hundre armyt in to stele. 
That on lycht horss war liorsyt welle. 
For to p:yk ' amang the archeris ; 
And swa assaile thaim with thair speris. 
That thai na layser haiff to schute. 
This marschell that Ik of mute,* 
That Schyr Robert of Keyth was cauld, 
As Ik befor her has yow tauld, 
Quhen he saw the hataiUis sua 
Assembill. and to sidder ga. 
And saw the archeris .schoyt stonily ; 
With all thaim off his cumpany, 
In hy apon thaim gan he nd ; 
And our tuk thaim at a sid : 9 
And ruscliyi amanjr thaim sa rudly, 
Stekand thaim sa dispitously. 
And in sic fustiun "> herand doiin. 
And slayand thaim. for owtyn ransoun; u 
That thai thaim scalyt 12 euirilkane. '3 
And fra that tyme furtli thar wes nane 
That assemblyt schot to ma.i* 
Quhen Scottis archeris saw that thai sua 
War rebutyt,!^ thai woux hardy. 
And with all thair mycht schot egrely 
Amang the horss men, that thar raid ; 
And wouiidis wid to thaim thai maid ; 
And slew of thaim a full gret dele." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book ix., v. 228. 

Although the success of this manoeuvre was 
evident, it is very remarkable that the Scottish 
generals do not "appear to have profited by the 
lesson. Almost every subsequent battle which 
they lost against England, was decided by the 
archers, to whom the close and compact array 
of the Scottish phalanx afforded an expired 
and unresisting mark. The bloody battle of 
Haiidoun-hill, fought scarce twenty years 
afterwards, was so completely gained by the 
archers, that the English are saiii to have lost 
only one knight, one esquire, and a few foot- 
soldiers. At the battle of Neville's Cross, in 
1346, where David 11. was defeated and made 
prisoner. John de Graham, observing the loss 
whicli the Scots sustainetl from the E»igli>h 
liowmen, offered to charge and disperse them, 
if a hundred men-at-arms were put under his 
Command. '" But, to confess the truth." says 
Fordun, " he could not procure a single horse- 
man for the service proposed." Of such little 
use is experience in wai;. where its results are 
opposed by habit or prejudice. 

Bannookburn, should have arrived themselves in a circular 
form. It seems more probable, that, by Schiltrum in the 
present case, Barbour means to express an irregular mass 
into which the English army was compressed by the uu. 
wieldiness of its numbers, and the carelessness or igno- 
rance of its leaders. 

3 Frightening.— 4 Alone.— B Know.— 6 Disjoined from 
the main body.— 7 Spur.— g That I speak of— Set upon 
their Hank.— 10 Numbers.— 11 Ransom.— 12 Dispersed.— 
13 Every one.— 14 Make.— 15 Driven back. 



z 



r 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Note 3 Z. 

Eioch brnogart churl could boast bffore. 

Twelve Scottish livts his baldric bore ! 

P. 373. 

RoKer Ascham quotes a similar Scdttish 
proverb. •• wherrby lliey irive the whole praise 
of sliootiiiir honestly t(» EiiRhshmeii. sayiiis 
thus, Mhut every Kiiihsh archer beareih un- 
der his sirdie twenty-four .Scoties.' Indeed 
Toxophilus says before, and truly of the Scot- 
tish nation, 'The Scottes siirel|f he ^ood men 
of wane in theyre owne feates a.s can be ; but 
as for sliootiiise, fhev can neither use it to anv 
piotiie. nor yet challenge it for any praise '" 
— Works of Ascham, edited by Bennet, 4to, p. 
110 

It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient 
English hisiuriHii, that, the "sfood Lord James 
of Dou-ijlas" dreaded the su()erioiity of the 
English archers so niuch, that when he made 
anv of them prisoner, he ?ave him the option 
of losing the foietinsrer of his njht hand, or 
his risflit eye, either species of miitilalion ren- 
ilerins hmi incapable to use the bow. 1 have 
mislaid tlie reference to this singular passage. 



Note 4 A. 

Down ! down ! in headlonu overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, ttie Joreviost yo. 

P. 378. 
It is senerally alle?i d by historians, that the 
Enalish men-at-arms fell info the hidden snare 
whicli Bruce had prepared tor them. Barbour 
does not mention the circumstance. Ac- 
coitlins: to his account. Randolph, seems the 
slauijhier made bv the cavalry on the risht 
wiii)^ anions the archers, advanced coiirase- 
ously against the mam body of the EnKlish. 
and entereil into close combat with them. 
Douglas and Stuart, who commanded the 
Scottish centre, led I heir division also to the 
charse, and the battle becomni!; general aion? 
the whole line, was obstin.ilely maintained on 
both sides for a Ions space of time ; the Scot- 
tish archers doiiis sreat execution among the 
English irM*ii-at-ariiis. afier the bowmen of 
England were dispersed. 



Note 4 B. 

And steeds that shriek in at/ony —P. 378. 

I have been told that this line requires an 
explanatory note; and, indeed, those who 
witness the silent patience with which horses 
submit to the most cruel usase. may be per- 
mitted to doubt, that, in moments of suddeiv 
and intolerable anguish, they utter a most 
melancholy cry. Lord Erskine, in a speech 
made in llie House of Lords, upon a bill for 
enforcins humanity towards animals, noticed 
this remarkable fact, in language whicli I will 
not mutilate by atiemptins to repeat it. It 
was my fortune, upon one occasion, to hear a 
horse, in a moment of agony, utter a thrillirig 
scream, which I still consider the most melan- 
choly sound I ever heard. 



Note 4 C. 

Lord nf the Isles, my trust in thee 

Is firm OS A ilsa Rock ; 
Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 
I, With my Carrick. spearmen charge 

P. 379. 
When the engasement between the mam 
bodies had lasted some time, Bruce made a 
decisive movement, by bringing up the Scot- 
tish reserve. It is traditionallv said, that at 
this crisis, he addressed the Lord of the Isles 
in a phrase used as a motto bv some of his 
descendants, "My trust is constant in thee." 
Barbour intimates, that the reserve •'assem- 
bled on one field," that is. on the same line 
with the Scottish forces alreadv enstiged ; 
which leads Lord Hailes to ciuipcture that 
the Scottish ranks must have been much 
thinned by slaughter, since, in that circum- 
scribed ground, there was room for the reserve 
to fall into the line. But the advance of the 
Scottish cavalry must have contribuied a good 
deal to form the vacancy occupied by the re- 



Note 4 D. 

To arms theyjiew, — axe, club, or spear, — 
And mimic ensigns high they rear. 

P. 379. 
The followers of the Scottish camp ob- 
served, from the Gillies' Hill in the rear, the 
imprt-ssion produced upon tiie Enslisli army 
by the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, 
and, prompted by ihe enthusiasm >'.{ the mo- 
meiii, or the desire of plunder, assurmed. in a 
tumultuary manner, such arms as they found 
nearest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and 
lances, and showed themselves like a new 
army advancing to battle. 

"Yomen. and swanvs.i and pitaill.2 
That in the Park yemvt wictaiil,3 
War left; qiihen thai wvst but lesjng,* 
That thair lordis, witli fell fechtyng. 
On thair fayis assemblyt wer; 
Ane offthaim selwyu^ that war thar 
Capitane of thaim all thai maid. 
And schetis, that war sumedeleS brad, 
Thai festnyt in steid off banehs, 
Apon lang treys and speris: 
And said that thai wald se the fycht ; 
And help thair lordis at thair mycht. 
Quhen her till all assentyt wer. 
In a rout assemblit er; ^ 
Fyftene thowsand thai war. or ma. 
And than in gret hy gan thai ga, 
Wiib thair baneris. all in a rout. 
As thai had men bene slyth 8 and stout. 
Thai come, with all that assemble, 
Rychl quhill thai mycht the bataill se ; 
Than all at anys thai gave a cry, 
'Slal sla! Apon thaim hastily !'" 

Barbour's Bruce, Book ix., v. 410. 

The unexpected apparition, of what seemed 
a new army, completed the confusion which 
already prevailed among the English, who fled 



n 



V- 



2B 



/: 



^ 418 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



X 



in every direction, and were pmsiied with itii- 
iiien^e slaiigliter. Tlie brook of Bannock, 
Hcoctrding to Barhour, was so clioked witli Itie 
bodies of men and horses, that i; niisht have 
V)een passed dry shod. The followers of the 
Scottish camp fell upon tlie disheartened 
fugitives, and added to the confusion and 
slaughter. Many weie driven into the Forth, 
and perished there, which, hy the way. could 
hardly have happened, had the aiinies been 
drawn up east and west ; since, in that case, 
lo ?et at the river, the Enghsh lugitives must 
have fled ihroush the victorious army. About 
n siiort mile from the field of battle is a place 
railed the Bloody Folds. Here the Karl of 
Gloucester is said to have made a stand, uiid 
(lied frallanMy at the head of his own military 
tenants and vassals He was much regretted 
by liotli siiles; and it is said the Scottish W(nild 
pladly have saved Ins life. hut. neslectiriR to 
wear Ins snrlout with armorial bearings over 
his armour, he fell unknown, after his horse 
had been stabbed with spears 

Sir Marmadnke Tweime, an English knight, 
contrived to conceal himself during the fury 
of the pursuit, and when it was somewhat 
slackened, approached King Robert. "Whose 
prisoner are yon. Sir Marmadiike ?"said Bruce, 
to whom lie was personally known. " Vours, 
sir," answered t!ie knight. "I receive you," 
answered the king, and, treating him with the 
utmost courtesy, loaded him with gifts, and 
dismissed him without r.insom. The other 
prisoners were all well tivafed. There might 
he policy in this, as Bruce would naturally 
wish to acquire the good opinion of the En^ 
lish barons, who were at this lime at great 
variance with their king. But it also well 
accords with his high chivalrous character. 



Note 4 E. 

01 give their hapless prince his due. 

P. 379. 
Edward IT., according to the l)est authori- 
ties, showed, in the fatal field of Bannock- 
biirn, personal gallantry not unworthy of his 
great sire and greater son. He remained on 
the field till forced away by the Earl of Pem- 
broke, when all was lost. He then rode to 
the Castle of Stirling, and demanded admit- 
tance; but the governor, remonstrating upon 
the imprudence of shutting himself up m that 
fortress, which must so soon surrender, he 
assembled around his person five hundred 
men-at-arms, and, avoiding the field of battle 
and the victorious army, fled towards Linlith- 
gow, pursued by Douglas with about sixty 
horse. They were augmented by Sir Lawrence 
Abernethy with twenty more, whom Douglas 
met in the Torwood upon their way to join 
the English army, and whom lit; easily per- 
suaded to desert the defeated monarch, and 
to assist m the pursuit. They hung upim Ed- 
ward s flight as far as Dunbar, too few in 
number to assail him with efliect, but enough 
to hara.ss his retreat so constantly, that who- 
ever fell an instant behind, was instantly slain 
or made prisoner. Edward's ignominious 
flight terminated at Dunbar, where the Earl 
of March, who still professed allegiance to 
hiiri, '• received him full gently." From thence, 



the monarch of so great an empire, and the 
late commander of so gallant and numerous 
an ;irniy, escaped to Bamhorough in a fishing 
vessel. 

Bruce, as will appear from the following 
document, lost no time in directing the thun- 
ders <if Parliamentary censure against such 
part of his subjects as did not return to their 
natural allegiance after the battle of Bannock- 
burn. 

A PUD MONASJERIOM BE C.\MBCSKENNETH, 

VI DIE NOVEMBRIS, M,CCC,XIV. 

Judicium Rfditum apud Kambuskinet contra 
omnes iUns (fiii tunc Jtierunt contra fidem et 
pacem Domini Rtcjis. 

Anno gracie niillesimo tricentisimo quarto 
decirno sexto die Novembns tenerite parlia- 
nientum suum Excellentissiino principe Do- 
mino Roberto Dei gracia Kege Scottoruin 
lllustri in monasterio de Cambuskyneth con- 
cordatum fuit finaliler Judical uni fac super] 
hoc Stat utuni de Concilio et Assensu Efiisco- 
porum et ceterorum Prelatcn-uin Comitum 
JBaronum et aliorum nobilium regni Scocie 
nee non et tociiis communitatis regni preilicti 
quod oinnes qui contra fidem et pacem dicti 
domini regis in bello sen alibi mortui sunt 
[vel qui die] to die ad pacem ejus et fidem 
non venerant licet sepius vocati et legitime 
expectati fuissent de terris et tenementis et 
omni alio statu infra regnum Scocie perpetuo 
sint exlieredati et habeantur de cetero lari- 
quam inimici Regis et Regni ab omni vendi- 
cacione juris hereilitarii vel juris alierius 
cujuscunque in posterum pro se et heredibus 
suis in perpetuum prirati Ad perpetuam igitur 
rei niemoriam et evidentem probacionem 
hujiis Jiidicii et Statuti sigilla- Episcoporum 
et aliorum Prelatorum nee non et comiium 
Baronum ac ceterorum nobilium dicti Regni 
presenti ordinacioni Judicio et statute sunt 
appensa. 

Sigillum Domini Regis 
Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Sancti Andree 
Sigillum Roberti Episcopi Glascuensis 
Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Dunkeldensis 

. . . Episcopi 

. . . Epi.scopi 

. . Episcopi 

Sigillum Alani Episcopi Sodorensis 
Sigillum Johannis Episcopi Brechytiensis 
Sigillum Andree Episcopi Ergadiensis 
Sigillum Frechardi Episcopi Cathanensis 
Sigillum Abbatis de Scona 
Sigillum Abbatis de Calco 
Sigillum Abbatis de .-^birbrofliok 
Sigillum Abbatis de Saiicta Cruce 
Sigillum Abbatis de Loiidoris 
Sigillum Abtiatis de Newbolill 
Sigillum Abbatis de Cupro 
Sigillum Abbatis de Paslet 
Sigillum Abbatis de Duiifermelyn 
Sigillum Abbatis de Lincluden 
Sigillum Abbatis de Insula .Missarum 
Sigillum Abbatis de Sancto Columlia 
Sigillum Abbatis de Deer 
Sigillum Abbatis de Dulce Corde 
Sigillum Piioris de Coldinghame 
Sigillum Prioris de Rostynot 
Sigillum Prioris Sancte Andree 
Sigillum Prioris de Pittinwem 



^ 



7^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Sieilliim Prions de Insula de Loclilevin 
Sigilluni SenesciiUi Scocie 
SigiUum WiUelim Cdinitis de Ros 



Sigilliim Uiltierti de la Haya Constabularii 

Sci)Cie 
Slgilluni Roherti de Ketli Mariscalli Scocie 
SiKillum Huxouis de Ros 
Sigilliiin Jacohi de Diisjlas 
Siffilliim Jolianriis de SMiicto Claro 
Sieillum Thome de Ros 
Siirilluni Alexatidn de Settone 
Sigillum Walteri Halihurtone 
Siedlum Davidis de Balfour 
Siarilliirn Duucaiii de Wallavs 
Sieilliitn Tlionie de Discliiai?tone 
Siaillurn Andree de Mitnivia 
Sijilhirii Archihaldi de Betuil 
Sisfilliiin Raniil()lii de Lyill 
SiL'illntii Malcolm de Balfour 
SiiTilluin Norm:!iini de Lesley 
SisriUum Nigelli de Campo hello 
isisilluin .\l(»riii de Musco Campo 



Note 4 F. 

Sor for D<f Arijftntuie nlnae, 

'I'hrniKjh Niiha7i's church Ihesi- torchfS shone. 

And rose the death-prayer's awful tone. 

P. 380. 

The reniarkahie circunistances atlendins; 
the death of De Argentine have been already 
noticed (Note L. ) Besides this renowned 
warrior, there fell many representatives of 
the noblest houses in England, which never 
snstained a more bloody and disastrous de- 
feat. Barbour says that two hundred pairs 
of eilded spurs were taken from rhe field of 
battle ; and that some were left the author 
can bear witness, who has in his possession a 
curious antique spur, dug up in the mctrass, 
not long since. 

" It wes forsuth a ?rret ferly. 
To se samyn ' sa fele dede lie. 
Twa hundre payr of spnns rpid.2 
War tane of knichtis that war deid." 

I am now to take mv leave of Barbour, not 
without a siiicere wish that the public may 
encourage the undertaking of my friend Dr 
Janiieson, who has issued proposals for pub- 
lishing an accurate edition of his poem, and 
of blind Harry's Wallace. The only good 
edition of The Bruce was published by Mr. 
Pmkerton, in 3 vols., in 1790 ; and. the learned 
editor having had no personal access to con- 
sult the manuscript, it is not without errors: 
and it has besides become scar(re. Of Wal- 
lace there is no tolerable edition ; yet these 
two poems do no small honour to the early 
state of Scottish poetry, and The Bruce is 
justly regarded as containing authentic his- 
torical facts 



The following list of the slain at Bannock- 
burn, extracted from the com iiiuator of Tri- 
vet's Annals, will show the extent of the na- 
tional caianiily. 

LIST OF THE SLAIN. 



419 ^ . 



KmgUa and KrtightB Ban- 


Simon Ward, 




Robert de Felton, 


Gilbert de Cliire, Earl of 


Michael Poyning, 


Gloucester, 


Edmund MauUey. 


Roberl de Clifford, 




Pavaii Tybelot, 


Kmghtt. 


William l,e Maresclial, 


Henry de Boun, 


John Comyii, 


Thomas de Ullbrd, 


William de Veiscey, 


John de EUingfelde. 


John de .MoiUfort. 


John de Harcourl, 


Nicholas de Ha-.leleigh. 


Waller de Hakelul, 


William Dayncourt, 


Philip deCourienay, 


jEgidiu.sde .'Vrsenleyne, 


Hugo de Scales, 


Edmoiid Comyn, 


Radulph de Beauchamp, 


John Lovel. (the rich.) 


John de Peubr.gEe, 


Eilmund de Hastynge, 


With 33 other-i of the same 


Mile de Stapleloa, 


rank, not aamed. 


PRISONERS. 


Barms and Barontts. 


Anselm de Mareschal, 


Henry de Bonn, Earl of 


Giles de Beauchamp, 


Hereford, 


John de CyfrewaHt, 


Lord John Giffard, 


John Bluwet. 


William de Latimer, 


Ro;er Corbet, 


Maurice de Berkeley, 


Gilhert de Boun, 


In^elram de Umfraville. 


Bartholomew de Enefeld, 


Marmaduke de Tweuge. 


Thomas de Ferrers, 


John de Wyletone, 


Kadulph and Thomas Botte- 


Enberl de Maulee, 


tort. 


Henrv Fitz-Hugh, 


John and NicholaH de Kiug- 


Thomas de Gray, 


8Ione, (brothers.) 


Walter de Beauchamp, 


William Lovel, 


Rxhard de Charon, 


Henry de Wileton, 


John de Wevelralon, 


Baldwin de Frevill, 


Robert de Nevil, 


John de 01ivedon,3 


John de Segrave, 


Adomar la Zouche, 


Gilbert Peeche, 


John de Merewode, 


John de Clavering, 


John Maufe,4 


Antony de Lucy, 


Thomas and Odo Lele Erc«- 


Radulph de Cainys. 


dekene. 


John de Evere, 


Robert Beaupel. (the son.) 


Andrew de Abremhyn. 


John Mautraver», (the.on,) 




William aiil William Gif- 


Knighls. 


fard, and 34 other kni-hm. 


Thomas de Berkeley, 


not named by the histo- 


The son of Roger Tyrrel, 


rian. 



And in sum there were slain, along with the 
Earl of Gloucester, forty-two barons and ban- 
nerets. The number of earls, barons, and 
bannerets made captive, was twenty-two. and 
sixty-eight knights. Many clerks and esquires 
were also there slain or taken. Roger de 
Northburge. keeper of the king's signet, 
( Custos TargiaB Domini Regis.) was made pri- 
soner with his two clerks, Roger de Waken- 
felde and Thomas de Switon. upon which the 
king caused a seal to be made, and entitled it 
his privy seal, to distinguish the same from llie 
signet so lost. The Earl of Hereford was 
exchanaed against Bruce's queen, who. had 
been detained in captivity ever since the year 
1306. The Targia. or signet, was restored to 
England through the intercession of Ralph de 
Monthermer. ancestor of Lord Moira. who is 
said to have found favour in the eyes of the 
Scottish kms— ContmiMtion of Trivet's An- 
jwls. Hall's edit Oxford. 1712. vol. ii.. p. U. 

Such were the immediate consequences of 
the field of Bannockburn. Its more remote 
effects, in completely establishing the national 
independence of Scotland, aflfoul a boundless 
field for speculation. 



^ 420 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 



The Field of Waterloo 

A POEM. 



'Though Valois braved younff Edward's senile hand, 
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, 
With Europe's chosen sons, m arms renown'd, 
Vet not on Vere's bold archers Ion? they look'd. 
Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd,— 
They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound " 

Akenside. 



HER GRACE 

TUE 

DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, 

&c. &c. (fee. 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 

BT 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that tt was composed hastily, and 
during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's labours were liable to frequent inter- 
ruption ; but its best apology is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Sub- 
scription. 



Abbotsfobd, 1815. 



St; 



Etit jfitVn of (H^^atcrloo. 



I. 

Fair Brussels, thou art far behind. 
Thouerh. linserins (m the tnornin? wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
Peal'd over orchard and canal. 
With voice prolong'd and measured fall. 

From proud St Michael's tower; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

For many a league around. 
With birch and darksome oak between, 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen. 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems defy 
The adventurous foot— the curious eye 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And tiie brown tapestry of leaves. 
Strew d on the blighted ground, receives 

Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. 



No opening glade dawns on our way. 
No streamlet, glancing to the ray. 

Our woodland path has crossM; 
And the straight causeway which we tread, 
Prolongs a line of dull arcade. 
Unvarying through the unvaried shade 

Until in distance lost. 

II. 

A brighter, livelier scene succeeds ; 
In groups the scattering wood recedes. 
Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads. 

And corn-fields, glance between ; 
The peasant, at his labour blithe. 
Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe :- 

But when these ears were green. 
Placed close within destruction's scope. 
Full little was that rustic's hope 

Their ripening to have seen ! 



1 See Appendix, Note A. 



^ 



z. 



THE FIELD OF AVATERLOO, 



And, Ic), a liamlet and its fane : — 
Let not the eazer witli disdain 

Their archilecliire view : 
For yimuer rude unsjraceful shrine. 
And dispniporlKiird spire, are thine, 

Immortal VVaterloo! 

111. 
Fear not the lie:it. thonsh full and hish 
The sun has srorchM the autumn sky. 
Ami stiarce a forest strasffler imw 
To shade iis spreads a ereenwocKl bousii ; 
These fields have seen a ho terday 
Than e'er was fired hy sunny ray. 
Yet one mile on — yon shaiter'd hedse 
l.r^s^s ilie soft hill whose long sinoolh ridge 

Looks on the lield below. 
Aih' sinks so gently on the dale. 
That no; the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 
Brief space from thence, the ground again 
Ascending slowly from the plain. 

Forms an opposing screen. 
Which, with its crest of upland ground, 
Shuis the horizon all around. 

The sotlen'd vale between 
Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread ; 
Noi the most limid maid need dread 
To g ve her snow-white palfrey head 

On that wide stuhhie-ground ; 
Nor wo,>d, nor tree, nor bush, are there. 
Her course to intercept or scare. 

Nor fosse nor fence are found. 
Save wiiere, from out her shatter'd bowers, 
Kise Hougomont's dismantled towers. 

IV. 
Now. see'st thou aught in this lone scene 
Can tell of that which late hath been?— 

A stranser might reply, 
"The bare e.ttent of stubble-plain 
Seems lately lighten'd uf its sram ; 
And yonder sable tracks remain 
Mark's of the peasant's ponderous wain, 

When harvest-home was niuh. 
On these broad spots of trampled ground, 
Perchance the rustics danced such round 

As Teiiiers loved to draw ; 
And where the eartii seems scorch'd by flame, 
'Po dress the homely feast they came. 
And toil'il the kerchief 'd village dame 

Around her fire of straw." 



So deem'st thou— so each mortal deems. 
Of that which is from thai which seems : — 

But other harvest here. 
Than that which peasant's scythe demands, 
Was sallier'd in by sterner hands, 

With bayonet, blade, and spear. 
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap. 
No stinted harvest thin and cheap! 
Heroes before each fatal sw'eep 

Fell thick as ripen'd eram : 
And ere the darkening of the day. 
Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay 
The ffhastly harvest of the fray. 

The corpses of the slain. 

VI. 
Ay, look again — that line, so black 
And trampled, marks the bivouac. 
Von deep-graved rats the artillery's track 



So often lost and won ; 
And close beside, the harden'd mud 
Still shows where, feilork-deep in blood. 
The fierr;e draKoon, through battle's flood, 

Uash'd the hot war-horse on. 
These spots of excavation tell 
The ravase of the biirstintf shell — 
And feel'st ihou not the tainted steam, 
That reeks asamst tlie sultry beam. 

From yonder trenched mound ? 
The pestilential fumes declare 
Tliat Carnage has replenish'd there 

Her garner-house profound. 

VII. 
Far other harvest-home and feast. 
Than claims the boor from scythe released. 

On these scorch'd fields were known! 
Death hover'd o'er the maddening rout. 
And, III the thrillins battle-shout. 
Sent for the bloody banquet out 

A summons of Ins own. 
Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye 
Could well each destined guest espy, 
Well could his ear in ec^stasy 

Distinguish every tone 
That fill'd the chorus of the fray— 
From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 
From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 
From the vvild clang tlrat inark'd their way,— 

Down t(i the dying groan. 
And llie last sob of life's decay, 

Wlien breath was all but flown. 

VIIL 
Feast on. stern foe of mortal life. 
Feast on !— hut think not that a strife. 
With such promiscuous carnage rife, 

Protracted space may last; 
The deadly tug of war at length 
.Must limits find in human strength, 

And cease when these are p.ast. 
Vain hope !— that morn's o'erclouded sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight begun 

Ere he attain'd his height. 
And through the warsinoke. volumed high 
Still peals that unremitted cry. 

Though now he stoops to night. 
For ten long hours of doubt and dread. 
Fresh succours from the e.xfended head 
Of either hill the contest fed ; 

Still down the slope they drew. 
The charge of columns paused not. 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot 

For all that war could do 
Of skill and force was proved that day. 
And turn'd not yet I he doubtful fray 

On bloody Waterloo. 

LX. 
Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were 

thii>e,' 
When ceaseless from the distant line 

Continued thunders came ! 
Each burgher held his breath, to hear 
These forerunners of liavoc near, 

Of rapine and of flame 
What ghastly sights were thine to meet, 
When rolling through thy stately street. 
The wounded show'd their mangled plight 
In token of the unrinish'd fight. 



421 > 



1 See Appeudix, Note 1 







SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



And from each ansuish-laden wain 
The l)lood-drops laid ihy dust like rain! 
How often III tile distant drum 
Heard'sc tiiou the tell Invader come, 
Willie Ruin, shouting to his band, 
Sliooli high her torcli and gory hraiid ! — 
Cheer thee, fair C^ity ! From yon stand, 
Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand 

Points to his prey in vain. 
While maddening iii his eager mood, 
And all unwoiit to lie withstood, 

He fires the fight again. 

X 

" On ! on !" was still his stern exclaim ; 
"Confront the hatlery's jaws ot flame ! 

Rush on the levell'd gun ! i. . 
My steel-rlad cuirassiers, advance ! 
Each Hulan forward with his hiiire, 
My Guard— my Chosen— charge for France, 

France and Napoleon!" 
Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout, 
Greeting the mandate which sent out 
Their hravest and their best to dare 
The fate their leader shunn'd to share. 2 
But He, Ins country's sword and shield, 
Still ill the battle front reveal'd. 
Where danger fiercest swept the field. 

Came like a beam of light. 
In action prompt, in sentence brief— 
"Soldiers, stand firm." exclaini'd the Chief, 

"England shall tell the fight!" 3 

XI. 
On came the whirlwind — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of ternpest-blast — 
On came the whirlwind — steel gleams broke 
Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 

The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon mouths roar'd loud. 
And from their throats, with flash and cloud 

Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in lull career, 
flush'd on the ponderous cuirassier, 
The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear. 
And hurrying as to havoc near, 

I'he Cohorts' eagles flew. 
Ill one dark torrent, broad and strong, 
The advancing onset rolTd along. 
Forth harhinser'd by fierce acclaim, 
That, from the shroud ol' smoke and flame, 
Peal'd wildly the imperial name 

XFI. 
But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host ; 
For not an eye the storm that view'd 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude. 
Nor was one forward Ibotstep staid, 
As dropp'd the dying and the dead. 
Fa.st as their ranks the thunders tear. 
Fast they renew'd each serried S(iuare; 
And on ihe wounded and the slain 
Closed their dimmish'd files again, 
I'lll from their line scarce spears' lengths 

three, 
Emerging from the smoke they see 
Helmet, and r>lume. and panoply. — 
Then waked their fire at once ! 
Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
As fa.^t. its regularly fell. 



I See Appeiiilix, Note C. 
S Seii Afrt^udix, Note K. 



D. 



4 lb>d, Note F 



As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal diiy. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle banners sent. 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 
Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; 

And. to augment the fray. 
Wlieel'd full against their staggering flanks, 
I'he English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords— the neigh of steeds 
As plies the smith his clanging traile,* 
Against the cuirass rang the blade; 
And while amid their close array 
The well served cannon rent their way, 
And while amid their scatter'd band 
Kased the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
Kfcoil'd in common rout and fear. 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot— a mingled host, 
'I'heir leaders fall'n, their standards lost. 

XIII. 
Then, Wellington ! thv piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That morn 'gainst charge of sword and lance 
As their own ocean-rocks hold stance. 
But when thy voice had said, •'Advance!" 

They were their ocean's flood. — 
O Thou.' whose inauspicious ami 
Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide? 
Or will ihy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levell'd steel,^ 

Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam afar, 
And fresher thunders wake the war. 

And other standards fly? — 
Think not that in yon columns, file 
Thy conquering troops from Distant Dylc— 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still. 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill.) 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussia's trumpet tone ?— 
What yet remains ?— shall it be thine 
To head the relics of thy line 

In one dread eflRirt more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved. 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Chieftain, who, of yore. 
Ambition's dizzy ptiths essay 'd. 
And with the glailiators' aid 

For empire enterpnsed— 
He stood the cast his rashness play'd, 
Left not the victims he had made," 
Dug Ins red grave with Ins own blade, 
And on the field he lost was laid, 

Abhorr'd — but not despised. 
XIV. 
But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever tiought, — 
Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, 
Though twice ten thousand men have died 

On this eventful day. 
To gild the military fame 
Which thou, for life, in traffic tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 



i See Appemlix, Nole( 



T- 



A 



7 



^ 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



Shall future a»es tell this tale 
Of mrorisisteiice faitit and frail T 
And an ttiou He of Lodi's lindse. 
MuTf riffo's tield, and Wajiram's ridge ! 

Or IS ihy soul like niouniain-tide, 
Tiiat, swell'd by winter storm and shower, 
Rolls down in tnrhulenre of power, 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obsrure. 
Slirinkins unnoticed, mean and poor, 

Whose channel shows display'd 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
Bui n(»t one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made! 

XV. 

Spur on thy way !— since now thine ear 
Has brook d thv veterans' wish to hear. 

Who. as thy fliuht they eyed, 
Exclaiin'd.— while ifars of anguish came. 
Wruns forth hv pride, and ra?e. and shaine,- 

"O. that he had but died I" 
But vet, to sum this hour of ill. 
Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill. 

Back on yon broken ranks— 
Upon whose wild confusion fleams 
The moon, as on the troubled streams 

When rivers break their banks, 
And. to the ruin'd peasant s eye, 
Olijects half seen roll swiftly by, 

Down the dread current hurl'd— 
So iningle banner, wain, and srun. 
W'heie the tumultuous flight rolls on 
Of warriors, who. when iiioin begun, 

Defied a banded world. 

xvr. 

List— frequent to the hurrying rout. 
The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 
Tells, that upon their broken rear 
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 

So fell a shriek was none, 
When Beresina's icy flood 
ReddenM and thaw'd with flame and blood. 
And, pressing on thy desperate way. 
Raised oft and long their wild hurra, 

The cliildren of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 
So ominous, when, all bereft 
Of aid. the valiant Polack left- 
Ay, left t)y thee— found soldier's grave 
In Leipsic's corpse-encumber'd wave. 
Fate, Ml those various [lenls past. 
Reserved thee still some future cast; 
On the dread die thou now hast thrown. 
Hangs not a single field alone. 
Nor one campaign — thy martial fame, 
I'hy empire, dynasty, and name, 

' Have felt ihe final stroke ; 
And now, o'er thy devoted head 
The last stern vial's wrath is shed, 

The last dread seal is broke. 

XVII. 
Since live thou wilt— refuse not novr 
Before these demagogues to bow, 
Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 
Who shall thy once imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of vain debate — 
Or shall we say, thoU stoop'st less low 
III seeking refuge from the foe. 
Against whose heart, in prosperous life, 
I hine hand hath ever held tite knife 7 



Such homage halh been paid 
By Roman and by Grecian voice. 
And there were honour in the choice. 

If it were freely made. 
Then safely come— in one so low,— 
So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 
riiougli dear experience bid us end. 
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend.— 
(-■(ime, howsoe'er — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of pride, 
Erewhile, by gifted bard espied. 

That "yet imperial hope ;" 
Think not that for a fresh rebound. 
To raise ambition from the ground. 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In .safety come — but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign ; 

No islet calls thee lord. 
We leave thee no confederate band. 
No symbol of thy lost command, 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From wliich we wrench'd the sword. 

XVIIL 
Yet, even in yon seqiiester'd spot. 
May worthier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thv life has known ; 
Conquest, unbousht by blood or harm, 
That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, 

A triumph all thine own. 
Such waits thee when thou shall control 
Tho.se passions wild, ihat stubborn soul. 

That marr'd thy prosperous scene : — 
Hear this— from no unmoved heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what thou art 

With what thou might'st have been ! 

XIX. 

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew'd 
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 
To thine own noble heart must owe 
.More than the meed she can bestow. 
For not a people's just acclaim, 
Not the full hail of Europe's fame. 
Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree. 
The ducal rank, the garter'd knee. 
Not these such pure delight afford 
As that, when hanging up thy sword. 
Well may'st thou think. " This honest steel 
Was ever drawn for public weal ; 
■And. such was rightful Heaven's decree, 
.Ne'er sheathed unless with victory !'" 

XX. 
Look forth, once nioe, with soften'd heart. 
Ere from the field of fame we part; 
Triumph and Sorrow border near. 
And joy oft melts into a hear. 
Alas! what links of love tlial morn 
Has War's rude hand asunder torn ! 
For ne'er was field so sternly fought. 
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 
Here piled in common slaughter sleep 
Those whom affection long shall weep : 
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain 
His orphans to his heart again ; 
The son, whom, on his native shore, 
The parent's voice shall bless no more ; 
The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd 
His blushin;^ consort to his breast ; 
The husband, whom through many a year 
L(mg love and mutual faith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie 
But here dissolved its relics he! 



428 >. 







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O! when tlipu see'st some mourner's veil 
Shroud herthin form and visage pale, 
Or niark'st, the Matron's hursting tears 
Stream when the stricken drum she hears ; 
Or see'st how manlier ^rief, suppress'd, 
Is labouring in a father's breast,— 
With no enquiry vani pursue 
'I'he cause, but think on Waterloo ! 

XXI. 
Period of honour as of woes, 
What brisht careers 'twas thine to close !— 
Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names 
To Britdii's memory, and to F'ame's, 
Laid there their last inmiortal claims! 
'I hdU saw'st in seas of eore expire 
Redoubled Pictron's soul of tire — 
iiaw'st ill the iniiisjied carna;je lie 
All that of Poi soiiby could die — 
D', l.ancey cliante Love's bridal-wreath, 
For laniels froiri the hand of Death—' 
Saw'st gallant Miller's '■' failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly, 
And rairieri)ii.3 in the shock of steel, 
Die like the olfspring of l.ocliiel ,• 
And eeneions Gordon. * 'mid the strife, 
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life — 
Ah ! Ihoiish her suardian angel's shield 
Feiiceii Britain's hero through the field. 
Fate not the less her power made known, 
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own ! 

xxn. 

Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay ! 
Who may your names, your numbers, say? 
What liiKh-strung harp, what lofty line, 
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign. 
From hish-born chiefs of martial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawnins day. 
From voiir cold couch of swamp and clay, 
To fiir. before the sun was low, 
'The bed that morning cannot know.— 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep. 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep. 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave, 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Who fought with Wellington ! 

xxm. 

Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted face 
Wears desolation's witheriuK trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shalter'd huts anil trampled ffrain. 
With every mark of martial wrong. 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont ! 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 
The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Thoush on thy shatter'd beeches fell 
The blended rase of shot and shell. 
Tlioush from thy blackeii'd [lortals torn, 
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, 

1 Ttie Poet's rriend, Colonel Sir William Tie Laucey, 
married the beautiful ilauj-hler of Sir James Hall, Bart., 
in April 1815, and received his inonal wound on the 18th 
of June See Captain B. Hall'» afferling uarraiive n the 
first series of his " Fragments of Voyages and Travels," 
vol. ii. p. 369. 

2 Colonel Mller. of the Guards — son to Sir William 
Miller, Lord Glenlee When mortally wounded in Ihe 
aliai-k on Ihe Bois de Bossu. he desire.l to see Ihe colours 
if the regimeul ouee more ere he died. They w, re waved 



I Has not such havoc bousht a name 
I Immortal in the rolls of fame ? 
I Ves— Agincdurt may lie foiyot, 
And Ciessy be an unknown spot, 

And Blenheim's name be new; 
But si ill 111 story and in smiff. 
For many an age reinember'd long. 
Shall live the towers of Hougomont, 
And Field of Waterloo. 



CONCLttSION. 

Stern tide of human Time ! that know'st not 

rest. 
But. sweepine from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'>t ever downward on thy dusky breast 
.Successive generations to their doom ; 
V\ Idle thy capacious stream has etjual room 
For the gay bark where Pleasure "s streamers 

sport. 
And for the prison-ship of guilt anil gloom. 
The fisher skiff, and barge that bears a court. 
Still waf iiiK onward all to one dark silent 

port ;— 

Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious 
cliaiige 

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been 
driven ! 

For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange 

Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 

And sure such varied change of sea and hea- 
ven. 

Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. 

Such fearf^ul strife as that where we have 
striven. 

Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know. 

Until the awful term wlien Thou shalt cease 
to flow ! 

Well hast thou stood, my Country !— the brave 

fight 
Hast well maintain'ii through good report and 

In thy just cause and in thy native might. 
And m Heaven's grace and justice constant 

still ; 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and 

skill 
Of half the world against thee stood arraved, 
Or when, with better views and freer will, 
Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade. 
Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to 

aid. 

Well art thou now repaid— though slowly rose. 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of 

fame. 
While like the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ; 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, 
And Maida's myrtles gleam'd lieneath its ray, 
Where first the soldier, stung with generous 

shame, 

over his head, and the expiring officer declared himself 
satisfied. 

3 "Colonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distin. 
guished in Lord Welliiiirton's despatches from Spain, fell 
in the aciion at Quatre Bra>, (16th June 18)5.) while lead- 
ing the Wd or Gordon Hiehlanders, to c-harge a body of 
cavalry, supported by infantry."— Pau/'s Lettert, p 91 

4 Colonel the Honourable Sir Alexander Gordon, hioiher 
to the F.arl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar on ihe 
spot where he fell by the side of the Duke of Wellington. 



y^ 



APPENDIX TO THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



425 



Rivall'd the hemes (if the wat.'ry way. 
And was.i'd in foemea's gore unjust reproach 
away. 

Now. Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, 
And hid I he hnnner of thy PHtron flow. 
G;illant Siiint Georjce. the flower of Cliivalry, 
For thou hast fared, like him, a drasoti foe, 
And rt-scued ninocence from overthrow. 
And iraniplt-d down, like him,tyrannin mierht. 
And to the km/mis world niavst proudly show 
The nhosen emblem of thy .samted Kriis;lit, 
Who qnell'd devouring pride, and vindicated 
right 



Vet 'mid the confidence of just renown. 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus ac- 
quired. 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down: 
"I'ls not alone the heart with valour fired, 
The discipline .so dreaded and admired, 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; 
—Such may by fame be lured, by gold be 

hired — 
"lis constancy in the gooil cause alone. 
Best jn.stities the meed thy valiant sons have 
won. 

END OF THE FIELD OF W.\TERLOO. 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

The pensnnt. nl his labour blithe. 

Plies the houk'ii staff and shortened scythe. 

P. 420. 

The reaper in Flanders carries in his left 
hand a stick with an iron hook, with which 
he C(dlects as much srain as he can cut at one 
sweep witli a short scythe, which he holds in 
his risht hand. Tliey carrv on this double 
process with great spirit and dexterity. 



Note B. 

Pak Brussels! theii what thoughts were thine 

P. 421. 

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war. 

that Bonaparte had promised his army, in 

case of victory, twenty-four hours' plunder of 

the city of Brussels. 



Note C. 

" On ! On !" was still his stern exclaim. 

P. 422. 

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon 
was never more fullv displayed than in what 
we may be permitted to hope will prove the 
last of his fields He would listen to no ad- 
vice,, and allow of no obstacles. An eye-wit- 
ness has given the following account of his 
demeanour towards the end of the action : — 

" It was near seven o'clock ; Bonaparte, 
who till then had remained upon the ridge of 
the hill whence he could best behold what 
passed, contemplated with a stern counte- 
nance, the scene of this horrible slaughter. 
The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, 
the more his obstinacy seemed to increase 
He became indignant at the.se unforeseen dif- 
ficuHies; and, far from fearing to push to ex- 
\remities an army whose confidence in hini 



was boundless, he ceased not to pour down 
fresh troops, and to give orders to march for- 
ward—to charge with the bayonet — to carry 
by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from 
different points, that the day went against 
him, and that the troops seeiiied to l)e disor- 
dered ; to whicti he onlv replied,— • En-avant! 
En-avnntr 

"One general .sent to inform the Emperor 
that he was m a position wliich he could not 
maintain, because it was commaniied liy a 
lialiery, and requested to know, at the same 
tune, in what way he should protect h's divi- 
sion from the murderous fire of the English 
artillery. ' Let him storm the battery.' replied 
Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide- 
de camp who brought the message " — Rilation 
de la Dallaillc de Mont- Si- Jean. Par un Te- 
moin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 8vo, p 51. 



Note D. 

The fate their leader shunn'd to share. 

P. 422. 
It has been reported that Bonaparte chargeil 
at the head of his guards, at the last period 
of this dreadful conflict. This, however, is 
not accurate. He came down indeed to a 
hi 'I low part of the high road, leading to Char- 
leroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of 
the farm of La Have Sainte, (me of the points 
most fiercely disputed Here he harangued 
the guards, and informed them that his pre- 
ceding operations had destroyed the Brnish 
infantry and cavalry, and that they had onlv 
to support the fire of the artillery, which they 
were lo attack with the bayonet. This ex- 
hortation was received with shouts of Vine 
V Emptreur, which were heard over all our 
line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was 
charging in person. But the guards were led 
on by Ney ; nor did Bonaparte approach 
neaier the scene of action than the spot al- 
ready mentioned, which the rising banks on 
each side rendered secure from all such ba.'ls 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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as did not come in a straiglit line. He wit- 
nessed tne e;iilier pnrt of tlie battle from 
planes yet more remote, particularly from au 
observatory whicli iiad been phioed there by 
the KitiRof the Netherlands, some weeks be- 
fore, for the purpose of surveying the country. 
It IS not meant to infer from these particulars 
that Na[)oleon showed, on that memorable 
occasion, the least deficiency in personal cou- 
rage ; on the contrary, he evinceil the greatest 
composure and presence of mind durins the 
whole action. But it is no less true that re- 
port lias erred in ascribina: to him any desfie- 
rale efforts of valour fax recovery of the 
battle; and it is remarkable, that duiintcthe 
whole oarnasre, none of his suite were either 
killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of 
the Duke of Wellington's personal aitendanls 
escaped unhurt. 



Note E. 

England shall Ml the fiqht /—P. 422. 
In ridinsr up to a reaiment which was hard 
pressed, the Duke called to the men, "f^ol- 
diers, we must never he beat. — what will 
they say in England V It is needless to say 
how this appeal was answered. 



Note F. 

As plies the smith his clmiying trade. 

P. 422. 
A private soldier of the 9.'ith resiineiit <-oiii- 
pared the sound which took place imme- 
diately upon tlie British cavalry nimgliii{£ with 



those of the enemy, to " a. thousand tinkers at 
work, viending pots and kettles." 



Note G. 

The British shock of leveU'd steel. 

P. 422. 
No persuasion or authority could prevail 
upon the French troops lo stand the shock of 
the bayonet. The Imperial Guards, in parti- 
cular, hardly stood till tlie British were within 
thirty yards of them, althoiiah the Frencli 
author, already quoted, has put into their 
mouths the magnanimous sentiment, "The 
Guards never yield — they die." The same 
author has covered the plateau, or eminence, 
of St. Jean, which formed the British posi- 
tion, with redoubts and retrenchments which 
never had an existence. As the narrative, 
which is in many respt-cts curious, was written 
by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived 
by the appearance of a road and ditch which 
run along part of the hill. It may be also 
mentioned, in criticising: this work, that the 
writer mentions the Chateau of Hougomont 
to have been carried by the French, although 
it was resolutely and successfully defended 
during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, 
posfsessed themselves of the wood by which it 
is surrounded, and at length set fire to the 
house itself; but the British (a detachment 
of the Guards, under the command of Colonel 
Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) 
made good the garden, and thus preserved, 
bv I heir desperate resistant*, the post which 
ciivered the return of the Duke of Welling- 
ton's rij^hc flank. 



Harold the Dauntless-. 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS, 






" Upon nnothrr orrnsinn." says Sir Wnlier. " I sent up mwther of these trifles, which, like school- 
boys' kites, served lo show how the wind of popular taste was settincf. Thfi manner was supposed 
to be that of a rude minslrtl. or Srntd. in opposition to' The Bridal of Triermain.' which was 
designed to belong rather lo the Italian school. This new fwjitive piece was called ' Harold the 
Dauntless;' and 1 am still astonished at mv hnvino committed the gross error of selecting the very 
name which Lord Buron had made so famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious 
friend. Mr. James Hogg, had published, about the same time, a work calkd the 'Poetic Mirror.' 
containing initalinns of the principal living poets There was in it a very good imitation of my 
own stule. which bore such a resemblance lo ' Harold the Dauntless.' that there wot no discovering 
the orii/inal from the imilalion. and I believe that many who took the trouble of thinking upon the 
subject, were rather of opinion that mv ingenious friend was the true, and not the fictitious Simtm 
Pure."— Introduction to the Lord of tlie Isles. 1830 



y 



7 



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HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



427 



\ 



jy.uolu tl)c 23.iuntlcss. 



INTRODUCTION. 

There is a mood of mind, we all have known 
Oil dniwsy eve. or dark and lowVin? day, 
Wjien the tired spirits lose their sprightly 

tone. 
And noiiiiht can chase the lingering hours 

away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. 
And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain. 
Ohsciired the painting seems, niistuned the 

lav, 
Nor d:ire we of our listless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek tliat cannot 

tell of pain ? 

The Jolly sportsman knows surli dreanhood, 
When hursts in delude the autumnal ram, 
Cloudiii? that morn which threats the heath- 
cock's brood : 
Of su(;h, in summer's drought, the anglers 

plain. 
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in 

vain; 
But. more than all. the discontented fair. 
Whom father stern, and sterner aunt, restrain, 
From county-ljall. or race <iccurrms rare. 
While all her friends around their vestments 
gay prepare. 

Ennui! — or, as our mothers call'd thee, 

Spleen ! 
To thee w(! owe full many a rare device ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards. I ween. 
The rolling hilliard-hall. the rattlin? dice. 
The turning lathe for framing srinicrack nice; 
The amateur's hlotch'd pallet thou mayst 

claim. 
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and 

mice, 
(Murders disguised hy ph.'.nsophic name.) 
And much of trifling grave, and much of 

buxom game. 

Then of the hooks, to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, wliat hard the caialosue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read hut once; — 
Uut not of such the tale fair Edgeworth 

wrote. 
That bears thy name, and is thine antidote; 
Anil not of such the strain my Thomson sung, 
Delicious dreams inspiring hy his note, 
Wiiat time to Indolence his harp he strung ; — 
Oh ! misht my lay be rank'd that happier list 

among! 

Eich hath his refuse whom thy cares assail. 
For me, 1 love my study-fire to trim. 
And con rifjlit vacantly some idle tale, 
DisplayiMu; on the couch each listless limb. 
Till on the drowsy pase the lislus erow dim. 
Ami (loiihlful slumber half supplies the theme ; 
VV'liile antique shapes of knight and giant scrim. 
Damsel and dwarf, in Ions procession gleam. 
And the Ri'inancer'stale becomes the Reader's 
dream. 

'Tis thus my malady I well may hear. 
Albeit outstretch'd. like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair; 
And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell, 



Or later legends of the Fairy folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell. 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad wing'd Roc. 
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober 
reason mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsousht 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay; 
The wliich,as things uiiflttini; graver thought. 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day — 
These few survive— -ind proudly let me say. 
Court not the critic's siiiile, nor dread his 

frown ; 
They well may .serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown. 
Than Ennin'.s yawning smile, what time she 

drops it down. 



jE^avolti t!}c Bauutlcss. 



CANTO FIRST. 



List to the valorous deeds that were done 
By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's 
son ! 

Count Wirikind came of a regal strain, 
I And roved with his Norsemen the land and 
the main 
Woe to the realms which lie coasted ! for there 
Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair. 
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest. 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast: 
When he hoisted his standard black, 
I Before him was b.ittle, behind him wrack. 
And he burn'd the churches, th«t heathen 

Dane. 
To light his band to their barks again. 

II. 
On Erin's shores was his outrage known. 
The winds of France had his banners blown; 
Little was there to plunder, yet still 
His pirates had forav'd on Scottish hill : 
But upon merry England's coast 
More frequent he sail'd, for he w(m the most. 
So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 
If a sail but gleam'd white 'gainst the welkin 

blue. 
Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. 
Burghers hasten'd to man the wall. 
Peasants fled inland liis fury to 'scape. 
Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 
Bt^lls were toll'd out, and aye as thev rung 
Fearful and faintly the grey l)rothers sung. 
•• Ble.ss us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire. 
From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's 

ire !" 

HI. 

He liked the wealth of fair England so well. 
That he sought in her bosom as native to 

dwell. 
He enter'd the Humber in fearful hour. 
And disembark'd with his Danish power. 
Three Farls came against him with all their 

train.— 
Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 



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CduritWitikind left the Hiimher's rich strand. 

And he wasted and warr'd in Northumber- 
land 

Kijt the Saxon King; was a sire in age, 

Weak in battle, in council sage; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 

Gifts he ffavi and quiei he bought; 

And the Count looli upon him the peaceable 
style 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Briiairi's broad 
isle. 

IV. 

Time will rust the sharpest sword, 

'lime will consume the strongest cord ; 

That which moulders liemp and steel, 

Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 

Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikind 

led, 
Manv wax'd ased. and many were dead : 
Himself found his armour full weighty to bear, 
W rinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair : 
He leaii'd on a staff, when his step went 

abroad. 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he be- 
strode. 
As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased. 
He made himself peace with prelate and 

priest, — 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head, 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Culhberfs iiisliop was holy and grave. 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 



"Thou hast murder'd. robb'd, and spoil'd, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoii'd ; 
Priests didst thou slay, and churches burn, 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worsliipp'd, with fiendish 

rite. 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light : 
O! while lile and space are given. 
Turn thee yet, and Ihink of Heaven !" 
"I'liat stern old heathen his head he raised. 
And on the good prelate he stedfastly gazed ; 
'"Give me broad lands on the Wear and the 

Tvne, 
My faitii 1 will leave, and I'll cleave unto 

thine." 

VI. 

Broad lands he gave him cm Tyne and Wear. 
To be held of llie church by bndle and spear; 
Part of Monkwearmouth. of Tynedale part, 
To belter ins will, and to soften his heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man. 
Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 
The high church of Durham is dress'd for the 

day. 
The clergy are rank'd in their solemn array : 
There came the Count, in a bear-skin warm, 
Leaning on Hilda his ctmcuhine's arm. 
He kneel'd before Sanit Culhberfs shrine, 
With patience unwonted at rites divine; 
He abjured the gods of heathen race. 
And he bent his head at the font of grace. 
But such was tlie grisly old proselyte's look. 
That the priest who baptized him grew pale 

and shook ; 
And the old monks mutter'd beneath their 

liood, 
' Of a stem so stubborn can never spring 

good !" 



VII. 
(ip then arose that grim convertite. 
Homeward he liied him when ended the rite: 
The Prelate in honour will with him ride, 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side 
Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before them, and spearmen be- 
hind ; 
Onward they pass'd. till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne; 
And full in front did that fortress lower. 
In darksome strength with its buttress and 

tower : 
At the castle gate was younsr Harold there, 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 

VIII. 
Voung Harold was fear'd for his hardihood. 
His Nirenglh of frame, and his fury of mood, 
h'lide he was and wild to behold. 
Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, 
Caff of vair nor rich array. 
Such as should grace that festal day : 
His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced, 
Uncover'd his head, and Ins sandal unlaced : 
His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, 
And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy 

glow; 
A Danish club in his hand he bore, 
The spikes were clotted with recent gore; 
At his back a she-wolf, and her wolfcubs 

twain. 
In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 
Nude was the sreetme his father he made. 
None to the Bishop,— while thus he said : — 

IX. 

"What priest-led hypocrite art thou, 

With thy humbled look and thy monkish 

brow. 
Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his 

vow ? 
Can'st thou be Witikind the Waster known, 
Hoyal Eric's fearless son. 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord,. 
Who won Ins bride by the axe and sword: 
From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who 

tore. 
And melted to bracelets for Freya and Tlior; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the 

skull. 
Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull ? 
Then ye worshipp'd with rites that to war- 
gods belong. 
With the deed of the brave, and the blow of 

the strong; 
And now, in thine age to dotage sunk, 
Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven 

monk, — 
lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair,— 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou 

bear? 
Or. at best, he admitted in .slothful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour? 
Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! 
Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame. 
And thy son will refuse thee a father's name !" 



Ireful wax'd old Witikind's look. 
His faltering voice with fury shook : 



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HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



429 



" Hear me. Harold of harden'd ht^:irt ! 
Stubborn and wiltul ever ihon wert. 
Thine ouini^e iiiscinef cunitniiiid thee to cease, 
Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — 
Jtist IS the debt of repenianre I've paiil. 
Kichly the chtircli lias a reconipense made. 
And the truth of her doctrines 1 prove with 

my blade. 
But reckoiiins; to none of my actions I owe. 
And least to my son such accounting will show. 
Why sjieak I to thee of repeniance or truth. 
Who ne'er fr(»m thy childhood knew reason or 

ruth? 
Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den ; 
'1 hese are thy mates, and not rational men." 

XI. 
Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied. 
'• We must honour our sires, if we fear when 

they chide 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made. 
I was rock'd ni a buckler and fed from a blade , 
An mfant, was taught to clasp hands and to 

shout 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame 

had bnike out ; 
In the blood of slain foemen my fin?er to dip. 
And tiiiite with its purple my cheek and mv 

lip — 
'Tis thou know'st not truth, that hast barter'd 

in eld. 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ances- 
tors held. 
When this wolf,"— and the carcass he flung 

on the plain. — 
"Shall awake and give food to her nuisliuKs 

again. 
The face of his father will Harold review ; 
I'll! then, aged Heathen, young Christian, 

adieu !" 

XII. 
Priest, monk, and prelate, stood ashast. 
As through the pageaiir the heaMien pass'd. 
A cross bearer out of his sadille lie flung. 
Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it 

spruiiiT 
Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 
When the holy sijn on the earth was thrown ! 
The fierce old Count unsheatheil his brand, 
But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. 
"Let him pass free I — Heaven knows its 

hour. — 
But he must own repentance's power, 
Pray and weep, and penance bear. 
Ere he hold land by the 'lyne ai.d the Wear." 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is 

gone 
Young Harold the Dauntless, Count W'itikind's 

son. 

XIIL 

Hish was the feastin? in Witikind's hall, 
Keveird priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; 
And e'en the Kood Bishop was fain to endure 
'I'he scandal, which time and instruction might 

cure : 
ft were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to 

restrain. 
In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen'd 

Dane. 
The mead flow'd around, and the ale was 

drain'd drv. 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry : 



Vyith Kyrie Eleison. came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyaii, and 

Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er, 
Outstretch'd on the rushes that strew'd the 

hall floor ; 
And the tempest within, having ceased its 

wild rout. 
Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd 

without. 

XIV. 

Apart from the wassail, in turret alone. 

Lay flaxen-hair'd Gunnar, old Ermengarde's 

Fn the train of Lord Harold that Page was the 

first. 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde 

nursed ; 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master 

should roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from 

home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of 

rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole 

and pane : 
'• And oh !" .^aid the Page, " on the shelterless 

wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and 

cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward, 

and wild. 
He endured me because I was Ermengarde's 

child.— 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun, 
In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidden I run; 
I would I were older, and knighthood could 

bear. 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and 

the Wear: 
For my mother's command, with her last part- 
ing breath. 
Bade me follow her nursling in life and to 

death. 

XV. 

"It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his 

chain 1 
Accursed by the Church, and expell'd by his 

sire. 
Nor Christian, nor Dane give him shelter or 

fire. 
And this tempest what mortal may housele.ss 

endure? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! 
Whate'er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not 

here" 
He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his 

spear; 
Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturb'd bv 

his tread. 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the 

dead : 
"Ungrateful and bestial!" his anger broke 

forth, 
" To forget 'mid vour goblets the pride of the 

North! 
And yoii, ye cowl'd priests, who have plentv 

in store. 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and 

ore ■' 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



XVI. 

Then, heeding full little of ban or of curse. 
He hiis seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse : 
SHinl Meneholt's Ahbot next morning has 

miss'd 
His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the 

wrist : 
The Seneschal's keys from his belt he has 

ta'eii. 
(Well drench 'd on that eve was old Hilde- 

brand's brain.) 
To the SI able-yard he made his way, 
And mounted the Bishop's palfrey tray, 
Castle and hamlet behind him has cast, 
And right on his Way to the moorland has 

pass'd. 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 
A weather so wild at so rash a pace : 
So long he snorted, so loud he neigli'd, 
There answer'd a steed that WasboUnd beside. 
And the red flash of lightnmg show'd there 

where lay 
His master. Lord Harold, outstretoh'd on the 

clay. 

XVll. 

Up he started, and thunder'd out, "Stand !" 
And raised the nlob in his deadly hand. 
'I"he flaxen hair'd Giinnar his piii[)(>se told, 
Show'd the palfrey and proffei'd the ffold. 
'• Back. hack, and home, thou simple boy ! 
Tliou canst not share my ei'ief or joy : 
Have 1 not marU'd thee wail and Cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade atikle-deep through foeman's blood. 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the tieiids below. 
And man on earth, more hateful still, 
The Very fonntain-head of ill ? 
Desperate of life, and careless of death. 
I.over of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe, 
Scich most thou be with nie to roam. 
And such thoU canst not be— back, and home ! 

XVIII. 
Young Gunnar shook like an 



ispen bough, 
and beheld the 



As he heard the harsh voic 

dark brow. 
And half he repented his purpose and vow. 
But now to draw back Were bootless shame. 
And he loved his master, so urged his claim ; 
" Alas! if my arm and my Courage be weak, 
Bear with me a v.'hile for old Erniengarde's 

sake ; 
Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith. 
As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 
Have 1 not risk'd it to fetch thee this gold. 
This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from 

cold ? 
And, did I bear a baser mind. 
What lot remains if 1 stay behind ? 
The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath 
A dungeon, and a shameful death." 

XIX. 

With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 
The Page, then turn'd Ins head aside ; 
And either a tear did his eyelash stain. 
Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 
" Art thou an outcast, then V quoth he ; 
"The nieeter page to follow me." 



'Twere bootless to tell what climes tliey 

sought. 
Ventures achieved, and battles fought; 
How oft with few. how ol't. alone, 
Pierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 
Men swore his eye, that flash'd so red 
When each other glauce was quench'U with 

dread. 
Bore oft a light of deadly flame. 
That ne'er from mortal courage came. 
Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern, 
That loved the couch o( heath and fern, 
Afar from hamlet, tower, and town, 
.More than to rest on driven down ; 
That stubborn frame, that sullen mood. 
Men deem'd must come of aught but good ; 
And they whisper'd, the great ftlasler Fiend 

Was at one 
With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's 

son. 

XX. 
Years after years had gone and fled. 
The good old Prelate lies lapp'd in lead; 
1 In the cliupel still is shown 
His sculptured form on a marble stone, 
With staff and ring and scapUlaire. 
And folded hands in the act of prayer. 
Saint Cuthbert's niitre is resting now 
On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow; 
The power of his croZier he loved to extend 
O'er whatever would break, or wliatever 

would bend ; 
And now hath he clothed him in cope and in 

pall, 
And the Chapter of Durham has met at his 

call. 
'• And hear ye not, brethren," the proud Bishop 

said, 
" That our vassal, the Danish Count Wiiikind's 

dead ? 
All his gold and his goods hath he given 
To holy Churcli for the love o( Heaven, 
And hath founded a clianlry with stipend and 

dole. 
That priests and that beadsmen may pray for 

his soul : 
Harold hi.« son is wandering abroad. 
Dreaded by man and abhorr'd liy God; 
Meet It is not, that such should heir 
The lands of the church on the Tyne and the 

Wear, 
And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands 
May now resume these wealthy lands." 

XXI. 
Answer'd good Eustace, a canon old. — 
'• Harold is tameless, anil furious, and bold ; 
Ever Renown blows a rio'e of fame. 
And a note of fear, when she sounds his name: 
.Much of bloodshed and much of scathe 
Have been their lot who have waked his 

wrath. 
Leave him these lands and lordships still. 
Heaven in its hour may ciiange his will; 
But if reft of gold, and of living bare. 
An evil counsellor is despair." 
More had he said, but the Prelate frown'd. 
And murmur'd his brethren wlio sate around, 
And with one consent have they given their 

doom. 
That the Church should the lands of Saint 

Cuthbert resume. 
So will'd the Prelate ; and canon and dean 
Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 



1 



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iL 



METELILL AT THE FOUNTAIN. 

She sate licr down, unseen, to thread 

The scarlet berry's mimic braid.— Pa^e 431, I erst v. 



N 



7" 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



J^aroltJ the ©auntlcss. 



CANTO SECOND 



I. 

'Tis merrv in greenwood, — thus runs the old 

lav — 
In the giiidsome month of lively May, 
When the wild tiirds' son? on stem and spray 

Invites to forest hnvver ; 
Then rears the ash his airy cr^st, 
Tlien «hines the birch in silver vest, 
And the beech in glisieninjt leaves is drest. 
And dark between sliows I he oak's proud 
breast, 

Like a chieftain's frowning tower; 
Though a thousand branches Join tiieir screen, 
Vet the broken snnbenms elance l)etween. 
And lip the leaves with lighter green, 

With brighter tints the flower ; 
Dull IS the heart that loves not then 
The deep recess of the wild wood glen, 
Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den, 

When the sun is in hia power. 

II. 
Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf 
That follows so soon on the gatliei 'd sheaf, 

When the tfreeiiwofKl lo.ses the name; 
Silent i» then the forest bound. 
Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling 

siiund 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round. 
Ur the di-ep-niouth'd cry of the dit'taiit hound 

Thai, opens on his game : 
Vet then, too, I love the fore.st wide, 
Whetiier the sun in splendour ride. 
And gild its manycolour'd side ; 
l)r whelher the soft and silvery haze. 
In vapoury folds, (j'er the landscape strays, 
And half involves the woodland rnaZe, 

I. ike an early widow's veil. 
Where wiinphng fissile from the gaZ€ 
The form half hides, and half betrays, 

Of beauty wan and pale. 

111. 
Fair .Metelill was a woodland ni.nid, 
Her father a rover of greenwood shade. 
By forest statutes undismay'd. 

Who lived by bow and quiver; 
Well known was Wulfstane's archery, 
By merry Tyne both on moor and lea, 
'I'hrough wooded VV'eardale's glens so (Tee, 
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood free. 

Anil well on Ganlesse nver. 
Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland 

game. 
More known and more fear'd was the wizard 

fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope. the Outlaw's dame; 
Fear'd when she frown'd was her eye of flame. 

More fear'd when in wrath she laugh'd ; 
For I hen, 'twas said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, 
Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 

Sprung forth the grey-goose shaft. 

IV. 
Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair. 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair- 



None brighter crown'd the bed. 
In Kriiaiii's bounds, of peer or pnnoe, 
Nor hath, [lerchance. a lovelier since 

In this fair isle been bred. 
And nought of fraud, or ire. or ill, 
V\ as known to gentle Metelill, — 

A simple maiden she ; 
The spells in dimpled smile that lie, 
.And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, 

Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet. 
She scarce coultl childhood's joys forget, 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Brneaih the jrreeiiwood tree, 
To plait the rushy coruiiei. 
AnU braid with flowt- rs her locks of jet, 

As when in infancy; — 
Yet could that heart, so sin)ple. prove 
The eiiriy dawn of stealing love : 

Ah! gentle maid, beware! 
The power who, now so mild a guest, 
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breast, 
V\'ill soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 

Let none his empire share. 

V. 
One morn, in kirlle green array'd, 
Deep III the wochI the maiden siray'd, 

And, where a fountain .sprung'. 
She sale her ilowii, unseen, to thread 
The scarlet berry's mimic braid. 

And while the heads she strung, 
Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay 
Gives a good morrow to the day. 

So lighisoinely she sung. 

VI. 

SO N Q. 

•' Lord William was born in gilded b'»wer, 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower , 
Yet better loves Lord William now 
'I'o roam beneath wild Rookho()e's brow; 
And William has lived where ladler lair 
With gawds and jewels deck their hair, 
Yet better loves the dewdrops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 

'•The pious Palmer loves, I wis. 
Saint Cuihberl's hallow'd beads to kis»; 
But I, though simple girl I be. 
Might have such homage paid to me; 
For dul Lord \\ illiam see me suit 
I his necKlace (tf the bramble's fruit, 
He fain— but must not have his will- 
Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 

•• My nurse has told me many a tale. 
How vows of love are weak and frail ; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 
What should they mean 1 it cannot be. 
That such a warning's meant for me. 
For nought— oh ! nought of fraud or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill !" 

VII. 
Sudden she stops — and starts to feel 
A weighty hand, a glove of steel, 
Cpon her shrinking shoulders laid ; ^ 
Fearful she turn'd, and saw, dismay'd, 
A Knight in plate and mail array'd. 
His crest and bearing worn and fray'd, 






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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



His surooat soil'd and riven, 
Forni'il like iliat giant race of yore, 
Whose Ions continued crimes oui wore 

'I'he sufferance of Heaven. 
Stern accents nmde his pleasure known, 
Tli<>iig:h then he used his penilesi tone ; 
''Maiden,'' he said, "sin>< forth thv glee. 
Start not — sing on — it pleases ine." 

VIII. 
Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 

Was all the maiden iniglit; 
And "Oh ! forjrive," she faintly said, 
" 'I'lie tenors of a simple maid, 

If Ihoii art mortal wight! 
But if— of such stransre tales are told — 
Unearthly warrior of the wold. 
Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. 
My mother. .Intta. knows the spell. 
At noon and midnight pleasing well 

The disembodied ear; 
Oh ! let her powerful charms atone 
For ausrht my rashness may have done. 

And cease thy sl"asp of fear." 
Then laush'd i he K ninhi — his laughter's sound 
Half m the hollow helmet drown'd; 
His barred vizor tlieii he raised. 
And steady (»n the maiden gazed. 
He sntooih'd his brows, as best he might, 
'I'o the dread calm of autumn niglit, 

When sinks the tempest roar; 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
'I'he clouds, and fear the gloomy sky, 

And haul their barKS on shore. 

IX. 
" Damsel." he said, " he wise, and learn 
Matters of weight and deep concern : 

From distant realms I come. 
And. wanderer Ions, at length have plann'd 
la this my native Northern land 

'I'o seek myself a home. 
Nor that alone— a mate 1 seek ; 
She must he gentle, soft, and meek,— 

No lordly dame for me ; 
Mvself am something roush of mood. 
And feel the fire of royal blood. 
And therefore do not hold it good 

'['o match in my desree. 
Then, since coy mnidejis say my face 
Is harsh, tny form devoid of grace, 
For a fair lineage to provide, 
"I'ls meet that my selected bride 

In lineaments be fair; 
I love thine well— till now I ne'er 
LooU'd patient on a face of fear. 
But now that tremulous sob and tear 

Become thy beauty rare. 
One kiss— nay, damsel, coy it not ! — 
And now go seek thy parents' cot. 
And say, a bridegroom soon I come. 
To woo my love, and bear her home." 

X 
Home sprung the maid without a pause 
As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws, 
But still she lock'd. howe'er distress'd. 
The secret in her boding: breast; 
Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 
Her steps should stray to distant glade. 
Night came— to her accustom'd nook 
Her distaff aged Jutla took. 



And by the lamp's imperfect glow. 
Rouffh Wulfstane trinim'd his shafts and bow. 
Sudden and clamorous, from the ground 
Upstarted slumberinK brach and hound; 
Louil knocking next the lodee alarms. 
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms. 
When open flew the yielding door. 
And that grim Warrior pre.ss'd the floor 

XI. 

" All peace be here— What ! none replies? 
Dismiss vour fears and your surprise. 
'Tis 1— that Maid hath told my tale,— 
Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 
tt recks not — it is 1 demand 
Fair Metelill in marriage band; 
Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 
Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame " 
The parents sought each other's eyes. 
With awe, resentment, and surprise: 
Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 
The stranger's size and thewes to scan; 
But as he scann'd, his courage sunk, 
And from unequal strife he shrunk. 
Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes; 
Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 
On Harold innocently fell ! 
And disappointment and amaze 
Were in the witch's wilder'd gaze. 

Xtl. 
But soon the wit of woman woke. 
And to the Warrior mild she spoke : 
" Her child was all too young." — " A toy. 
The refuge of a maiden coy." — 
Again, " A powerful baron's heir 
Claims in her heart an interest fair."— 
'• A trifle— whisper in his ear 
That Harold is a suitor here !"— 
Baffled at length she sought delay : 
'• Would not the Knight till morning stay? 
Late was the hour— he there might rest 
Till morn, their lodge's honoiir'd guest." 
Such were her words, — her craft might cast, 
.Her honour'd guest should sleep his last; 
" .No, not to-night— but soon." he swore, 
" He would return, nor leave them more." 
The threshold then his huge stride crost. 
And soon he was in darkness lost. 

XIII. 
Appall'd a while the parents stood. 
Then changed their fear to angry mood, 
And foremost fell their woitls of ill 
On unresisting Metelill : 
Was she not caution'd and forbid, 
Forewarn'd, implored, accused and chid. 
And must she still to greenwood roam, 
To marshal such misfortune home ? 
" Hence, minion— to thy chamber hence— 
There prudence learn, and penitence." 
She went — her lonely couch to steep 
In tears which absent lovers weep; 
Or if she gain'd a troubled sleep, 
Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 
And terror of her feverish dream. 

XIV. 
Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 
Upon each other bent their ire ; 
" A woodsman thou, and hast a speat. 
And could.sl thou such an insult bear r" 



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HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Sullen lie said, •' A uiaii roiiiends 

Willi men, a wilch willi sprilfs :iiid fiends; 

Not to mere mortal wigiil Melons 

Yon Kloomy brow and friinie so strong. 

But iliou— IS this thy [)romise fair, 

That vour Lord Wiriium, wealtliv heir 

'lo Ulnck. Ban.ii of VVnton-ie-Wear, 

Should Meteliil to altar hear? 

Do all the spells ihou hoasfst as thine 

Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, 

His erain in autumn's storms to sleep. 

Or thoroiiKh fog and fen to sweep. 

And ha!;-nde some poor rnsiic's sleep? 

is such mean mischief wonh the fame 

(»t sorceress and wucli's name ? 

Fame, which with all iiien's wish conspires, 

With thy deserts and my desires. 

To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? 

Out on thee! wiich ! aroint! aroint! 

Whiit now shall piu thy schemes in joint 

W hat save this i rusty arrow's point. 

From the dark din!?le when it flies. 

And he who meets it Rasps and dies." 

XV. 
Stern she replied. "I will not wag:e 
War with thv tolly or thy raee;. 
But ere the niorrow's sun be low, 
Wiilfstane of Rookhope. thou shall know. 
If I can venere me on a foe. 
Believe the while, that whatsoe'er 
1 spoke, in ire. of bow and spear, 
it IS not Harold's destiny 
The death of pilfer'd deer to die. 
But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, 
(That shall be yet more pallid soon, 
Before she sink behind the dell,) 
Thou, she. and Harold too, shall tell 
What Jutla knows ol charm or s^mll." 
Thus niutteniig. lo ihe door she bent 
Her wayward steps, and forth she went. 
And left alone the moody sire, 
■^I'o cherish or to slake his iie. 

XVI. 
Far faster than belouff'd to a^e 
Has Julia made her pilsjriiiiase. 
A priest has met her as she pass'd,. 
And (iross'd hims'^lf and stood aghast: 
She traced a hamlet— not a cur 
His throat would ope. Ins fool would stir; 
lU- crouch, by treiiiblin?, and by groan, 
They made her hated presence known! 
Hul when she trode the sable fell. 
Were wilder sounds her way to tell,— 
For far was heard the fox's yell, 
The black-cock waked and faintly crew, 
Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew; 
Where o'er the cataract the oak 
Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 
The moQiitam-cat, which sought his prey. 
Glared, srream'd, and staried Irom her way. 
Such music cheer'd her journey lone 
To the deep dell and rocking stone : 
There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise, 
Slie cali'd a God of heathen days. 

XVII. 
INVOCATION. 

'From thy Pomeranian throne. 
Hewn in rock of livin? stone. 
Where, to thy godhead failhful yet. 
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 



And their swords in vengeance whet. 
That shall make thine altars wet, 
W el and red for ages more 
With the Christians' hated gore, — 
Hear me ! Sovereign of the Kock, 
Hear me ! mighty Zernebock! 

" .Mightiest of the mighty known. 
Here thy wonders have t)een shown ; 
Hundred tribes in various tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung; 
Down that stone vvitli fiiiiiic seam'd. 
Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd ! 
Now one woman comes alone. 
And but wets it with her own. 
The last, the feeblest of thy flock,— 
Hear— and be present, Zernebock ! 

"Hark! becomes! the night-blast cold 
Wilder sweeps alon? the wold ; 
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim. 
And bristling hair and quaking limb 
Proclaim the Master Demon nigh.— 
Those who view his form shall die ! 
Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 
Thou who ridest the tempest dread. 
Shaking hill and rending oak — 
Spare me ! spare me ! Zernebock. 

•' He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 
Thy votaress at her need r<-pay ? 
Tliou — shall 1 call thee god or fiend ?— 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and ritual— Jutta's arms 
Are necromantic words and charms; 
Mine is the spell, that, utter'd once. 
Shall wake Thy Master from his trance, 
siiake his red niansion- house of pain. 
And burst his seven-times-lwisied chain! — 
So ! com'st thou ere the spell is spoke ? 
I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 

XVIIL 
" Dauighter of dust," the Deep Voice said. 
—Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, 
Rock'd on the base that massive slone, 
ihe Fvil Deity to own — 
" Daughier of dust I not mine the power 
Thou see k'.st on Harold's fatal hour. 
'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife 
Waged for his soul and for his life. 
And fain would we the combat win. 
And snatch him in his hour of sin. 
There is a star now rising: red. 
That threats hiin with an influence dread : 
Woman, thine arts of malice whel, 
To use the space before it set. 
Involve him with the church in strife. 
Push on adventurous chance his life; 
Ouiself will in the hour of need. 
As best we may thy counsels speed." 
So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues round 
Each hamlet started at the sound ; 
But slept again, as slowly died 
Its thunders on the hill's brown side. 

XIX. 

•• And is this all," said Jutla stern, 

" That thou can'st leach and I can learn! 

Hence ! to the land of fog and waste. 

There fittest is thine influence placed. 

Thou p(jwerless. sluggrish Deity ! 

But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 

Again before so poor a god." 

She struck the altar with her rod ; 



433 > . 



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Slight was the touch, as when at need 

A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; 

But to tiie hlow tile stone g;»ve plRce, 

And, starting from its balanced base, 

KolI'd thundering down the moonlight dell,— 

Ke-echo'd moorland, rock, and fell ; 

Into the moonlight tarn it dashd, 

'J heir shores the sounding surges lash'd, 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam; 
But on that lake, so dark aiul lone. 
Placid and pale the moonheam shone 

As Jutta hied her home. 



?iJarollJ tl)c JBauntles.«. 



CAHTO THISD. 



Th 
fc An 



Grey towers of Durham ! there was onre a 

time 
1 view'd your battlements with such vague 

hope. 
As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e'en then came wiihin fancy's scope 
A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet. gazing on the venerable ball, 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective 

ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary's 

stall.— 
And thus Hope me deceived as she deceireth 

all. 

Well yet 1 love thy mix'd and massive piles. 
Half church of God, half castle 'gamst the 

Scot. 
And long to roam these venerable aisles. 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot; 
There might I share my Surtees' happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial held 
To ransack every crypt and hallow'd spot. 
And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield. 
Restoring priestly chant and chmg uf knightly 

shield. 

Vain is the wish— since other cares demand 
Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 
Bui still that northern harp invites my hand, 
Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time; 
And fain its numbers would 1 now coiiimand 
To paint the beauties of that dawning fair. 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaiie, 
Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by wind- 
ing Wear. 

11. 
Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams 

danced, 
Betraying it beneath the woodland bank. 
And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced 
Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and 

flank, 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial 

rank. 
And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 
And from their circuit peal'd o'er bush and 

bank 
The matin bell with summons long and deep. 
And echo answer'd stUl with long resounding 
sweep. 



III. 
The morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awaken'd round. 

As if in revelry ; 
Afar the bugles' clanging sound 
Call'd to the chase the lagging hound ; 

The gale breaih'd soft and free, 
And seem'd to linger on its way 
To catch fresh odours from the spray, 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal, 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal, 
It melted Harold's heart (»f steel. 
And, hardly wotting why, 
He doff'<l his helmet's g"l<7omy pnde. 
And hung it on a tree beside." 

Laid mace and falchion by. 
And on the greensward sate him down, 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Reiax'd his rugged brow— 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask, 

Were wise to ask it now. 
IV. 
His place beside young Gunnar took, 
And mark'd his master's 8(jftening looh, 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormv thoughts subside, 
And cautious watch d the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent's billows shrink, 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink, 

Ere be dare brave the ford, 
And often, after doubtful pause. 
His step advances or withdraws ; 
Fearful to move the slnmbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire. 

Till Harold raised his eye, 
That glanced as when athvvart tlie shroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 

The bursting sunbeams fly. 



" Aronse thee, son of Ermensarde 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take harp, and greet this lovely prime 
With some high strain of Runic rhyme, 
Sinmg, deep, and powerful ! Peal it round 
Mke that lood hell's sonomas sound, 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Eric's sport. 
When dawn gleaai'd on his martial cnort. 
Heymar the Scald, with harji's high sonuil 
Summon 'd the chiefs who slept around ; 
Cou('h'd on the spoils of wolf and bear 
1 bey roused like lions from their lair, 
Tlien rush'd m emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the North. — 
Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 
Where is thy shadowy restins-place T 
In wild Valhalla hast thou qunff'd 
From foeman's skull melheglin draught. 
Or wanderest where thy cairn was |)iled 
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? 
Or have the milder Christians given 
Thy refuge m their peaceful heaven ", 
Where'er thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies wow, 



Z 



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HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



Our wars, our wanderins*, aiiJ our woes.' 
He ceased, aiui Guiinar'a song arose. 



" Hawk and n.sprev srrearn'd for joy 
O'er the heellins cliffs of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the heach o'erspread. 
The heath was dved with darker red, 
VVlien o'er Eric, /nsuar's sou. 
Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 
Siosina: wild the war sontf stern, 
' Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !' 

" Where eddying currents foam and boil 
By Ber.sa's huiish and Grsemsay's isle, 
The seaman sees a martial form 
Huli-minsled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he hears away 
To moor his bark in Slronina's bay. 
And murmurs iVom the bouiii'lms stern, 
• Kest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !' 

" Wliat cares disturb the mishty dead T 
Each honour'd rite was duly paid ; 
No darms hand thy helm unlaced, 
Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed,- 
Thy flmty couch no tear profaned, 
Without, with hostile hlood was stain'd ; 
Within, 'twas lined with moss and fern,— 
Then rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn !— 

" He may not rest : from realms afar 
Comes voice of battle and of war, 
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand 
On Oarmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand, 
When Odiii's warlike son could daunt 
The lurban'd race (tf Termagauut."— 

VII. 
" Peace." said the Knijfht, "the noble Scald 
Our warlike latneis" deeds recall'd, 
But never slmVe to soothe the son 
With tales of what himself had done. 
At Odin's boanl the bard sits hi^h 
Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery; 
But highest he whose daring lay 
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 
W ith doulitful smile youiisr Gunnar eyed 
His master's looks, and nought replied— 
But well that smile his master led 
1'o construe what he left unsaid. 
'• Is it to nie. thou timid youtli. 
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth! 
My soul no more thy censure grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. 
Say on — and yet— beware the rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loth were i that mine ire should wrong 
'I'lie youth that bore my shield so long. 
And who. in service constant still, 
Tiiougli weak in frame, art strong in will."— 
"Oh !" riuotli tiie Page, "even there depends 
My couiis(;l — there my warning tends — 
Ot't seems as of my master's breast 
Some demon were the sudden guest; 
'I hen at the first miscoiisirued word 
His hand is on the m;ice and sword. 
From her firm seat his wi>doiii driven, 
His life to Countless dangers gi en — 
O! would that Gunnar (;ould suffice 
To he the fiend's lij*t sacrifice. 
So tiiai. when glutted with my gore. 
He fled and tempted thee no more !" 




VIII. 
Then waved his liand, and shook his head 
The impatient Dane, while thus he said : 
•• Profane not. youth— it is not thine 
To judge the spirit of our line— 
The bold Berserkar's raae divine. 
Through whose inspiring, deeds are wroHght 
Past human strength and human thought. 
Wlien full upon tiis gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll, 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall- 
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly asfainst a host of f(;es ; 
Their spears he holds like wither'd reeds, 
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive. 
Take countless wounds, and yet survive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory. — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 
Deep drinks hi.^ sword,— deep drinks hi.'^sonl; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, 
And Couches till he's man apen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb, 
Wjien 'gins that rage to overi>rim— 
Thou know'st when I am moved, and why; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine eye, 
Set my teeth ihus. and stamp my foot, 
Regard thy safety and be mOte ; 
But else speak boldly out wliale'er 
Is fitting that a knigiit should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has jiowef 
Upon my dark and sullen hour;— 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charm'd away; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
111 of thy speech, whate'er the theme." 

IX. 
As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead. 
And, cautious in the midst to steer. 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear; 
So. lest on dangerous ground fie swerved, 
The Page his master's brow observed. 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
His hand o'er tlie melmlious string. 
And to his moody breast ar>ply 
The soothing charm of harmony. 
While hinted half, and half e.xprest. 
This warning song convey'd the rest.— 

SON Q. 
1. 
"Ill fares the bark with tackle riven. 
And ill when on the breakers driven. — 
111 when tile siorm-sprite shrieks in air, 
And the scared mermaid tears lier hair; 
But worse when on her helm the liand 
Of some false traitor holds commanil. 



Ill fares the fainting Palmer, placed 

'.Mid Hebron's rocks or Hana's wasie,— 

111 when the scorching sun is tiigli, 

And the expected font is dry.— 

Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath, 

I'he barbarous Copt, has plann'd his death. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" 111 fares the Knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of his helm berffi,— 
111 when his steeii to earth is flnuff, 
Or from his erasp his falchion wrung-; 
But worse, if instant ruin token, 
When he lists rede by woman spoken." — 



•' How now. fond hoy T— Canst thou think ill,' 
Said Harold, -'of fair MefeliU?"— 
" She may be fair," the I'a^e replied. 

As through the strm^s he ranged, — 
•• She may be fair ; hut yet," he cried. 

And llien tlie strain' lie changed, 

SONG. 
1. 

"She may he fair." he san^, " hut yet 

Far fairer have 1 seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet, 

And eves so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one day 1 may be. 
My liearl should own no foreign charms — 

A Danish niaid for me. 
2. 
"1 love my fathers' northern land, 

Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the hold Baltic's e(;hoing strand 

Looks o'er each g:ras.>iy oe. i 
1 love to mark the linsrerins sun, 

From Denmark loth to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright. 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 

A path of ruddy glow. 

3. 
" But most the northern maid I love, 

With breast like Denmark's snow, 
And form as tair as Denmark's pine, 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

Wiih the cheek's rosy hue. 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

'I'hut eye of matchless blue. 



•"Tis hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear. 
To bend the bow by stream and grove, 

And lift the hunter's sfiear. 
She can her chosen chaminon's flight 

With eye niidazzled see, 
Clasp him victorious from the strife, 
Or oti tiis corpse yield up lit^r life, — 

A Danish maid for me!" 
XI. 
Then smiled the Dane— "Thou canst so well 
The virtues of our m;iidens tell. 
Half could I wish my choice had been 
Bine eves, and hair of golden sheen, 
And lolty soul ;— yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charue (m MeteliU ?"— 
" Nothing on her," young Guiinar said, 
*• But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mo;her. loo— the general (ame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name, 



And in her grey eye is a flume 

.Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame — 

That sordid woodman's peasant cot 

Twice have thine liononr'd footsteps .sought, 

And twice retnrn'd with such ill rede 

As sent thee on some desperate deed."— 

XFI. 
" Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said. 
He that comes suitor to a maid. 
Ere link'd in marriage, should provide 
Lands and a dwelling for his bride— 
My father's, by the Tyne and Wear, 
I have redaini'd." — " O, all loo dear. 
And all too dangerous the prize. 
E'en were it won," young Gunnar cries ; — 
" And then this Jutta's fresh device. 
Tliat thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 
From Durham's priests n boon to gam. 
When thoU hast left their Vassals slain 
In their own halls !"— Flash 'd Harold's eye. 
Thiinder'd his voice—" False Fage. you he ! 
The castle, hall and lower, is mine, 
Built by (jld Witikmd on Tyne. 
'i he wild cat will defend his den, 
Fights for her nest ihe timid wren ; 
And tlimk'st ttiou I'll forego my right 
For dread of mcmk or monkish kuightT — 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the Bishop's conclave lelj. 
Thither will 1, in manner due. 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue; 
And. if to right me they are loth. 
Then woe to church ami chapter both !" 
Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall, 
And our next entry be Saint Culhbert's hall. 



?IJaroItr the Bauntlcs.?. 



CANTO FOURTH 



I. 

Full many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof, 
O'er-cano[iying shrine, and gorgeous tomb. 
Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof, 
And blending with the shade — a matchless 

proof 
Of high devotion, which hath now wax'd cold ; 
Yet legends say, that Luxury's brute hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold. 
Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in his 

fane of old.2 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the 

route 
Of our rude neighbours whilome deign'd to 

come, 
Uncall'd. and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
And cleanse our cliancel from the rags of 

Rome, 
They S[)oke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own. 
But Spared the mariyr'd saint and storied 

tomb. 
Though papal miracles had graced the stone. 
And thongli the aisles still loved the organ's 



swelling tone. 



7" 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



\ 



And deem not, tlioueli 'tis now my part to 

paint 
A Prelate sway'd by love of power and gold, 
That all who wore the niitre of our Siiint 
Like to anihitious Aliiinsar 1 hold . 
SniCti both in modern tnnes and days of old 
It sate on those whose virtues misrlit atone 
'1 lieir predecessors' frailties trebly told : 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such (if tame speak truth) the honour'd 

Barrington 

II. 
But now to earlier and to ruder times. 
As subject meet. I tune my rugsert rhymes, 
Telling: how fairly the chapter was met. 
And rood and books in seemly order set; 
Huge hrass-cbisp'd volumes, which ttie hand 
Of studious priest but rarely sc'tnird, 
Now on fair carved desk display'd, 
'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 
O'erliead with many a scutcheon graced, 
And quaint devict-s interlaced, 
A labyrinth of crossing rows. 
The ro4if in lesseiiina: arches shows ; 
Beneath its shade placed proud and high, 
With footstool and wiiti canopy, 
Sate Aldingar— and prelate ne'er 
More haughty graced Saint Cuihbert's chair; 
Canons and deacons were placed below, 
In due degree and lengthen'd row. 
Unmoved and silent each sat there, 
Like image in his oaken chair; 
Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they sfirr'd, 
Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 
And III their eyes severe alone 
The twinkle siiow'd they were not stone. 

111. 
The Prelate was to speecli address'd. 
Each head sunk rrverent on each breast; 
But ere his voice was linaid — without 
Arose a wild tumultinnis shout. 
Offspring of wonder iiiix'd with fear, 
Such as in crowded streets we hear 
Hailing the flames, I hat, bursting out. 
Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere It had ceased, a giant hand 
Shook ciakeii door and iron band, 
'i'lll oak and iron both gave way. 
Clash'd the lomr bolts, the hinges hrav. 
And. ere upon angel or saint they can call. 
Stands Harold the Dauntless m midst of the 
halL 

IV. 

"Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and 

rood. 
From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 
For here stands Count Harold, old W'ltikind's 

son. 
Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors 

The Prelate look'd round him with sore trou- 
bled eye. 

Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny; 

While each Canon and Deacon who heard the 
Dane st)eak. 

To he safely at home would have fasted a 
week : — 

Then Aldmgar roused him, and answer'd 
again, 

"Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not 
obtain ; 

37 • 



437 



The Church hath no fiefs for an unchristen'd 

Dane. 
Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath 

given. 
That the priests of a chantry might hymn him 

to heaven ; 
and the fiefs which whilome he possessed as 

his due. 
Have lapsed to the Church, and been granted 

anew 
To Anthonv Conyers and Alberic Vere, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's bless'd ban- 
ner to bear. 
When the hands of the North come to foray 

the Wear ; 
Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling 

or blame. 
But ill peace and in patience pass hence as ye 

came." 

V. 

Loud laiigh'd the stern Pagan.— " They're free 

from the care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and 

Vere.— 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, 
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead. — 
Ho, Giinnarl — lhe tokens ;"— and, sever'd 

anew, 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shudder'd with terror both Canon and 

Monk. 
They knew the glazed eye and the counte- 
nance shrunk. 
And of A ntliony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, 
And the scar on the band of Sir Alberic Vere. 
lliere was not a churchman or priest that 

was there, 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to 

prayer. 

VL 
Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear : 
•' Was this the hand should your banner bearl 
Was that the head should wear the casque 
In battle at the Cliurch's task ? 
Was it to such you eave the place 
Of Harold with the heavy mace? 
Find me between the Wear and Tvne 
A kmght will wieUl this club of mine. — 
Give him my fiefs, and I will say 
Tliere's wit beneatli the cowl of grey." 
He mised it, rough with manv a staiiii 
Caught from crush'd skull and spouting brain : 
He wheel'il it that it shrilly suns;. 
And the aisles echo'd as it swung. 
I'hen (lasliM it down with sheer descent. 
And split King Osric's nioiiumeiit. — 
•' How like ye this music T How trow ye the 

hand 
That can wield such a mace may be reft of its 

land ? 
No answer? — 1 spare ye a space to agree. 
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if 

he be. 
Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes 

on your hell. 
And again I am with you— grave father's, 

farewell!'' 

VII. 
He turn'd from their presence, he clash'd the 

oak door. 
And the ching of his stride died away on the 

floor ; 



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.SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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And his head from his bosom the Prelate up- 

rears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ffhost dis- 
appears. 
" Ve Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give me 

your rede. 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need ! 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in 

hone. 
The laiiffuaffe, the look, and the laug:h were 

his own. 
In the hounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a 

knisht 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in 

tisht; 
Then rede me arisht to his claim to reply. 
'Tis unlawful to tyrant, and 'tis death to deny." 

VIII. 
On ven'.son and malmsie that morninsr had 

fed 
The Cellarer Vinsauf— 'twas thus that he 

said : 
"Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply: 
Let the feast he spread fair, and the wine be 

pour'd lush : 
If he's mortal he drinks,— if he drinks, he is 

ours — 
His bracelets of iron.— his bed in our towers." 
This man had a laushnie eye. 
Trust not, friends, when sucii you spy; 
A beaker's depth he well could drain, 
Revel, sport, and jest amain— 
The haunch ot the deer and the grape's bright 

dye 
Never hard loved them better than I; 
But sooner than Vmsauf fill'd me my wine, 
Pass'd me his jest, and laueli'd at mine, 
Tiiough the buck were of Bearpark, of Bour- 

deaux the vine, 
With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine 
On an oaken cake and a draught of the Tyne. 

IX. 
Walwayn the leech spoke next— he knew 
Each plant that, loves the sun and dew, 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Donunion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw hiiii hy pale moonbeam 
Gatlieriiiff such lierhs by b ink and stream, 
Deem'd his tliin form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the deau.— 
" Vinsauf, thy wine." he said, " hath power. 
Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower; 
Yet three drops from this flask of mine. 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine, 
Shall give him prison under ground 
More dark, more narrow, more profound. 
Short rede, good rede, [e' Harold have— 
A dog's deaili and a heathen's grave." 
I have lam on a sick man's bed, 
Watching for hours for the leech's tread, 
As if I deem'd that his presence alone 
Were ot power to hid my pain begone ; 
I have listed his words (if comfort given. 
As if to oracles ftoin heaven ; 
I have counted his steps from niy chamber 

door. 
And bless'd them when they were heard no 

more ;— 
But siKuier than Walwayn my sick couch 

should nigh, 
Mv choice were, by leech-craft unaided, to 

die. 



Such service done in fervent zeal 
The Church may pardon and conceal," 
The doubtful Prelate said, " hut ne'er 
The counsel ere the ncX should hear. — 
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now, 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow; 
Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 
Are still to mystic learning lent;— 
Aiiselin of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 
Thou well inayst give counsel to Prelate or 

Pope."' 

XI. 
Answer'd the Prior— "'Tis wisdom's use 
Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; 
Ere granting the boon he conies hither to ask, 
Siiape for the giant gigantic task ; 
Let us see howa step so sounding can tread 
In paths of darkness, danger, and dread ; 
He may not. he will not. impugn our decree, 
That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; 
And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the 

Strong, 
Our wilds have adventure might cumber them 

long — 
The Castle of Seven Shields'* " Kind An- 
selm. no more ! 
The step of the Pagan approaches the door." 
The churchmen were hush'd. — In his mantle 

of skin, 
With his mace on his shoulder, Count Harold 

strode in. 
There was foam on his lips, there was fire in 

his ev.e. 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. 
" Ho ! Bishop," he said, '• dost Ihou grant me 

my claim ? 
Or must"! assert it by falchion and flame T"— 

XII. 

"On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop re- 
plied, 

In accents which trembled, "we may not de- 
cide. 

Until proof of your strength and your valour 
we saw — 

'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the 
law."— 

"And would you, Sir Prelate, have Harold 
make sport 

For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in 
thy court? 

Say what shall he do?— From the shrine shall 
he tear 

The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in 
air. 

And through the long chancel make Cuthbert 
take wing. 

With the speed of a bullet dismiss'd from the 
sling?'"— 

"Nay, spare such probation." the Cellarer 

" From the mouth of our minstrels thy task 

shall be read. 
While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of 

gold. 
And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be 

told ; 
And thyself gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, 

tell 
'['hat the Bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings, 

meant well." 



7 



^ 



^ 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



439 



^ 



^ 



XIII. 
Loud revell'd the guests, and tlie goblets loud 

raii«:. 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh MenevsUe, 

sung ; 
And Hariild, the hurry and pride of whose 

soul. 
E'en when verging to fury, own'd music's con- 
trol. 
Still bent on the harf)er his hroad sable eye, 
And often untasted the goblet pass'd liy ; 
Than vvirie, or than wassajl, to him was more 

dear 
The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to 

hear; 
And the Bishop that day might of Vinsauf 

complain 
That his art had but wasted his wiue-casks in 

vaia. 

XIV. 

THE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN 
SHIELDS. 

A. B A. I, L, A D. 

The Druid Urien had daughters seven. 
Tlieir .skill could call the moon from heaven; 
So fair their forms and so high their fame. 
'I'hat seven proud kings for their suitors came. 

King A[ador and Khys came from Powis and 

Wales, 
Cnshorn w;is their hair, and unpruned were 

their nails; 
Fn»m Strath-Clwyde was Ewaiu, and Ewaiu 

was lame. 
And the red bearded Donald from Galloway 

came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchback'd from 

youth ; 
Duiimail of Cumbria had never a tooth , 
But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's 

heir, 
Wus gay and was gallant, was young and was 

fair. 

There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each 
one would have 

For husband King Adolf, the gallant and 
brave ; 

And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to 
blows, 

When the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch- 
fiend arose \ 

Ke swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil— 
They swore to the foe they would work by his 

will. 
A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
" Now hearken my spell," said the Outcast of 

heaven. 

" Ve shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, 

And for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong 
shall have power, 

And there shall ye dwell with your para- 
mour" 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the 

wold. 
And the rhymes which they chanted must 

never be told ; 



And as the black wool from the distaff they 

sped, 
With blood from their bosom they moisten'd 

the thread.' 

As light danced the spindles beneath the cold 
gleam. 

The castle arose like the birth of a dream — 

The seven towers ascended like mist from the 
ground. 

Seven portals defend them, seven ditches sur- 
round. 

Within that dread castle seven monarchs were 

wed. 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay 

dead; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers 

all red. 
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's 

bed. 

"Six kmgly bridegrooms to death we have 

done. 
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, 
Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do. 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be husband- 
less too." 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when he 

wed 
Had confessed and had sain'd him ere boune 

to his bed ; 
He sprung from the couch and his broadsword 

he drew, 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he 

slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal'd. 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a 

shield ; 
To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended 

his way. 
And died in his cloister an anchorite grey. 

Seven monarelis' wealth in that castle lies 
stow'd. 

The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven 
and toad. 

Whoever shall guesten these chambers with- 
in. 

From curfew till matins, that treasure shall 
win. 

But manhood grows faint as the world waxes 
old! 

There lives not in Britain a champion so hold, 

So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain, 

As to dare the adventure that treasure to gam. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with 

the rye. 
Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland 

fly. 

And the flint clifts of Bnmbro' shall melt in 

the sun, 
Before that adventure he peril'd and won. 

XV. 

" And is this my probation?" wild Harold he 
said, 

" Withm a lone castle to press a lone bed ?— 

Good even, my Lord Bishop,— Saint Cuthbert 
to borrow. 

The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to- 
morrow." 



A 



440 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



X 




?^arolti t!)c ©nuntlcss. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

Denmark's s&ge courtier to her princely youtlj, 
Graiitins his cloud an ouzel or ;i wliaie, 
Spoke, tliough unwittingly, a partial truth ; 
For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 
The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale, 
Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze. 
Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 
Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, 
Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt 

muser's gaze. 
Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; 
For not with unsubslaiitial hues alone. 
Caught from the varying surge, or vacant 

heaven. 
From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing 

levin. 
She linins her pictures : on the earth, as air, 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven; 
And never gazed the eye on scene so tair. 
But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the 

share. 

IT. 
Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove. 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, 
Ever companion of his master's way. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite grey 
From the adjoining cliff had made descent,— 
A barren mass—yet with her dro()[)ing spray 
Had a young birch-tree crown'd Us baltle- 

nient. 
Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, 

flaw, and rent. 
This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought 

engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to liis eye. 
And at his master ask'd the timid Pase, 
•• What is the emblem that a bard should spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy ?" 
And Harold said, " Like to the helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie. 
And these same drooping boughs do o'er it 

wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's favour 

gave." — 
" kh, no !" replied the Page ; " the ill-starr'd 

love 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown. 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove. 
And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 
Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the 

scathe 
Of the red lightnins rends both tree and sione. 
So fares it with her unrequited faith,— 
Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge 

death." — 

HI. 
•'Thou art a fond fantastic boy," 
Harold replied, "to females coy 

Yet prating still of love ; 
Even so amid the clash of war 



I know thou lovest to keep afar. 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove. 
Whose business and whose joys are found 
Upon the bloody battle-sround. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou an. 
'I'hou hast a nook of my rude heart, 
And thou and I will never part ;— 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came !"' 

IV. 
The grateful Page made no reply. 
But turn'd to Heaven his gentle eye. 
And clasp'd his hands, as one who said. 
" My toils— my wanderin^-s are o'erpaid!" 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain. 
Conipell'd himself to speech again; 

And, as they fluw'd along, 
His words look cadence soft and slow, 
And liquid, like dissolving snow. 

They melted into song. 



" What though through fields of carnage wide 
I may not follow Harold's stride. 
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 

Lord Harold's feats can see ? 
And dearer fian the couch of pride. 
He loves the bed of grey wolf's hide. 
When slumbering by Lord Harold's side 

In forest, field, or lea." — 

VL 
'•Break off!" said Harold, in a tone 
Wliere hurry and surprise were shown. 

With some slight touch of fear,— - 
" Break off, we are not here alone ; 
A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 
By cowl, and staff, and mantle known, 

My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar. heedfully; 
He pauses by the blighted tree- 
Dost see him. youMi ?— Thou couldst not see 
When in the vale of Galilee 

1 first beheld his form, 
Nor when we met tliat other while 
In Cephalonia's rocky isle, 

Before the fearful storm.— 
Dost see him now ?" — The Page, distraught 
Wiih terror, answer'd. "I see nought. 

And there is nought to see, 
Save that the oak"s scathed boughs fling down 
Upon the path a shadow brown. 
That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown. 

Waves with the waving tree." 

VII. 
Count Harold gazed upon the oak 
As if his evestrinss would have broke, 

And tlien resolvedly said.— 
" Be what it will yon phantom grey — 
Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 
That for their shadows from his way 

Count Harold turn'd dismny'd : 
I'll speak him, though his accents fill 
My heart with that unwonted thrill 

Which vulgar minds call fear. 
I will subdue it !"'- Forth he strode, 
Paused where the blighted oak-tree show'd 
lis sable shadow on the ro;id. 
And, folding on his bosom broad 

His arms, said, " Speak— I hear." 



z 



t^ 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS, 



441 



VIII. 
The Deep Voire said, " O wild of will, 
Furious thy purpose to fulfil — 
Heart-sear'd and mirepeiitaiit still. 
How loiiE. Harold, shall lliy tread 
Ihsturh the sluiiihers of the dead ? 
F.m:\\ step III Ihy wild way Ihoil iiiakest, 
The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 
.And shout iii triumph o'er thy path 
The fiemls of liloodshed and of wrath. 
Ill this Ihine hour, yel turn .-iiid hear! 
For life IS brief and judgment near." 

IX. 
Then ceased The Voice —The Dane replied 
In tones where awe and inborn pride 
For mastery strove.— • In vain ye chide 
The wolf for ravasin? the flock, 
t)r wiih Its hardness taunt the rock, — 
I am as they— my Danish strain 
Sends streams of fire through every vein. 
Amid thy realms of ffoule and ghost, 
Say. IS the fame of Eric lost. 
Or Witikuid's the Waster, known 
Where fame or spoil was to be won; 
V\ hose salleys ne'er bore off a shore 

They left not black with flame ? — 
He was my sire. — and. sprung of him. 
That rover merciless and grim, 

Can I be soft and tame? 
Part hence, and with my crimes no more up- 
braid me. 
I am that Waster's son, and am but what he 

made me." 

X 
The Phantom groan'd; — the mountain shook 

around. 
The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound, 
'I'he gorse and fern did wildly round them 

wave. 
As if some sudden storm the impulse save. 
'• All thou hast said is truth — i'et on the head 
Of that bad sue let not the charge be laid, 
That he, like thee, vvilli uiireieiiling pace. 
From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — 
Relentless in his avarice and ire. 
Churches and towns tie gave to sword and 

fire; 
Shed blooil like water, wasted every land. 
Like the destroyin? angel's burnitii; brand ; 
Fulrill'd whate'er of ill inisht be invented. 
Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he 

repented ! 
Perchance it is part of his punishment still, 
That his otl'spring pursues his example of ill. 
But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall 

next shake thee, 
Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and 

awake thee ; 
If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted so- 
ever. 
The gate of repentance shall ope for thee 

never!"— 

XI 
" He is sone," said Lord Harold, and gazed as 

he spoke ; 
" There is nousht on the path but the shade 

of the oak. 
He is gone, w^iose strange presence my feeling 

oppressed. 
Like the nisht-hag that sits on the sluniberer's 

biea.st. 



.My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread. 
And cold dews drop from *iy brow and iny 

head. — 
Ho! Guimar, the flasket yon almoner sjave : 
>le said that three drops would recall from the 

grave. 
For the first time Count Harold owns leech- 
craft has power. 
Or, his ct>urage to aid. lacl^ the juice of a 

flower !" 
The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn 

had fill'd 
With the juice of wild roots thtit his art ha<l 

distill'd— 
So baneful their influence on all that had 

breath, 
One droi) had been frenzy, and two had been 

death 
Harold took it, but drank not; for jubilee 

shrill. 
And music and clamour were heard on the 

hill. 
And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and 

o'er stone, 
Tlie train of a bridal came bliihsomely on ; 
"I'here was sons, there was pipe, there was 

timbrel, and still 
The burden was, " Joy to the fair .Metelill !" 

XII. 
Harold might see from his high stance, 
Himself uiiseen, tiiat tram advance 

With mirth and melody :— 
On horse and foot a mingleil throiis, 
.Measunn? iheir steps to bridal song 

And bridal minstrelsy; 
And ever when the blithsome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout, 
Kedoutiliiis echoes roll'd about. 
While echoing cave and clitf sent out 

The answeriMU sympiioiiy 
Of all those mimic notes which dwell 
In hollow rock and sounding dell. 

XIII. 
Joy shook his torch above the hand. 
By many a vari.)us passion fann'd ; — 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed, 
Gentle, or stormy, or refined, 
Joy takes the colours of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure, but unrepress'd. 
He fired the bridegroom's saliaiit breast. 
More feebly strove with maiden fear. 
Yet still joy glimmer'd through the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows 
Like dewdrop on the budding rose ; 
While Wulfstane's sloomy smile declared 
The glee that seltish avarice shared. 
And pleased revenge and malice hish 
Joy's semblance took in Juita's eye 
On danserous adventure sped. 
The witch deem'd Hamld with the dead, 
For thus that morn her Demon said : — 
'■ If. ere the set of sun. he tied 
The knot 'Iwixt bridegroom and his bride. 
The Dane shall have no power of ill 
O'er William and o'er .Metelill." 
And the pleased witch made answer, "Then 
.Must Harold have pass'd from the paths of 

men ! 
Evil repose may his spirit have.— 
Mav hemlock and mandrake find rooi ii> his 

grave,— 



^: 




7^- 



^ 442 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Dee 



May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of 

dtsiiiHV. 
And his wakin? be worse at the answering 

day." 

XIV. 
Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent \w one shout of er.sliisy. 
But still when Jov is hrmimmg: highest, 
Of Siirniw and Misfortune nisihest, 
(Jf terror with her asue cheek, 
And lurking Danger, sages speak : — 
These haunt each path, hut chief they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose way. — 
Thus found thiit bridal hand their path 
lipsel t)y Harold in his wrath. 
Treiiihlmg henenth his maddening mood, 
! \\i\\ (111 a rock ihe giant stood ; 
1 hs shcut was like the doom of death 
Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd beneath. 
His deslaied victims misht not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye. — 
The frown <tf rage that writhed his fare,— 
The lip that foam'd like boar's in chase;— 
But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore bark to shun the threateii'd fall — 
The fragment which their eiant foe 
Kent from the cliff and heaved to throw. 

XV. 

Backward they bore :— yet are there two 

For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William knew 

Ere his good blade was bare, 
A«d Wulfstane bent his fatal vew, 
But ere the silken conl he drew. 
As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew 

That rum throui;h the air! 
Full on the outlaw's front it came. 
And all tliat late had human name. 
And human lace, and human frame. 
That lived, and moved, and had free will 
To choose the path of good or ill, 

Is to Its reckoning gone ; 
And nought of Wulfstane rests behind, 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Half-buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 

Of mingled flesh and bone ! 

XVI. 
As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain. 
Three bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train : 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
Tlie noble falcon dares the fight. 

But dares the fight in vain. 
So fought the bridegiocmi ; from his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, 
Its glittering fras merits strew the sand. 

Us lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! take noble William's part, 
And niell that yet unmelled heart, 
Or, ere hi.s bridal hour depart. 

The hapless bridegroom's slain ! 

XVll. 
Count Harold's frenzied rage is high. 
There is a death-fire in his eye. 
Deep furrows on his brow are trencli'd. 
His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd. 



The foam upon his lip is white, 

His deadly arm is up to smite! 

But, as the mace aloft he swung. 

To stop the blow young Guniiar sprung, 

Around his master's knees he clung, 

And cried, " In mercy spare ! 
vJ. think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here, — 
Grant mercy,— or despair !" 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood. 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pau.ses for the sign. 
"O mark thee with the blessed rood," 
The Page implored; "Speak word of good. 
Resist the fiend, or be subdued !" 

He .^igii'd the cross divine- 
Instant his eve hath huinaii light, 
Less red. less keen, less fiercely bright; 
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, 
The fatal mace sinks gently down, 

He turns and strides away ; 
Yet oft. like revellers who leave 
Uiifinish'd feast, looks back to grieve, 
As it repenting the reprieve 
He granted to his prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he 

given. 
And fierce Witikind's son made one step to- 
wards heaven. 

xvin. 

But though his dreaded footsteps part, 
Death is behind and shakes his dart; 
Lord William on the plain is lying, 
Beside him Metelill seems dying'— 
Bring odours — essences in haste — 
And lo! a flasket richly chased,— 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves- 
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted, 
For when three drops the hag had tasted, 

So dismal was her yell. 
Each bird of evil omen woke. 
The raven gave his fatal croak. 
And shriek'd the nightcrow from the oak 
The screech-owl from the thicket broke. 

And flutter'd down the dell ! 
So tearful was the .sound and stern. 
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell. 
The fox and famish'd wolf replied, 
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side) — 
From mountain heatl to mountain head 
7'he unhallow'd sounds around were sped; 
But when their latest echo fled, 
'1 he sorceress on the ground lay dead. 

XIX. 

Such was the scene of blood and woes, 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of Melelil! ; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread, 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill. 
Ere. bright and fair, upon his road 
The King of Splendour walks abroad ; 
So. when this cloud had pass'd away. 
Bright was the noontide of their day, 
And all serene its setting ray 



^ 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



448 



\ 



?l^iroItt tljc Bauntlcss. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



\ 



Well do T hiipe that, this my minstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from southern fields. 
Whether in lilhiiry. barouche, or mail. 
To view the Castle of these Seven Proud 

Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To Meneville's high lay.— N(t towers are seen 
On the wild heath, but those that Fancy 

builds. 
And. siive a fosse that tracks the moor with 

ereen. 
Is nought remains to tell of what may there 

have been. 



And yet erave authors, with the no small 

waste 
Of their erave time, have dieiiified the spot 
Bv ihefTries. to prove the fortress placed 
Hv Roman bands, to curb tlie invadin? Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horsley. Camden, I misht quote. 
Hut rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, orisin of things forg:<it, 
Kefer still to the origin of evil. 
And for their master-mason ciioose that mas- 
ter-fiend, the Devil. 

II. 

Therefore, I say. it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering 

gaze. 
When evening dew was on the heather flow- 
ers. 
And the last sunbeams made the mountain 

blaze. 
And tinsed the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinkinsdown. — 
Illuniined thus, the Dauiitle.ss Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal 

frown. 
And an their blazons traced high marks of old 
renown. 

A wolf North Wales had on his armour-coat, 
And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant slas ; 
Sirath-Cl vvyd's strange emblem was a stranded 

boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag; 
A corn-sheaf Kilt was fertile Lodou's brag; 
A dudgeon-daKser was by Dunmail worn ; 
Norlhunibrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cross — such signs were 

borne 
Upon the.se antique shields, all wasted now 

and worn. 



These scann'd. Count Harold sought the cas- 
tle-door. 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 
Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strcmg than armed warders in array, 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar, 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 



While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay. 
Cast spells across the gate, and barr'd the on- 
ward way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy 

clank 
The feebly-fasten'd sate was inward push'd. 
And, as it oped, tlirough that emblazon'd rank 
Of antique shields, the wind of evening rush'd 
With sound most like a groan^ and then was 

husli'd. 
Is none who on such spot such sounds could 

hear 
But to his heart the blood had faster rush'd ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was 

dear- 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of 

fear. 

IV. 

Yet Harold and his P.ige no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger show'd ; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and 

waste. 
As through their precincts the adventurers 

trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and 

broail. 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall m which a king might make abode, 
And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and 

high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king 

might lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 
Deck'd storxl the table in each gorgeous hall ; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unliallow'il festival. 
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were 

all 
Of lamish'd gold, or silver nothing clear. 
With throne begilt. and canopy of pall. 
And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments 

sear- 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof 

appear. 

In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread. 
Vests twined with gold, and chains of pre- 
cious stone. 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head ; 
While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them 

thrown. 
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust 
bestrown. 

For these were they who, drunken with de- 
light. 
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head. 
For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and 

light. 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's 

tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread 
Of human life are all so closely twined. 
That till the shears of Fate the te.xture shred. 
The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, 
Nor dare we, from one liour, judge that which 
comes behind. 



V 



f 444 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



"\ 



^ An 

\ Wl 



VI. 
But where the vvurk of vengeance had been 

done. 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight; 
There of tlie witch-brides l;iy each skeleton. 
Siill in the posture as to deatii when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow shun out right ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying ; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy ciying; 
One lay across the door, as kiU'd in mX of 

flying. 

The stsrn Dane smiled this charnal-house to 

see. — 
For his chafed thought retnrn'd to Metelill ;— 
And " Well." he said. " hath woman's perfidy, 
Empty as air. as water volatile. 
Been here avenged— The origin of ill 
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine 

saith : 
Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill 
Can show example where a woman's hreaih 
Hath made a true-love vow, and, templetl, 

kept her faith " 

VII. 
The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd, 
And his half-filling eyes he dried. 
And said, "The theme I should but wrong. 
Unless It were my dying smig, 
(Our Scalds have said, in dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power 
Else could 1 tell of woman's lailh, 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith,— as diamond stone 
Pure and iinflaw'd. — her love unknown, 
And unrequited ;— firm and pure. 
Her stainless faith could all endure; 
From clime to clime.— from place t(t place- 
Through want, and danger, and disgrace, 
A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. — 
And this she did. 'and guerdon none 
Required, save that her burial-stnne 
Should make at length the secret known, 
'Thus hatli a faithful woman dotie.' — 
Not in eacli breast such truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danisli maid."— 

vin. 

"Thou art a wild enthusiast." s-iid 
Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid; 
And yet, young Gunnar, 1 will own 
Hers were a faitli to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone. 
And all resembling her are gone. 
What maid e'er sliow'd such constancy 
In plighted faith, like thine to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we ; our little day 
O'erspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Guiuiar, be thou laid. 
Thy couch upon my mantle made. 
That thou maysl think, should fear invade, 

Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couch'd they in that dread abode, 
Until the beams of dawning glow'd. 

IX. 
An alter'd man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawn unclose— 



There's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder s|ieak : 

" My page," he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page "—No more 
He utter'd till ihe casMe door 
They cross'd— but iheie he paused and said, 
"My wildness hath av\aked the dead — 

Disturb d the sacred tomb! 
Mel bought this night I stofxl on high 
Wliere Hec'a roars in middl sky, 
And III her caverii'd gulfs could spy 

The central place of doom ; 
And there before my mortal eye 
Souls of the (le;id came flitting by. 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry. 

Bore to that evil den ! 
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain 
Was'wilder'd, as the elvish train, 
Willi shriek and howl, dragg'd on amain 

Those who had late been men. 

X. 

•' With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 

Jiitia the Sorceress was there. 

And there pass'd Wultstane. lately slain, 

All crush'd and foul with bloody stain — 

Mure had I seen, but that uprose 

A whirlwind wild, and s^ept the snows; 

.And with such sound as when at need 

A champion spurs his horse to speed. 

Three armed knights rush on, who lead 

Caparison'd a sable steed. 

Sable their harness, and tliere came 

Through their closed visors sparks of flame. 

Tlie first proclaim'd. in sounds of fear. 

' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !' 

The next cried. 'Jubilee ! we've vvon 

Count Witikind the Waster's son !' 

And the third rider sternly spoke, 

' Mount, in the name of Zernebock ! — 

From us. O Harold, were thy powers, — 

Thy strength, thy daiintlessness, are ours ; 

Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, 

With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true I 

My inmost soul the summons knew. 

As captives know the knell 
That says' the headsman's sword is bare. 
And, with an accent of despair. 

Commands them quit their cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain. 
My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en. 
My hand was on the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That Palmer's visionary toiin. 
And— like the pa.ssing of a siorm— 
The demons yell'd and fled ! 

XL 
"His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd 
The features it before conceal'd ; 

And, Gunnar. 1 could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way, 

Mv father Witikind! 
Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine, 
A wanderer upon earth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace. 
And smooth for him a resting place. — 
Gunnar. he must not haunt in vain 
This world of wretchedness and pain: 
I'll tame my wilful heart to live 
In peace— to pity and foigive— 



V- 



7" 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



\ 



And thou, for so the Vision said. 
Must in thy Lord's repentance aid. 
Tliy rnotlier whs a prophetess. 
He said, who by her skill could sruess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knil thy thread of life with mine; 
Then. dark, lie Imited nf dis!,'nise 
She framed to (Mieai too curious eyes, 

That not a ni ent nii?lit divide 

Thy fated footsteps from my side. 
iMethoiishi while thus my sire did teach, 
I caught the nieanin? of his speech, 
Yrt seems its purport doiihtfiil now." 
His h:ind then .souKht Ins llioiisihtful brow. 
Then first he mark'd, that in the tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 

Xll. 
Tremhlins at first, and deadly pale. 
Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale; 
Hut when he learn'd the dubious close, 
He hlush'd like any opening rose. 
And. glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. 
Hied hack that glove of mail to seek ; 
When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summon'd his master to his aid. 

XIII. 
What sees Count Harold in that bower, 

So late his resting-place?— 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in living form stood there. 
His cloak the spoils of Polar hear; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head. 
Yet veiTd its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was his, as when iu stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : 

So llow'd his hoary beard ; 
Such was his lance of mountain-pine. 
So did Ins sevenfold buckler shine ; — 

Bur when his voice he rear'd, 
Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, 
The p4iwerfiil accents roll'd along. 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunuar's shrinking head. 

XIV. 
" Harold," he said. " what rage is thine, 
To quit, the worship of thy line. 

To leave thy Warrior-God ? — 
With nie is glory or disgrace. 
Mine is the onset and the chase. 
Embattled hosts before my face 

Are wiiherd bv a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a daun'less feat. 
Among the heroes.of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine ?— 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for which the valiant live, 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the joys for which they die 
The immortal tilt— the banquet full. 
'I'tie bninming draught from foeman's skull. 
Mine art thou, witness this Ihy glove. 
The faithful pledge of vassal's love" — 

XV. 
"Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, 
I charge thee, hence! whate'er thou art, 



1 do defy thee— and resist 
The kindling frenzy of niv breast, 
VVaked by thy words; and of my mail. 
Nor glove, nor buckler, splent. nor nail. 
Shall rest with thee— chat youth release, 
Ami God, or Demon, part in peace." — 

• ^:lvlr." the Shape replied. ' is mine. 
Mark'd III the biith-liour with my sign. 

Tliink'st thou that priest with drops of spray 
Could wash that blood-red mark away? 
Or that a borrow'd se.x and name 
Can abrogate a Godhead's claim 1" 
Thriird this strange speech through Harold's 

brain. 
He clench'd his teeth in high di.sdain, 
Kor not his new-born faith subdued 
Sonie tokens of Ins ancient mood — 
•' Now. by ihe hope so latelv given 
Of better trust and purer heaven, 
I Will assail thee, fiend !"' — Then ro.se 
His mace, and with a storm of blows 
The moital and the Demon close. 

XVI. 

Smoke roU'd above, fire flash'd around, 
Darken'd the skv and shook the ground ; 

But not the artillery of hell. 
The bickering lightning, nor the rock 
Of turrets to the earthquake's shock. 

Could Harold's courage quell. 
Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. 
And blows on blows resisiless heap'd, 

Till ciiail'd that Demon Form, 
And— for his power to hurt or kill 
Was bounded by .-i higher will— 

Evanish'd in the storm 
-N'or paiist-d the Champion of the North, 
But raised, and bore his Eivir forth. 
From that wild .scene of fiendish strife, 
To light, to liberty, and life ! 

XVII. 
He placed her on a bank of mo.ss, 

A silver ruiuiel buhliled by. 
And new-born thoughts his soul engross 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn smews tlv. 
The while with timid hand the dew 
Upon her brow and neck he threw. 
And mark'd how life with rosy hue 
On her pale cheek revived anew. 

And glinimer'd in her eye. 
Inly he said. " That silken tress.— 
What blindness mine that could not guess? 
Or how could [)age"s rugged dress 

That bosom's pride belie ? 
O. dull of heart, through wild and wave 
In search of blood and tleaili to rave. 

With such a partner nigh !" 

XVIII. 

Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd. 
Blamed his rough loc.s and shaggy beard, 
The stains of recent conflict clear'd, — 

And thus ihe Champion proved, 
That he fears now who never fear'd, 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivir— life is on her cheek. 
And yet she will not move or speak, 

iVor will her eyelid fully ope ; 
Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye. 
Through its long fringe, reserved and shy 



445 ^^ 



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^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Atfectioii's (iperiins: dawn to spy ; 
And the dee|) hlush. which bids its dye 
O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom flv. 
Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 
XIX. 
But vfiiiiiy seems the Dane to seek 
For terms his new-horn k)ve to speak. — 
For words, save those of wrath and wroii^, 
Till now were strangers to his tongue; 
So. when he raised the blnshins maid, 
In blunt and lionest terms he said, 
(' Twere well that maids, when lovers woo, 
Heard none more soft, were all as true,) 
'■ Eivir ! since thou for many a day 
Hast foUow'd Harold's wayward way, 
Tt is but. meet that in the line 
Of after-life 1 f<»llow thine. 
'I o-tnorrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide. 
And we will 8:race his altar's side. 
A Christian knight and Christian bride; 



And of Witikind's son shall the marvel he 



That on the same morn he was cliristeii'd and 
wed." 



CONCLUSION. 

And now. Ennui, what ails th«ee, weary maid T 
And why these listless looks of yawnmii sor- 
row? 
No need to turn the paae. as if 'twere lead, 
Or fiinK aside the volume till to-morrow, — 
Be clieer'd— 'tis ended— and T will no! borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 
From Bartholine, or Perinskiold. or Suorro. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hatij 

wrote 
A Tale SIX cantos long, yet scorii'd to add a 
note. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 



Popular Poetry, 

AND ON THE 

VARIOUS COLLECTIONS OF BALLADS OF BRITAIN, PARTICULARLY 
THOSE OF SCOTLAND. 



leit 
V CX|. 



The Intrmluction orieinnllv prefixed tn "The 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," was rather 
of a histiiricai than a literary nature; and the 
remarks which follow have been added, to 
afford the general reader some information 
upon the character of Ballad Poetry. 

It would be throwing; away words to prove, 
what all must admit, the eeneral taste and 
propensity of nations in their early state, to 
cultivate some species of rude poetry. When 
the orfrans and faculties of a primitive race 
have developed themselves, each for its pro- 
per and necessary use. there is a natural ten- 
liency to employ them in a more refined and 
reguiated manner for purposes of amusement. 
I'he savase, after proving: the activity of his 
limbs in the chase or the battle, trains them 
to more measured movements, to dance at the 
festivals of his tribe, or to perform obeisance 
before the altars of his deity. Fr-oui the same 
ini[iulse. he is disposed to refine the ordinary 
speech which forms the vehicle of social com- 
iMiiiiication betwixt him and his brethren, 
unlil. by a mo:e ornate diction, modulated bv 
certain rules of rhythm, cadence, assonance 
if termination, or recurrence of .sound or 
leiter, lie obtains a dialect more solemn in 
cxpre.s.sion, to record llie laws or exploits of 



liis tribe, or more sweet in sound, in which to 
plead his own cause to his mistress. 

Thi.=! primeval poetry must have one general 
character in all nations, both as to its m(;rits 
and its imperfections. The earlier poets have 
the advantage, and it is not a small one. of 
having the first choice out of the stock of 
materials which are proper to the art ; and 
thus they compel later authors, if they would 
avoid slavishly imitating the fathers (if verse, 
into various devices, often more ingenious 
Ihan elegant, that they may establish, if not 
an absolute chiiin 'o oriirinality, at least a 
visible distinction betwixt themselves and 
their predecessors. Thus it happens, that 
early poets almost uniformly display a bold, 
rude, original cast of genius and exf)re.ssion. 
They have walked at free-will, and with un- 
consttaiiied steps, alonsthe wilds of Parnassus, 
while their followers move with constrained 
gestures and forced attitudes, in order to avoid 
placing their feet where their predecessors 
have stepped before them. The first bard who 
compared his hero to a lion, struck a l.'old and 
congenial note, though the simile, in a nation 
of hunters, be a very obvious one- but every 
subsequent poet who shall use it, must either 
struggle hard to give his lion, as heralds say. 



7^ 



7^ 



REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



with a diffrrrnr-c. or lie under the impulation 
of beins; a servil»^ imitator. 

It IS not probable that . by any researches of 
modern times, we shall ever reach back to an 
earlier model of poetry than Homer; but as 
there lived heroes liefore Agamemnon, so. un- 
qiieslionably. poets existed bef>re the imtiioi- 
tal Bard who gave the King of kiiia^ his fame ; 
and he whom all civilized nations now ac 
knowledge as the Father of Poetry, must have 
himself looked back to an ancestry of poetical 
predecessors, and is only held original because 
we know not from whom he copied. Indeed, 
though much must he ascribed lo the riches 
of Ins own individual genius, the poetry of 
Homer argues a degree <if perfection in an art 
which practice had already rendered regular, 
and concerning which, his frequent mention 
of the bards, or chanters of poetry, indicaies 
pi liiily that It was studied by many.'and known 
aniJ admired by all. 

It is indeed easily discovered, that the qua- 
lities necessary for composing such poems aie 
not the portion of every man in the tribe; 
that the bard, to reach excellence in his art. 
must possess something more than a full ccmi- 
maiid of words and phrases, and the knack 
of arranging them in sucli fo:ni as ancient ex- 
amples have fixed upon as the recognised 
structure of national verse. The tribe speedilv 
brtcome sensible, I hat besides this degree of 
mechanical facility, which (like making what 
are called at school nonsense verses) may be 
attained by dint of memory and practice, mucii 
higher qualifications are demanded. A keen 
and active power of observation, capable of 
perceiving at a glance the leading circum- 
stances from which the incident descrilied 
derives its character; quick and powerl'ul 
feelings, to enable the bard to comprehend 
and delineate those of the actors in his luece ; 
and a cuiniiiand of language, alternately soft 
and elevated, and suited to exjiress the con- 
ceptions winch he had formed in his mind, 
are all necessary to eminence in the poetical 
art. 

Above all. to attain the highe.st point of his 
profe.ssion. the poet must have that original 
power of embodying and detailing ciicuni- 
siaiices. which can place before the eyes of 
others a scene which only exists in his own 
imagination. This last high and creative 
faculty, namely, that of impressing the mind 
of the hearers with scenes and sentiments 
having no existence save through their art. 
has procured for tlie bards of Greece the term 
of riotr/r;;?, which, as it singularly happens. 
IS literally translated by the Scottish epilhet 
for the same class ol persons, whom they 
termed the Makers The French phrase of 
'I'rouveurs. or Troubadours, namely, the Find- 
ers, or Inventors, has the same reference to 
the quality of original conception and inven- 
tion proper to the poetical art, and without 
which It can hardly be said to exist to any 
pleasin? or useful purpose. 

The mere arrangement of words into poeti- 
cal rhythm, or combining: them according to a 
technical rule or measure, is so closely con- 
nected with the art of music, that an alliance 
between these two fine arts is very soon 
closely formed. It is fruitless to enquire 
which of llieiii has been first invente<l, since 



doubtless the precedence is accidental ; and 
It signifies little whether the musician adapts 
verses to a rude tune, or wiiether the primi- 
tive poet, in reciting his productions, falls 
naturally into a ohant or song. VVnh this 
additional accomplishment, the poet becomes 
dojoof, or the man of song, and his character 
IS complete when the additional accompani- 
ment of a lute or harp is added to his vocal 
performance. 

Here, therefore, we have the history of early 
poetrv in all nations. But it is evident that, 
though poetry seems a plant proper to almost 
all soils, yei not only is it of various kinds, ac- 
cording to the climate and country in winch it 
has its oiigin. but the poetry of different na- 
tions differs still more widely in the decree of 
excellence which it attains. This must de- 
pend in some measure, no doubt, on the tem- 
per and manners of tlie (leople. or their proxi- 
mity to those spirit-stirring events which are 
natiirally selected as the subject of poetrv, 
and on the more comprehensive or energetic 
character of the language spoAen by the tribe. 
15ut the progress of the art is far more de- 
pendent upon the rise of some highly gifted 
individual, possessing in a pre-eminent and 
uncommon degree the powers demanded, 
whose talents influence the taste of a whole 
nation, and entail on their posteriiv and lan- 
guage a character almost itidelibly sacred. 
In tins respect Homer stands alone and un- 
rivalled, as a light from whose lamp the 
genius of successive ages, and of distant na- 
tions, has caught fire and illumination; and 
who, though the early poet of a rude age. has 
purchased for the era he has celebrated, so 
much reverence, that, not daring to bestow 
on It the term of barbarous, we distinguish it 
as the heroic period. 

No other poet (sacred and inspireil authors 
excepted) ever did. or ever will, possess the 
same influence over posterity, in so manv dis- 
tant lands, as has been acquired by the blind 
old man of Chios; yet we are assured that 
his works, collected by the pious care of 
Pisistratus, who caused to be united into their 
present form those divine poems, would other- 
wise, if preserved at all. have appeared to 
succeeding generations in the humble state 
of a coileciion of detached ballads, connected 
only as referring to the same age, I he same 
aeneial subjects, and the same cycle of he- 
roes, like the metrical poems of the Cid m 
Spam, or of Robin Hood in England. 

In other countries, less favoured, either in 
language or in picturesque incident, it cannot 
be supposed that even the genius of Homer 
could have soared to such exclusive eminence, 
since he must at once have been deprived of 
the subjects and themes so well adapted for 
his muse, and of the lofty, melodious, and 
flexible language in which he recorded them. 
Other nations, during the formation of their 
ancient poetry, wanted the genius of Homer, 
as well as Ins picturesque scenery and lofty 
language. Yet the investigation of the early 
poeiry of every nation, even tlie rudest, car- 
ries with it an object of curiosity and interest. 
It IS a chapter in the history of the childhood 
of society, and its resemblance to, or dissimi- 
larity from, the popular rhymes of other na- 
tions III the same stage, niu>t needs illustrate 



447 > 



1 



V 



z 



^^ 



448 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



the ancient history of states; their slower or I Such also is the unvaried account of the rose 



swifter progress towards civilisation; their 
gradual or more rapid adoption of manners, 
sentmients. and religion. The study, there- 
fore, of lays rescued from the gulf of oblivion, 



and the brier, which are said to spring out i>f 
the grave of the hero and heroine of these 
metrical legends, with little effort at a varia- 
tion of the expressions in which the iiiciileut 



must in every case possess considerable in- is rirescriptivelv told. The least acquaintance 

. . c... .L.r „..! „i.:i 1 .,...1 „,.„„.... 1 1 ..;,i. .1 1. ;.".,.. ...,11 ....^..11 .. „,...... .,,....v,..K 



terest for the moral philosopher and genera 
liisioiian. 

The historian of an individual nation is 
equally or more deeply interested in the re- 
searches into popular poetry, since he must 
not disdain to gather from the tradition con- 
veyed 111 ancient ditties and ballads, the in- 
formation necessary to confirm or correct in- 
telligence collected from more certain sources. 
And altliough the poets were a fabling race 



h the subject will recall 
of commonplace verses, which each ballad- 
maker has unceremoniously appropriated lo 
himself; thereby greatly fd('ilitating his own 
t;isk,and at the same lime deffradms his art 
by his slovenly use of overscutched phrases. 
From the same indolence, the balJad-monger? 
of most nations have availed themselves of 
everv opportunity of prolonsing their pieces, 
of the same kind, without the lalioiir of aciiial 



from the very liesinning of time, and so much j composition If a message is to he delivered, 
addicted lo exaggeration, that their accounts [ tl'e poet saves himself a little trouble, bv 
are seldom to be relied on without corroboia- usin^ exactly the same words in which it was 
tive evidence, yet instances frequent ly occur Onmnally ciiiiched, to secure its being trans- 
where tlie statements of poetical tradition are nutted to the person for whose ear it was iii- 
uiiexpectedly confirmed. tended. The bards of ruder climes, and less 

To the lovers and admirers of poetry as an favoured laneuases. may iiidet^d claim the 



X 



art, it cannot be uninteresting to have a 
glimpse of tlie National .Muse m her cradle, 
or to hear her babbling the earliest attempts 
at the formation of the tuneful sounds with 
which she was afterwards lo charm posterity. 
And 1 may venlnre to add, that among poetry, 
which, however rude, was a gift of Nature's 
first fruits, even a reader of refined taste will 
find his patience rewarded, by passages in 
which the rude minstrel rises into sublimity 
or melts into pathos. These were the merits 
winch induced the classical Addison to write 
an elaborate commentary upon the ballad of 
Ciievy Chase, and which roused, like the sound 
of a trumpet, tne lieroic blood of Sir Philip 
Sidn.^y. 

It is true that passages of this histh character 
seldom occur; for. during the infancy of the 
art of poetry, the bards liave been generally 
salislied with a rude and careless expression 
of their sentiments; and even when a nuu-e 
felicitous expression, or loftier numbers, have 
been dictated by the enthusiasm of the com- 
position, the advantage came unsought for, 
and perhaps unnoticed, either by Ihe minstrel 
or the audience 

Another cause contributed to the tenuity of 
Ihouglit and poverty of expression, by which 
old ballads are too often dislingiiished. The 
apparent SI III [)! icily of llie ballad stanza carried 
with It a siroiiir teiiipta'ion to loose and trivial 
composition. The collection of rhymes, ac- 
cumulated by the earliest of the craft, appear 
to have been coiisiilered as forming a joint 
stock for the common use of the profession ; 
and not mere rhymes only, but verses and 
stanzas, have been used as common properly. 
so as to give an appearance of sameness and 
crudity to the whole series of popular poetry. 
Such, for instance, is the salutation so often 
repeated, — 

'• Now Heaven thee save, thou brave young 
knight. 
Now Heaven thee save and see." 

And such the usual expression for taking 
counsel with: 

'• Kede me. rede me, brother dear, 
My rede shall rise at Ihee." 



countenance of Homer for such repeiitions; 
hut wh'ilsl, in the Father of Poetry, they give 
the reader an opportunity to pause, and look 
back upon the enchanted around over which 
they have travelled, they afford nothing to the 
modern bard, save facilitating the power of 
stiipifyimr the sindience with stanzas of dull 
and tedious iteration. 

Another cause of Ihe flatne.ss and insipidity, 
which is the great imperfection of ballad 
poetry, is to be ascribed le.ss to the composi- 
tions m their original state, when rehearsed 
bv their authors, than to the ignorance and 
errors of the reciters or transcribers, by whom 
thev have been transmitted to us. The more 
popular the composition of an ancient poet, or 
Mnkrr. became, the greater chance there was 
<if its being corrupted ; for a poem transmitted 
through a number of reciters, like a book re- 
printed in a multitude of editions, incurs the 
risk of impertinent interpolations from the 
conceit of one rehearser, unintelligible blun- 
ders from the stupidity of another, and omis- 
sions equally to be regretted, from the want 
of ineiiiiiry in a third. This sort of injury is 
felt very early, and the reader will find a 
curious instance in the Intniduction to the 
Romance of Sir Tristiem. Kobert de Bruniie 
there com|ilaiiis. that though the Romance of 
Sir 'I'nstrem was the best wliicfi had ever 
been made, if it could be recited as composed 
by Ihe author. Thomas of Erceldoune, yet that 
iTwas written in such an ornate style of hiii- 
giiase, and such a difficult strain of versifica- 
tion, as to lose all value m the mourhs of or- 
dinary minstrels, who could scarcely repeat 
one stanza without omitiins some part of it, 
and marriMs. coiisequeiitly. both ihe sense and 
the rhythm of I lie passage. This deteriorai ion 
could not he limited to one author alone; 
others must have suflered from the same 
cause, in the same or a sreater degree. Nay, 
we are aiiihorised to conclude, thai in propor- 
tion to the care bestowed by the author upon 
any poem, to attain what his age mieht sup- 
pose to be the blithest graces of poetry, the 
greater was the dainase which it sustained by 
tlie inaccuracy of reciters, or their desire to 
humble both the sense and diction of the 
poem to I heir powers of rei'ollection. and the 
comprehension of a vulgar audience It can- 



7" 



REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



not h)e expected that noiiipositioiis subjected 
ici this way to iiiiiiilMlioii and corruption, 
should rontinoe to present their oriifinal 
sense or diction; and llie accuracy of oiii 
echlioiis of popnhir poetry, unions in the rare 
event of re(!over:ii^' orig;inai or early copies, is 
lessened in proportion. 

But the chance of these corruptions is in- 
calculably iiiceased. when we consider that 
tiie b.tllads have been, not in one, but innu- 
nier;ii>le nis'aiices of traiisniissioii. lial)le to 
similar aliera'ions, tlirou^h a lonu course of 
cf^nlur.es. dnnne; which they have been h.indrd 
from line ignorant reciter to aiioiher, each 
dl^cardln|^ whatever orisririal words or phrases 
lime or fashion hud. in his 0|iniion. reintered 
o.'isolefe, and substitutinsf anachioni^ms by 
expressions taken from tlie customs of his 
own day. And here it may he remarked, that 
the desire of tlie reciter to be intellisihle, 
liovvever natural and laudable, has been one 
of the s^reatest causes of the deterioration of 
ancient, poetry. 'I'he minstrel who eiidea- 
V. Hired to recite with tideiily the words of the 
autlior, niialil iiiueed fall into errors of sound 
and sense, and substitute corruptions for 
words he did nut understand But the inge- 
nuity of a skilful critic could often, in that 
case, revive and restore the (irisiii.d nieanins ; 
while the corrupted vvords became, in sucti 
cases, a warrant for the authenticity of the 
whole poem. 

In general, however, the later reciters ap- 
pear to h;ive been far less desirous to speak 
the author's words, than to introduce amend- 
ments and new reaiimifs of their own, wiiicli 
have always produced the effect of inodern- 
izing^. and usually that of deuradins and vul- 
sarizms;. the ru??ec| sense and s[)irit of tlie 
antique minstrel Thus, under^oinii from ase 
to age a gradual [irocess of alteration and re- 
coniposition. our popular and oral minstrelsy 
h:is lost, m a great measure, its original a|)- 
pearaiice ; and the strong touches by which 
it had been formerly characterised, have been 
generally smoothed down and destroyed by a 
pnice>s similar to that by wlucti a coin, pass- 
ing from hand to hand, loses in circulatioji all 
the finer marks of the impress 

The very tine ballad of Chevy Chase is an 
e.xam[)le of this desradmsf species of alrhymy, 
by which the ore of antiquity is deteriorated 
and adulterated While .Addison, in an use 
wuich had never attended to popular poetry, 
wrote his classical criticism on that ballad, 
he naturally took for his text the ordinary 
stall-copy, although he might, and ought to j 
have suspected, that a ditty couched in the 
lan^uane nearly of his own time, could not be 
the same with that which Sir Philip Sidney, 
more than one hundred years before, had 
spoken of. as bein^j "evil apparelled in the 
dust and co*)wehsof an uncivilized age." The 
venerable Bishop Percy was the firsi to correct 
this mistake, hy producing a copy of the song, 
as old at least as the reiiin of Henry VH . 
bearing the name of the author or transcriber. 
Richard Sheale. But even ihe Rev. Editor 
himself fell under the mistake of supposm? 
the modern Chevy Chase to be a new copy of 
the original ballad, expressly miKlernized by 
so. lie one later bard On the contrary, the 
cm rent version is now universally allowed to 
have been produced by the gradual alterations 



of numerous reciters, durinsr two centuries, 
in the course of which ihe ballad has been 
gradually m.mlded into a composuion bearing 
only a general resemblance to Uie ongHial — 
e.vuressing the same events and seiilimenis in 
much smoother language, and more Howing 
and easy versification ; but losing ii: poetical 
fire and energy, and in the vigour and pithiness 
of the expression, a great deal more than it 
lia-s gained in suavity of diction. Tlius : — 

"The Percy owt of Northiimbeiland, 
And a vowe to God mayd he, 

That he woUle iiume in the mountayns 
Otf (Cheviot within dayes fhre. 

In the manger of doughty Dougles, 
And all that ever with him be," 

Becomes 

"The stout Earl of Northumberland 
A vow to God did make. 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 
Three summer days to take," <kc. 

From this, and other examples of the same 
kind, of which many might be quoted, we 
must ol'ten expect to find ilie remains of .Min- 
strel poetry, composed originally for the courts 
of princes and halls of nobles, disguised in the 
more modern and vulgar dialect in which they 
have been of l.ite sung to the Irequcnters of 
Ihe rustic ale-bench. It is unnecessary to 
mention more than one other rem.irkable and 
humbling instance, printed in the curious 
colled ion entiiled, a Ballad- Book, where we 
find, in the words of the ingenious Ediior. a 
stupid ballad, pnu'ed as it was sung in Annan- 
dale, founded on the well-known story of the 
Prince of Salerno's daughter, but w'lth the 
uncouth change of Dysinal for Ghismonda.and 
Guiscard transformed into a greasy kitchen- 
hoy. 

"To what base uses may we not return !"' 

Sometimes a still more material and syste- 
matic ditference appears between the poems 
of antiquity, as they were originally composed, 
and as they now exist. This occurs in cases 
where the longer metrical romances, vvhich 
were in fashion during the middle ages, were 
reduced to shorter compositions, in order that 
they might be chanted before an inferior au- 
dience. A b:illad, for example, of Thomas of 
Erceldoune. and his intrigues with the t^ueen 
of Faery-Land, is. or has been, long current 
in Tevioldale, ami other parts of Sco'land. 
Two ancient copies of a poem, or romance, 
on the same sutiject. and cimtainiiig very of en 
the same words and turns of exore.ssi >ii. are 
preserved in the libraries of the Cathedral of 
l.incoln and Peterborough We are left to 
Conjecture whether the originals of such bal- 
lads have been gradually contracted into their 
modern shape by the imiiUtience of later au- 
diences, combined with the lack of memory 
displayed by more modern reciters, or whe- 
ther, in particular cases, some ballad maker 
may have actually set himself to work to re- 
trench the old details of the minstrels, and 
regularly and systematically to motlernize. and 
if the phrase be permitted, to balladize, a 
metrical romance We are assured, however, 
that-'Roswal and Lilian" was sung tli 
the streets of Edinburgh two generations 




3.-i> 



2D 



X 



'UgU 

ions ^ 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



3()U 



since ; and we know that, the Romance of 
••Sir Eser. Sir Gritiie, and Sir Greysteil," had 
also its own particular chant, or tune. The 
stall-copies of both tiiese romances, as they 
now exist, are very much abbreviated, and 
probably exhibit them when tliey were iin- 
tlergfoiiiff, or had nearly nnderKone. the pro- 
cess of hem? cut down into l)idlads. 

Taking into consideration the various indi- 
rect channels by which the popular poetry of 
our ancestors has been transmitted to their 
posterity, it is iiothim; sarprisinir that it should 
reach us in a mutilated and degraded slate, 
and thai it should little correspond with the 
ideas we are apt to form of the first produc- 
tions of national trenius; ray. it is more to be 
wondered at that we possess so many ballads 
of considerable merit, than that the much 
greater niimber of them wluch must have 
once existed, should have perished before our 
time 

Having given this brief account of ballad 
poetry m general, the purpose of the present 
prefatory remarks will be accomplished, by 
shortly noticing the pof)nlar poetry of Scot- 
land, and some of the eftorts which have been 
made to collect and illustrate it. 

It is now generally admitted that the Scots 
and Picts, however differing otherwise, were 
each by descent a Celtic race ; that they ad- 
vanced in a course of victory somewhat far- 
tlier than the present frontier between Kng- 
land and Scotland, and about the end of the 
eleventh century subdued and rendered tribu- 
tary the Britons of Strathcluyd, who were also 
a Celtic race like themselves. Excepting, 
therefore, the provinces of Berwickshire and 
the Lothians, which were chiefly inhabited by 
an Anglo-Saxon population, the whole of Scot- 
land was peopled by different tribes of the 
same aboriginal race,— a race passionately ad- 
dicted to music, as appears from the kindred 
Celtic nations of Frish, Welsh, and Scottish, 
preserving each to this day a style and charac- 
ter of music peculiar to their own country, 
though all three bear marks of general re- 
semblance to each other. That of Scotland, 
in particular, is early noticed iuid extolled by 
ancient authors, and its remains, to which the 
natives are passionately attached, are still 
found to afford pleasure even to those who 
cultivate the art upon a more refined and va- 
ried system. 

This skill in music did not, of course, exist 
without a corresponding degree of talent for a 
species of poetry, adapted to the habits of the 
country, celebrating the victories of triumphant 
t;lans, pouring forth lamentations over fallen 
heroes, and recording such marvellous adven- 
tures as were calculated to amuse individual 
families around their household fires, or the 
whole tribe when regaling in the hall of the 
chief. It happened, however, singularly 
enough, that while the music continued to lie 
Celtic in its general measure, the language of 
Scotland, most commonly spoken, began to be 
that of their neighbours, the English, intro- 
duced by the multitude of Saxons who throng- 
ed to tlie court of Malcolm I'aiimoie and his 
successors ; by the crowds of prisoners of war, 
whom the repeated ravages of the Scots in 
Northumberland carried off as slaves to their 
3ountry ; by the influence of the inhabitants 
)f the richest and most populous provinces m 



Scotland, Berwickshire, namely, and the Lo- 
thians, over the more mountainous; lastly, by 
the superiority which a language like the 
Anglo-Saxon, (wmsiderably refined, long since 
reduced to wriiing, and capable of expressing 
the wants, wishes, and sentiments of the 
speakers, mu.'<t have possessed over the jargon 
of various tribes of Irish and British origin, 
limited and contracted in every varying dia- 
lect, and differing, at the same time, from each 
other. 'Ihis superiority being considered, and 
a fair length of time being allowed, it is no 
wonder that, while the Scottish people re- 
tained their Celtic music, and many of then- 
Celtic customs, together with their Celtic 
dynasty, they should nevertheless have adopt- 
ed, througluiut the Lowlands, the Saxtm lan- 
guage, while in the Hiiihhiiids they retained 
the Celtic dialect, along with the dress, arms, 
in.inners, and government of their fathers. 

There was, for a time, a solemn national 
recoi;nisance that the Saxon language and 
poetry had not originally been that of ihe 
royal family. For, at the coronations of the 
kings of Scotland, previous to Alexander 111 , 
it was a part of the solemnity, that a Celtic 
bard stepped forth, so soon as the king as- 
sumed his seat upon the fated stone, and 

j recited the genealogy of the monarch in 

; Celiic verse, setting fi)rt.h his descent, and the 
right which he had by birih to occupy the 
place of sovereign y Fnr a time,, no doubt, 

i the Celtic songs and poems remained current 
in the Lowlands, while any remnant of the 
language yet lasted The Gaelic or Irish 
bards, we are also aware, occasionally strolled 
into the Lowlands, where their music might 
be received with favour, even after their rei;; ■ 

j tation was no longer undeistood. But though 
these aborigin:d poets showed themselves aC 
festivals and other places of public resort, it 
does not appear that, as in Homer's time, they 
were honoured wi:h high phices at the board, 
and savoury morsels of the chine; but they 
seem rather to have been actcoiinted fit com 
pany for the feigned fools and sturdy beggars, 
with whom they were ranked by a Scottish 
statute. 

Time was necessary wholly to eradicate one 
language and introduce aiio:her; but it is re- 
markable that, at the death of Alexander the 
Third, the last Scottish king of the pure Celtic 
race, the popular lament for his death was 
composed in Scoto- English, and. though closely 
resembling the modern dialect, is the earliest 
example we have of thnt language, whether 
iji pro.se or poetry.' About the same time 
flourished the celebrated Thomas the Khymer. 
whose poem, written in English, or Lowland 
Scottish, with the most anxitius attention both 
to versification and alliteration, forms, even :is 
it now exi>ts, a very curious specimen of the 
early romance. Su('h com()liciited construc- 
tion was greatly too concise for the public 
ear, which is best amused by a looser diciion. 
in which numerous repetitions, and prolonged 
descriptions, enable the comprehension of the 
auilience to keep up with the voice of the 
singer or reciter, and supply the gaps whicli 



' Wlian Alexander our kin? was dfd. 
Wna Scotland led in luve and lee. 
Away was sons of ale and bred. 
0( wine and wax, of game and ({le. 



■7 



z 



REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



451 



in generul must have taken place, either 
thriHis;h a failure of attention in tlie hearers, 
or of voice and distinct enunciation on the 
part of the minstrel. 

The usual stanza which was selected as the 
most natural to tlie laiieuase ami the sweetest 
to tlie ear. afier the comple.x system of the 
more courtly measures, used hy 'I'homas of 
Eiceldoune. wa-s laid itside, was that which, 
when orisiiially mtroducetl. we very often find 
arransed in two lines, thus : — 

"Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, most 

like a haron hold. 
Rode foremost of his company, whose armour 

shone like goid ;" 

but which, after beiii!? divided into four, con- 
stitutes wliat is now generally culled the 
ballad stanza, — 

" Earl Douisflas on his milk-white steed, 
Most like a baron bold. 
Rode foremost of his company. 
Whose armour shone like gold." 

The breaking of the lines ccmtains a plainer 
intimation how the stanza ou^ht to be read, 
than every one could gather from the original 
mode of writing out the poem, where the posi- 
tion of the caesura, or iiitlec'tion of voice, is 
left til the individual's own taste. 'I'liis was 
sometimes exchanged for a stanza of six lines, 
the third and sixtli rhyming together. For 
works of more importance and pretension, a 
more complicated versiticat.ion was still re- 
tained, and may lie found in the tale of Ralph 
Coilzear. the Adventures of Arthur at the 
Tarn-Wathelyn, Sir Gawain, and Sir Gologras, 
and other scarce romances. A specimen <if 
this structure of verse has been handed down 
to our tunes in the stanza of Christ Kirk on 
the Green, transmitted by King James I., to 
Allan Ramsay and to Burns The excessive 
passion for alliteration, which formed a rule 
of the Saxon poetry, was also retained in the 
Scottish poems of a more elevated character, 
though the more ordinary minstrels and bal- 
lad-makers threw off the restraint. 

The varieties of stanza thus adopted for 
popular poetry were not, we may easily sup- 
pose, lelt long unemployed. In frontier re- 
gions, where men are continually engaged in 
active enterprise, betwixt the task of defend- 
ing themselves and annoying their neighbours, 
tiiey may be said to live in an atmosphere of 
danger, the excitation of which is peculiarly 
favourable to the encouragement of poetry. 
Hence, the expressions of Lesly the historian, 
quoted in the tbllowiiig Introduction, in which 
he paints the delight taken by the Uorderers 
III their peculiar species of music, and the 
rliyming ballads in which they celebrated the 
feais of their ancestors, or recorded their own 
ingenious stratagems in predatory warfare. 
In the same Introduction, the reauer will find 
the reasons alleged v.'hy the taste for song was 
and must have been longer preserved on the 
Binder tliaii iii the interior of the country. 

Having thus made some remarks on early 
poetry in general, and on that of Scotland in 
particular, the Editor's purpose is, to mention 
the fate of some previous attempts to collect 
ballad poetry, and the principles of selection 
and publication which have been adopted by 



various editors of learning and information; 
and although the present work chiefly regards 
the Ballads of Scotland, yet the mvestig;ition 
must neces.sanly include some of the principal 
collections among: the English also. 

Of manuscript records of ancient ballads, 
very few have been yet discovered. It is pro- 
bable that the minstrels, seldom knowing 
either how to read or write, trusted to their 
well-exercised memories Nor was it a dilli- 
ciilt task to acquire a sufl[icient stock in trade 
for their purpose, since the Editor has not 
oiilv known many persons capable of retaining 
a very large collection of legendary lore of 
this kind, but there was a period in his own 
life, when a memory that ought to have been 
charged with more valuable matter, enabled 
him to recollect as many of these old songs as 
would have occupied several davs in the reci- 
tation 

The pre.ss, however, at length superseded 
the necessiiy of such exeruons of recollection, 
and sheafs of ballads issued from it weekly, 
for the amusement of the sojourners at the 
alehouse, and the lovers of iioetry in grange 
and hall, where such of the audience as could 
not read, had it at least read unto them. These 
fugitive leaves, generally printed upon broad- 
sides, or in small mis(;ellaiiies called Garlands, 
and circulanng amongst persons of loose and 
careless habits — so far as books were con- 
cerned — were subject to destruction from 
many causes; and as the editions in the early 
age of printing were probably much limited, 
even tho.se published as chap-books in the 
early part of the 18ih century, are rarely met 
with. 

Some persons, however, seem to have had 
what their contemporaries probably thought 
the bizarre taste of gathering and preserving 
collections of this fugitive poetry. Hence the 
great bcnly of ballads in the Fejiysian collec- 
tion at Cambridge, made by tliat Secretary 
Pepys, whose Uiary is so very amusing; and 
hence the still more valuable deposit, in three 
volumes folio, in which the late Duke John of 
Roxburghe took so much pleasure, that he 
was often found enlarging it with fresh acqui- 
sitions, which he pasted in and registered with 
his own hand. 

The first attempt, however, to reprint a 
collection of ballads for a class of readers 
distinct from those for whose use the stall- 
copies were intended, was that of an anony- 
iiious editor of three l2mo volumes, which 
appeared in London, with engravings. These 
volumes came out in various years, in the be- 
ginning of the 18lh century. The editor writes 
with some flippancy, but with the air of a per- 
son superior to the ordinary drudgery of a mere 
collector. His work appears to have been got 
up at considerable expense, and the general 
introductions and historical illustrations which 
are prefixed to the various ballads, are written 
witti an accuracy of which such a subject had 
not till then been deemed worthy. Tlie prin- 
cipal part of the collection consists of stall- 
ballads, neither possessing much poetical 
merit, nor any particular rarity or curiosity. 
Still this original Miscellany holds a consider- 
able value amongst collectors; and as the 
three volumes — being published at different 
tunes — are seldom found together, they sell 
for a high price when complete. 



'^: 



\ 



A 



y 



\ 



\ 



452 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



w 



We may now turn (lur eyes ti) Scotland, 
tvhere the facility of the dialect, wliicli culs 
otf the consonants in the terniinatiim of the 
words, sit as greatly to simplify the task of 
rhviiiKiij, and the habits, dispositions, and 
niaiiiiers of the people, were of old so favour 
alile III ih(^ forn|)OMiioii of ballad-poelry, tha', 
had the SooMish soiiijs lieen preserved, there 
i.« no douhi a very curious history nii^lit have 
heen composed hy means of minstrelsy only, 
from the leiKii of .Me.xander III. in 1285, down 
to the cliise of tile (.'ivil Wars in 174.5. Thai 
rnaienals fur sucli a collection existed, cannot 
he dispiiled, since t he Scottish historians often 
refer to old hallads as authorities for general 
tradition. But their regular preservation vvus 
not to he hoped for or expecied. Successive 
garlands of song sprung, floiirishi^d, faded, 
and were forgotten, in their turn; and the 
names of a few specimens are only preserved, 
to show us how abundant the display of these 
wild flowers had been. 

Like the natural free gifts of Flora, these 
poetical garlands can only be successfully 
sought for where the land is iiiicullivaied ; 
and civilisation and increase of learning are 
sure to banish them, as the plough of the 
agriculturist bears down the mountain daisy 
Yet It is to be recorded with some interest, 
that the earliest surviving specimen of the 
Scottish press, is a Miscellany of Millar and 
Chapman, which preserves a considerable 
fund of Scotli>h popular poetry, and among 
other things, no bad specimen of the gests of 
Hohm Hood, •' the Englisii ballad-maker's joy." 
and whose renown seems to have been as 
freshly preserved in the north as on the south- 
ern shores of the Iweed. There were proba- 
bly several collections of Scottish ballads and 
metrical piect^s during the seventeenth cen- 
tury. A very tine one, belonging to Lord .Mon- 
tagu, perished in the lire which consumed 
Dicton House, about twenty vears ago. 

James Watson, in 17t)b. published, at Edin 
burgh, a niiscellant'(ni.s colleciion in three 
parts, containing some ancient poei ry. But 
the first editor who seems to have made a 
determined elfort to preserve our ancien 
popular poetry, was the well-known Allan 
Kaiiisay, in his Evergreen, containing chiefly 
exlracis from Mie ancient Scottish Maker.s. 
Whose poems have been preserved in the 
Bannalyne .Manuscript, but exhibit irig amongst 
them some popular ballads. Amongst these 
is the BalUe uj Hrirl/iw, apparently from a 
modernized copy, being probahly the most 
ancient Scottish historical ballad of any length 
now 111 existence. 1 He also inserted in the 
same itiilleclion. the genuine Scottish Border 
ballad of Joimme Armslrong. copied from the 
recitation of a descendant of the unfortunate 
hero. 111 the sixtli generation This poet al.so 
included lutlie Lvergreen, Hardyknute. which, 
though evidently inodern. is a most spirited 
and beauiitul imitation of the ancient ballad. 
In a subsequent collection of lyrical pieces, 
called the lea-Table .Miscellany, Allan Kam- 
say m.serted several old hallads. such as Cruel 
Barbara Allan. Thf Bonnie Earl of Murray, 
'rtttrf came ii Ghost to Mnraarel's door, and two 
or three others. But his unhappy plan of 
anting new words to old tunes, without at 



I See Appendix, NoU 



the same time preserving I he ancient verses, 
led tiiin. with the assistance of "some inge- 
nious young gentleman."' to throw aside many 
originals, the (ireservniion of which would 
have been much more interesting than any- 
thing which lias been substituted in their 
siead.2 

In fine, the task of collecting and illustrating 
ancient popular poetry, whether in England 
or Scotland, was never executed hy a compe- 
tent person, possessing the necessary powers 
of selection and annotation, till it was under- 
taken by Dr. Percy, afterwards Bishop of 
Dromore in Ireland. This reverend gentle- 
man, himself a poet, and ranking high amoTig 
the literati of the day, commanding access to 
the individuals and institutions which could 
best artord liirii materials, gave the public the 
result of his researches in a work entitled 
'• Keliques of Ancient English Poetry."' in three 
volumes, published in London 17G5, which has 
since gone through four ediiions. The taste 
with which the materials weie chosen, the 
exuenie felicity with which they were illus- 
traied. the display at once of antiquarian 
knowledge and classical reading which the 
collection indicated, render it difficult to imi- 
tate, and impossible to excel, a work which 
iinist always be held among the first of its 
class in point of merit, though not actually 
I he foremost in point of time. But neither 
ilie high character of the work, nor the rank 
and respectability of the author, could protect 
him or his labours, from the invidious attacks 
of criticism 

The most formidable of these were directed 
by Joseph Kilson, a man of acute observation, 
profound research, and great labour. These 
valuable attributes were uiihapiiily combined 
with an eager irritability of temper, v^-hich 
induced hini to treat anfiquHriaii trifles with 
the same seriousness which men of the world 
reserve for matters of importance, and dis- 
posed liini to drive controversies into per.sonal 
quarrels, by neglecting, in literary debate, the 
courtesies of ordinary society 3 Jt ought to he 
said, however, by one who knew hint well, 
that this irritability of disposition was a con- 
stitutional and physical infirmity; and that 
Kitson's extreme attachment to the severity 
of truth, corresponded to the rigour of his 
criticisms upon the labours of others. He 
seems to have attacked Bishop Percy with the 
greater animosity, as bearing no good-will to 
the hierarchy, in which that prelate held a 
distinguished place. 

Kitson's criticism, in which there was too 
much hor.se-play, was grounded on two points 
of accusation. The first point regarded Dr. 
Percy's definition of the order and office of 
minstrels, which Ritson considered as design- 
edly overcharged, for the sake of giving an 
undue importance to his subject. The second 
objection respected the liberties which Dr. 
Percy had taken with his materials, in adding 
to, retrenching, and improving them, so as to 
bring them nearer to the taste of his own 
period We will take some brief notice of 
both topics. 

First. Dr. Percy, in the first edition of his 
work, certainly laid himself open to the charge 
of having given an inaccurate, and scuiiewhat 



3 See Appendix, Note C. 



7^ 



7 



^ 



:^ 



REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



453 



^' 



exu^yerated arcoiiiit. ifftlie Kiiirlisli Minstrels, 
Whom tie ilefiiietl to be an "order of men in 
the niulille aues. who siilisisieil hy the ar s ot 
poetry and niusir. and sun? Ui the h:ir[> ilie 
verses which they thenis-eives roinposed." 
The reverend editor of the Rehqnes i.rodiict'tl 
ill support of I his detiiiiiion many cur;o:s 
quotations, to show that In many instances 
the persons of these tninstrels h:id been ho 
iioured and res|>er,ted, their performances ap- 
plauded and rewarded by the irreat and the 
courtly, and their crafl imitated by princes 
themselves. 

Anainst both these propositions, Ritson made 
a de erniined opfiosiiion He contended, and 
prub:ibly With justice, that the niin>irels were 
not necessarily poets, or in the resrular Imbit 
of cociiposiiig; the Verses which ttiey sun'; to 
the harp; and indeed that the word mnislrH. 
ill lis oidiiiary acceptation, meant no more 
man ninsK-iaii 

Dr. Percy, from an amended edition of his 
Essay on .Mmsirelsy. pietixed to the foiinh 
edi imi of Mie Keliques of .Ancient Poe ry, 
seems to have been, to a certain point, con- 
vinced by the critic's re.'isoniii?; for he Iras 
e.xiended the detiniHon impus[iied by Kitsoii, 
and ttie minstrels are thus des(-ribed assnisins 
verse.* "composed by themselves or olfiTS." 
This we apprehend to be a tenable po-ilion ; 
for. as on the one hand it seems too broad an 
averment to sav that ail iiiicstrels were hy 
profe.ssion poets, so on the other, it is exrava- 
Kaiit to affirm, that men who were constantly 
in the habit of reciting verse, should not fre- 
quently have acquired tlrat of composing: it. 
especially when their bread depended on 
Sivinsf pleasure; ami to iiave the power of 
producing novelty, is a g:reat siep towards 
that desirable end. No unpreju liced reader, 
tiierefore, can have any liesiiation in adoptiiisr 
Bishop Percy's definition of the minstrels, and 
their occupation, as qualified in the fourth 
edition of his Essay, implyim; that they were 
Sometimes poets, sixnetimes the mere reciters 
of itie poetry of others. 

On the critic's second proposition, Dr Percy 
successfully showed, thai at no period of 
history was the word minstrel applied to in- 
strumental music exclusively ; and he has 
produced sutficient evidence, that the talents 
of the prolessioii were as frequently employed 
in Cham Ills: "r lecitinsr poetry as in playiii!; 
tlie mere tunes. There is appearance of dis- 
tinction being sometimes made between min- 
strel recitations and minstrelsy of music alone ; 
and we may add a curious instance, to those 
quoted by the Bishop. It is from the singular 
bailad respecting Thonuis of Erceldouiie, 
which announces the proposition, that toiujue 
is chief of minstrelsy. 

We may also notice, that tlie word minstrel 
being in fact denveil from the .Minnesinger 
of the Germans, me.ins, in its primary sense, 
one who smgs of Iovp, a sen-^e totally inappk- 
cable to a mere instrumental musician. 

A second general jioiiit on which Ur. Percy 
was fiercely attacked by .Mr. Ritson, was al.so 
one on which both the parties might claim a 
right to sing Te Deum. It respected the rank 
or status which was held by the minstrels in 
society during the middle ages. On this point 
the editor of the Reliques of Ancient Poetry 
had produced the most satisfactory evidence, 



that, at the courts of the AiirIo - Norman 
princes, the professors of the gay science 
were the favourite solacers of tlie leisure 
hoiirs of princes, who did not themselves 
disdain to share their tuneful labours, and 
imitate their compositions. Mr Ritscni re- 
plied to this with great in2:enuity, arguinsr, 
that such instances of respect paid to French 
minstrels reciiinsr in their native l.inffuage in 
the court of Norman monarchs, though held 
HI Britain, argued nuthingin favour of Kne:lish 
artists profesMiis the same trade; anil <»f 
whose composiliiins. and not of those existing 
in the French lan:iuage. Dr Percy professed 
to torm his collecti m. The reason of the 
distindion betwixt the respectability of the 
French minsirels. and the degradation of the 
same class of men in England. Mr. Ritson 
plausbly alleged to he. that the Knslish lan- 
guage, a mixed spee<:h betwixt Anglo Saxon 
and Norman French, was not known at the 
court of the Anglo-Norman kings until the 
reign of Edward III. ; ' and that, theretbre, 
until a very late period, .nid when the lays of 
minstrelsy were goms out of fashion, Fngliiih 
performers in that capaciiy must have con- 
fined the exercise of their talents to the 
amusement of the vulgar. Now, as it must 
be conceded to Mr. Ritson, that almost all 
the English metrical romances which have 
been preserved till the present day, are trans- 
lated from the French, it may also be allowed, 
that a class of men employed chiefly in ren- 
dering into Knglish the works of others, could 
not hold so high a station as those who aspired 
to original composition ; and so far the critic 
has the best of the dispute. But Mr. Ritson 
has over-driven his argument, since there was 
assuredly a period m P^nglish history, when 
the national minstrels, writing in the national 
dialect, were, in proportion to their merit iii 
their calling, held in honour and re.^pect. 

Thomas the Rhymer, for example, a min- 
strel who flourished in the end of the twelfth 
century, was not only a man of talent in his 
art, but of some rank in society; the com- 
panion of nobles, and him.«elf a man of landed 
property. He. and his coniemporaiy Kendal, 
wrote, a> we are assured by Robert de Bnintie, 
in a p;issage already alluded to, a kind of Eng- 
lish, which was designed for "pride and iio- 
bleye," and not for such inferior perxins as 
Robert himself addressed, and to vvhose com- 
prehension tie avowedly lowered Ins language 
and structure of versificailoii There existed, 
therefore, during the time of i his historian, a 
more refined dialect of tlie English language, 
used hy such composers of popul.ir poetry its 
moved in a higher circle; anu there can be 
no doubt, that while their productions were 
held in such high esteem, tlie authors must 
have been honoured in proportion 

1 he education bestowed upon James I. of 
Scotland, when brought up under the charge 
ot Henry IV., comprehended both music and 
the art of vernacular poetry ; in other words, 
Minstrelsy in both branches. That poetry. 



I That monarch first used the vernacular English ilialc 
a motto which he ilisplayi-d on his shield at a c-li-lira'- 
iruament. The legend which graced the represenlatK 
a white swan on the king's buckler, ran thus: — 



^ 



/ 



7 



^ 



^ 



454 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



nf which the Kins left several specimens, was. | proportionally poorer find ninre deerailed tlian 



WHO 



veil known. English ; nor is it to be sup' 
posed that a (irince, upon whose education 
sucli sedulous care was bestowed, would 
have been instructed in an art which, if we 
are to believe Mr Ritson, was degraded to 
the last degree, and discreditable to its pro- 
fessors. 7'he san)e argument is strengthened 
by the poetical exercises of the Duke of Or- 
leans, in English, written during his captivity 
after the battle of Ajfiiiconrt. It could not 
be supposed that the noble prisoner was to 
solace his hours of iiiiprisonnient with a de- 
grading and vulgar species of Coniposiiion. 

We could produce other instances to show 
that this acute critic has carried lits argument 
considerably too lar. But we prefer taknig a 
g:eiieral view of the subject, which seems to 
explain clearly how contradictory evidence 
should exist on it, and why instances of great 
personal respect to individual niinsrrete. and a 
high esteem of the art, are quite recimrilable 
with much contempt thrown on the order at 
large. 

All professors of the fine arts — all those 
wlio contribute, not to the necessities of life, 
but to the enjoyments of society, hold their 
firofessional respectability by the severe tenure 
of exhibiting excellence in their department. 
We are well enough satisfied with the trades- 
inaii who goes through his task in a Work- 
manlike manner, nor are we disjiosed to look 
down upon the divine, the lawyer, or the 
physician, unless they display gross ignorance 
of their profession : we hold it enough, that 
if they do not possess the highest knowledge 
of their respective sciences, they can at least 
instruct us on the points we desire to know. 
But 

— " mediocribus esse poeti.^ 

Non di, non homines, non concessere colum- 



The same is true respecting the professors 
of painting, of sculpture, of music, and the 
fine arts in general. If they exhibit para- 
mount excellence, no situation in society is 
too high for them which their manners enable 
them to fill; if they fall short of the highest 
point of aim, they degenerate into sign-paint- 
ers, stone-cutters, common crowders. doggrel 
rhymers, and so forth, the most contemptible 
of mankind. The reason of this is evident 
Men must be satisfied with such a supply of 
their actual wants as can be obtained in the 
circumstances, and should an individual want 
a coat, he must employ the village tailor, if 
Siultze is not to be had. But if lie seeks for 
delight, the case is quite different; and he 
that cannot hear Pasta or Sontag, would be 
little solaced for the absence of these sirens, 
by the strains of a crack-voiced ballad-singer. 
N.-jy, on the contrary, the oflfer of such inade- 
quate compensation would only be regarded 
as an insult, and resented accordingly. 

The theatre affords the most appropriate 
example of what we mean. The first circles 
in society are open to persons eminently dis- 
tinguished ill the drama ; and their rewards 
are, in pro[)or;ioii to those who profess the 
useful arts, incalculably higher. But those 
lag in the rear of the dramatic art are 



] See Appendix, Note D. 



those who are the lowest of a useful trade or 
profession. These instances will enable us 
readily to explain why ttie greater part of the 
minstrels, practising their protVssion in scenes 
of vulgar mirth and debauchery, iiumbling 
their art to please the ears of drunken clowns, 
and living with the dissifintion natural to men 
whose precarious subsistence is, according to 
the ordinary phrase, from hand to mouth only, 
should fall under general contempt, while the 
stars of the profes.Moh. to use a modern phrase, 
looked down on them from the distant empy- 
rean, as tlie planets do upon those shooting 
exhalations arising from gross vapours in the 
nether atmosphere 

The debate, therefore, resembles the apo- 
logue of the gold and silver shield. Dr. Percy 
looked on the minsirel in the palmy and ex- 
alted state to which, no doubt, miiny were 
elevated by their talents, like those wiio pos- 
sess excellence in the fine arts in the present 
day; and Hiison considered the reverse of the 
medal, when the poor and wandering glee- 
man was glad to purchase his bread by singing 
his ballads at the ale-house, wearing a fan- 
tastic habit, and latterly sinking into a mere 
crowder upon an untuned fiddle, accompaiiy- 
ing his rude strains with a ruder difty. the 
hel()less associate of drunken revellers, and 
marvellously afraid of the constaltle and pa- 
rish-beadle, t The difference betwixt those 
lioldmg the extreme positions of highest and 
lowest in such a piofession. cannot surely be 
more marked than that which separated David 
Oarrick or John Kenible from the outcasts of 
a strolling company, exposed to penury, indi- 
gence, itnd persecution according to law 2 

There was still another and more inipoitant 
subje(;t of debate between Dr. Percy and his 
hostile critic. The former, as a poet and a 
man of taste, was tempted to take such free- 
doms with his original liallads as might enable 
him to please a more critical age than that in 
which they were composed. Words were 
thus altered, phrases improved, and whole 
Verses were inserted or omitted at pleasure. 
Such freedoms were especially taken with the 
poems published from a folio manuscript in 
Dr. Percy's own possession, very curious from 
the nii>cellaneoiis nature of its contents, but 
unfortunately having many of the leaves 
mutilated, and injured in other respects, by 
the gross carelessness and ignorance of the 
transcriber. Anxious to avail him.self of the 
treasures which this manuscript contained, 
the editor of the Reliqiies did not hesitate to 
repair and renovate the songs which he drew 
from this corrupted yet curious source, and to 
accommodate them with such emendations 
as might recommend them to the modern 
taste. 

For these liberties with his subject, Ritson 
censured Dr. Percy in the most uncompro- 
mising terms, accuseil him, in violent lan- 
guage, of interpolation and forgery, and in- 
sinuated that iliere existed no such thing in 
rerum nalura as that folio manuscript, so often 
referred to us the autliority of originals in- 
serted in the keliques. In this charge, the 
eagerness of Kiison again betrayed him far- 
ther than judgment and discretion, as well as 



I See Appendix, No 



7^ 



y- 



REMARKS OX POPULAR POETRY. 



courtesy, warranted. It is no doubt highly [mutilated 
desirable th^it the text of aiiciesit poetry should 
be ?iven untouched and unnorrupted Hut 
Ihiii IS :i point ivhicli did \v>\. occur to tiie 
editor of the Kehques in 1765. whnse object it 
was to win the favour of the public, ai a pe- 
riod when the grout difflmlty was not how to 
secure the very words of old ballads, but how 
to arrest attention upon the subject at all. 
That preat and imporiaiit service to n;itional 
literature would probably never haVe been 
attaiived without the work of Dr. Heicv; a 
W(.rk which first tlxed the consider:iti..n of 
general readers on ancient poe ry. and maile 
it worth Willie lo inquire how far I's eiacrs 
were really aniique, or how f.ir derived from 
the taste wiih whicii the publication had been 
superini ended and revi-ed. The objt-ct of Ur, 
Percy was certainly intimated in several parts 
of his work, where he insenuou.sly ackiiow 
It-dses, that certain ballads have received 
emendations, and that others are iioi of pure 
and unnii.xed antiquity; that the besinniii:! of 
some and end ot others have been supplied ; 
ami upon the whole, that he has. in many iii- 
siaiices, decorated the ancient ballads with 
the graces of a more refined period. 

This system is so <listiiictly imimated, that 
if there be any critic still of opinion, like poor 
Knson, whose morbid temperament led him 
to such a conclusittn, that the crime of literary 
imitation is equal to that of commercial for- 
gery, he ought to recollect that guilt, in the 
latter case, does not exist without a corre- 
sponding charge of uttering the forged docu- 
iiieni, or causing it to be uttered, as genuine, 
without which the mere imitation is not cul- 
pable, at least not criminally so. This quality 
is totally awanting m the accusation so roughly 
brought against Dr. Percy, who avowedly in- 
dulged in such alterations and improvements 



his materials, as might adapt them to | the materials. The collection of Lv 



^ , sophisticated. A copy of the 

nne ballad of "Sir Caulin'' is found m a Scot- 
tish shape, under the name of •' King .Malcolm 
and SirColvin," in Buchan's North Couiiiry 
oailads. to be presently mentioned. It is, 
therefore, unquesiionably ancient, thougli 
possibly retouched, and perhaps with the ad- 
dnioii of a second part, of which the Scottish 
copy has no vestiges. It would be desirable 
to know exactly to what extent Dr Percy had 
u.sed the license of an editor, in these and 
other cases; and cerlamly, at this period, 
wonll be only a degree of justice due to his 
memory. 

On the vihole. we may dismiss the '• Re- 
liqiies of Ancient Poetry'' wiih the praise and 
closure conferred on it by a gentleman, him- 
self a valuable labourer in the vineyard of 
antiquities. " It is the most elegant compila- 
tion ol the early poetry that has ever appeared 
in any age or country. But it must be frankly 
added, that so numerous are the alterations 
and corrections, that the severe antiquary, 
who desires to see ihe old English biillads in 
a genuine state, must consult a moie accurate 
ediiion than this celebrated work ' 

Of Kitson's own talents as an editor of an- 
cient poetry, we shall have oc<;asion to sp'^alt 
hereafter. The first collector who followed 
the example of Dr. Percy, was .Mr. T Evans, 
bookseller, father of the gentleman we have 
just quoted His -Old Ballads, historical and 
iiarraiive, with some of modern date," ap- 
peared in two volumes, in 1777, and were 
eminently successful. In 1784, a .second edi- 
tion appeared, extending ihe work to f.ur 
volumes. In this collection, manv ballads 
louiid acceptance, which Bishop Percy had 
not considered as possessing sufficieiil merit 
to claim admittance into the Reliques. The 
°vo Miscellany of 172J yielded a gieat part of 



455 >. 



the taste of an eige not otherwise disposed to 
bestow Its attention on them. 

We have to add, that, in the fourth edition 
of the Reliques. Mr. Thomas Percy of St. 
John's College, Oxford, pleading the cause of 
his uncle with the most gentlemanlike mode- 
ration, and with every respect to Mr. Ritson's 
science and talents, has combated the critic's i 
opinion, without any attempt to retort h 
injurious language. 

It would lie 
have had some 



tamed several modern pieces of great merit, 
which are not to be found elsewhere, and 
which are understood to be the productions 
of William Julius .Mickle. iranslaior of the 
Lusiad. though they were never claimed by 
hiin, nor received among his works. Amongst 
them is the elegiac poem of Cuninor Hall, 
fchich suggested the fictitious narrative en- 
titled Kenilworth. The Red -Cross Knight, 
,,,,..,. :»'»<> by Mickle. which has furnished words 
nov%. no doubt, desirable to tor a beautiful glee, first occurred in the same 
more distinct ac^.ount ot Dr. i coHt-ciiy,, 4s Mickle with a vein of Tpnt 
\l1-'''^n,'^,l':^"'lv'r'''''';.''''V''r''''^"''' T^ '^cihty.umtedapowerof verbal mel.Mjv w"hich 
,m.,r- tl.e \^-r;,"Jl . s'-r^r ^"^' ^^e „„ghl have been envied by bards of much 

iigin,.l .( the .Mariiage ot Sir Gawain. and greater renown.i he must be cmsidered as 
col ates It with the copy published m a com- very successful m these etforts. if the ballads 
plete state by his uncle, who has on this .K^ca- | be regarded as avowe.llv modern If ll ev are 
sion given entire rem to his own fancy, though to be judged of as accurate imitations of aii- 

found m the .Id ballad. I here is also given a t,on b.ing only maintained by a huge store of 
copvof hat elegant metrical tale. -The Child duuble c.mso.mnts. strewed at rm.dom mo 
ot Elle." as it exists in the folio maimscnpt. ordinary words, resembling the real fksl 
which goes far to show it has derived all its „f antiquity as little as the niches turrets 
beauties from Dr. Percy's poetical powers. | and tracery of plaster stuck upon a moder,; 
Judging from these two specimens we can ,ront. In the year 1810. the fmir voiu es .f 
easily conceive why the Reverend Lditor of I I78l were republished bv Mr. R. H Evans 
the -Reliques" should have declined, by the I the son of the original editor, with verv c n- 
productiou of the A.lio manu.scnpt. to furnish s.de.^able alteratums and additions In T lis 
his severe .4 ristarch with vveap.ms against | last edition, the more ordinary modern b.ilads 
him wmch he was sure would be unsparingly were judiciously retrenched in nuiiiber ,,d 

used. Yet it is certain, the manu.scnpt con- | - 1 numoer. anu 

reallv excellent. llioii<rh ' 



lams much that is really excellent, tlious 



See Appeudix, JJole F. 



N 




^ 456 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



JsirRC and vahiiible additions niiule to the an- 
cient purl of the colleciion. Bein^ in some 
measure a supplement to the Reliques of An- 
cient Poetry, this niiscelhiny cannot be dis- 
pensed witli on tlie shelves of any hibliomaniac 
who may choose to emulaie Captain Cox of 
Coventry, the prototype of all coUecKus of 
popular poetry 

While Ur. Percy was setting the example 
of a classical publication of ancient English 
poetry, I he late David Herd was, in modest 
relirement. compiling a collection of Scottish 
Songs, which he has happily described as 
'•the poetry and music of the heart." The 
first part of his Miscellany contains heroic 
and historical ballads, of which there is a 
respectable and well-chosen .^electlOll. Mr. 
Herd, an accountant, as the profession is 
called in Kdinbiirisli, was known and generally 
esteemed for his shrewd, manly common sense 
and antiquarian science, mixed with much 
good nalure and great modesty His hardy and 
antique mould of countenance, and his vene 
rable gnzzleu locks, piocuied him, amongst 
his acquaintance, the name of Graysteil. His 
original colle(^tion of songs, in one volume, 
appeared m 17G9 ; an enlarged one, in two 
volumes, came out in 1776. A publication of 
the same kind, being Herd's book still more 
enlarged, was printed for Lawrie and Syming- 
ton in 1791. Some modern additions occur in 
this latter work, of which by far the most 
valuable were two tine imitations of the Scot- 
tish ballad by the gilted author of the -'Man 
yf Feeling," — (now. alas ! no more.) — called 
" Duncan" and •'Kenneth." 

John Piiikerton, a man of considerable 
learning, and some severity us well as acute- 
iiess of disposition, was now endeavouring to 
force himself into public attention; and his 
collection of Select Ballads, London, 1783. 
contains sufficient evidence that he under- 
stood, in an extensive sense, Horace's maxim, 
quidlibet awtendi. As he was possessed of 
considerable powers of poetry, though not 
equal to what he was willing to take credit 
for, he was resolved to enrich his collection 
with all the novelty and interest which it 
could derive from a liberal insertion of pieces 
dressed in the garb of antiquity, but equipped 
from the wardrobe of the editor's imagina- 
tion. W ith ;i boldness, suggested perhaps by 
the success of Mr. Macpherson. he included, 
within a collection amounting to only twenty- 
one tragic ballads, no less than five, of which 
he afterwards owned him.self to have been 
altogether, or in great part, the author. The 
most remarkable article in this Miscellany 
was, a second part to the noble ballad of 
HardyKnute, which has some good verses. It 
labours, however, under this great defect, 
that, in order to apfiend his own conclusion 
to the original tale, Mr. Pinkerton found him- 
self under the necessity of altering a leading 
circumstance in the old ballad, which would 
have rendered his catastrophe inapplicable. 
With such license, to write continuations and 
conclusions would be no difficult task. In the 
second volume i>f the Seleta Ballads, consist- 
ing of comic pieces, a list of fifty-two articles 
contained nine written entirely by the editor 
himself. Of the manner in which these sup- 
posititious compositions are executed, it may 
be briefly stated, that they are the work of a 



scholar much better acquainted with ancient 
books and manuscripts, than with oral tradi- 
ioii and popular legends, The poetry smells 
f the lamp; and it may be truly said, that if 
ever a biillaii had existed in such quaint lan- 
guage as the author employs, it could never 
have been so popular as to be [ireseived by 
onil tradiion The glossary displays a much 
greater acquaintance with learned lexicons 
than with the familiar dialect still spoken by 
the Lowland Scottish, and it is, of course, full 
of errors. Neither was Mr. Pinkerton more 
happy in the way of conjectural illustration. 
He chose to fix on Sir John Bruce of Kinross 
ttie paternity of the ballad of Hardyknuie and 
of the fine poem called the Vision. The first 
IS due to Mrs. Halket of Wardlaw, the second 
to Allan Kamsay. al hough, it must be owned, 
it IS of a character superior to his ordinary 
poetry. Sir John Bruce was a brave, blunt 
soldier, who made no pretence whatever to 
literature, though his daughter, Mrs. Bruce 
of Arnot. had much talent, a circumstance 
which may perhaps have misled the anti- 
quary. 

Mr. Pinkerton read a sort of recantation, in 
a List of Scottish Poets, jirefixed to a Selec- 
tion of Poems from the Maitland Manuscript, 
vol. i. 1786. in which he acknowledges, as his 
own composition, the pieces of spurious anti- 
quity included in his '•Select Ballads," with a 
coolne.ss which, when his subsequent invec- 
tives against others who had taken similar 
liberties is considered, infers as much auda- 
city as the studied and laboured defence of 
obscenity with which he disgraced the tame 
pages. 

In the meantime, Joseph Ritson. a man of 
diligence and acumen equal to those of Pin- 
kerton, but of the most laudable accuracy 
and fidelity as an editor, was engaged in va- 
rious publications respecting poetical antiqui- 
ties. Ill which he employed profound research. 
A select collection of English Songs was com- 
piled by liini. with great care and considerable 
taste, and published at London, 1783. A new 
edition of this has appeared since Ritson's 
death, sanctioned by the name of the learned 
and indefatigable an'iqiiary, Thomas Park, 
and angment«d with many original pieces, 
and some which Kitson had prepared for pub- 
lication 

Ritson's Colleciion of Songs was followed 
by a curious volume, entitled. " Ancient Songs 
from the time of Henry III. to the Revolution.", 
1790; "Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry," 
1792; and "A Collection of Scottish Songs, 
with the genuine music." London. 179+. This 
last is a genuine, but rather meagre collection 
of Caledonian po()ular songs. Next year Mr. 
Kitson published " Robin Hood." 2 vols.. 1795, 
being "A Collection of all the Ancient Poems, 
Songs, and Ballads now extant, relative to 
that celebrated Outlaw." This work is a no- 
table illustration of the excellencies and de- 
fects of Mr. Ritson's system. It is almost 
impossible to conceive soniuch zeal, research, 
and industry bestowed on a subject of anti- 
quity. There scarcely occurs a phra.se or 
word relating to Robin Hood, whether in his- 
tory or poetry, in law books, in ancient pro- 
verbs, or common parlance, but it is here 
collected and explained. At the same time, 
the extreme fidelity of the editor seems driven 



y^ 



r 



REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



457 



to excess, when we find hini pertinaciously 
retaining; all the numerous am! ffross errors 
winch repeated recitations have introduced 
into the text, and re^rdin? it as a sacred duty 
to prefer the worst to the better readiiiffs, as 
if their inferiority was a security for their 
heni? senuine. In short, when Kitson copied 
from rare books, or ancient manuscripts, there 
could not be a more accurate editor; when 
taking his authority from oral tradition, and 
judsfins between two recited copies, he was 
ill it to consider the worst as most genuine, as 
if a poem was not more likely to be de'erio- 
lated than improved by passing throush the 
iii'Uths of many reriters. In the Ballads of 
Ixobin Hood, tliis superstiiioiis scrupulosity 
Wiis especially to he rear«tted, as it tended to 
enlargre the collec'ion wiih a great numt)er of 
dosserel comtmsitions, which are all copies of 
each other, turiiino; on the same idea of Bold 
Ktibin meeting with a shepherd, a tinker 
tnendicant. a tanner, &c. &c.. by each and all 
of whcnn he is soundly thrashed, and all of 
whom he receives into his band The tradi- 
tion, which avers that it was the brave out- 
law's custom to try a bout at quarter-staff 
with his young recruits, might indeed have 
authorized one or two such tales, but the 
greater part ought to have been rejected as 
modern imitations of the most paliry kind, 
composed probably about the age of James I. 
of England. By adopting this spurious trash 
as part of Robin Hood's history, he is repre- 
sented as the best cudgelled hero, Don Quixote 
excepted, that ever was celebrated in prose 
or rhyme. Ritson also pubhshed several gar- 
lands of North Country songs. 

Looking on this eminent antiquary's labours 
in a general point of view, we may deprecate 
the eagerness and severity of Ins prejudices, 
and feel surprise that he should have shown 
.so much irritability of disposition on such a 
topic as a collection of old ballads, which cer- 
tainly have little in them to affect i he passions ; 
and we may be sometimes provoked at the 
pertinacity wiih which he has prelerred bad 
readings to good But while industry, re- 
seaiT,h. and antiquarian learning, are recom- 
niendations to works of this nature, few edi- 
tors will ever he found so competent to the 
task as Joseph Ritson It must also be added 
to his praise, that all hough not willing to 
yield his opinion rashly, yet if he saw reason 
to believe that he had been mistaken in any 
fact or argument, he resigned his own opinion 
with a candour equal lo the warnitli wiih 
which he defended himself while confident 
he was in the right. Many of his works are 
now almost out Of print, and an edition of 
them in common orthography, and altering 
the bizarre s()eiling and character which his 
prejudices induced the author to adopt, would 
be. to antiquaries, an acceptable present. 

We have now given a hasty account of 
various collections of popular poetry during 
the eighteenth century; we have only further 
to observe, that, in the present century, this 
species of lore has been sedulously cultivated. 
The ■' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border" first 
appeared in 1802. in two volumes; and what 
may appear a singular coincidence, it vvas the 
first work printed by Mr. James Ballaniyne, 
(then residing at Kelso.) as it was the first 
serious demand which the present author 



made on the patience of the public. The 
Border Minstrelsy, augmented by a third vo- 
lume, came to a second edition in 18(».3. In 
1803. Mr, now Sir John Grahame Dalzell, to 
whom his country is obliged for his antiqua- 
rian labours, published "Scottish Poems of 
the Sixteenth Century," which, among other 
subjects of interest, contains a curious con- 
temporary ballad of Belnniies, which has 
some stanzas of considerable merit. 

The year 1806 was distinguished by the ap- 
pearance of " Popular Ballads and Songs, 
from Traditions, Manuscripts, and Scarce 
Editions, with Translations of Similar Pieces 
from the Ancient Danish Language, and a 
few Originals by the Editor, Robert .lamieson, 
A.M , and PA S " This work, whi<'li was not 
greeted by the public with the attention it de- 
served, opened a new discovery respecting 
the orisinal source of the Scottish ballads. 
Mr. Jaiiiieson's extensive acquaintance with 
the Scandinavian literature, enabled him to 
detect not only a general similarity betwixt 
these and the Danish ballads preserved in the 
'• Kiempe Viser." an early collection of heroic 
ballads in that language, but to demonstrate 
that, in many cases, the stories and songs 
were distinctly the same, a circumstance 
which no antiquary had hitherto so much as 
suspected. Mr. Jamieson's annotations are 
also very valuable, and preserve some curious 
illustrations of the old poets His imitations, 
though he is not entirely free from the affec- 
tation of using rather too many obsolete 
words, are generally highly interesting. The 
work fills an important pla(!e in the collection 
of those who are addicted to this branch of 
antiquarian study. 

Mr. John Finlay, a poet whose career was 
cut short by a premature death, published a 
short collection of "Scottish Historical and 
Romantic Ballads," in 1808. The beauty of 
some imitations of the old Scottish ballad, 
with the good sense, learning, and modesty 
of the preliminary dissertations, must make 
all admirers of ancient lore regret the early 
loss of tnis accomplished young man. 

Various valuable collections of ancient bal- 
lad-poetry have appeared of late years, some 
of wtiich are illustrated wii.ii learning and 
acuteiiess, as those of Mr. Motherwell and of 
Mr. Kinloch intimate much taste and leeling 
for this species of literature. Nor is there 
any want of editions of ballads, le.ss designed 
for public sale, than to preserve fluating pieces 
of minstrelsy which are in immediate danger 
of perishing. Several of those, edited, as we 
have occasion to know, by men, of distin- 
guished talent, have appeared in a smaller 
form and more limited edition, and must soon 
be among the introuvables of Scottish typo- 
graphy. We would particularize a duodecimo, 
under the modest title of a "Ballad Book," 
without place or date annexed, which indi- 
cates, by a few notes only, the capaoiiy which 
the editor possesses for supplying the most 
extensive and ingenious illustrations upon 
antiquarian subjects Most of the ballads are 
of a comic character, and some of them ad- 
mirable specimens of Scottish dry humour. 
Another collection, whicii calls for particular 
distinction, is in the same size, or nearly so, 
and bears the same title with the preceding i 
one, the date being, Edinburgh, 1827. But the 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



458 



^tils are announced as containiii? the 
l)U(Jffet. or stock-in-trade, of an old Aberdeen- 
shire minstrel, the very last, prohahly, of the 
race. who. according to Percy's definition of 
the profession, suns his own compositions, 
and those of others, through the capital of 
ihe country, and other towns in that country 
of gentlemen. This man's name was Charles 
Leslie, but he was known more generally by 
the nickname of Mussel-mou'd Charlie, from 
a singular projection of his under lip. His 
fleath was thus announced in the newspapers 
for October, 1792: — "Died at Old Haiii, in 
Aberdeenshire, aged rue hundred ;md four 
years. Charles Leslie, a hawker, or ballad- 
singer, well known in that country by the 
name of Mussel-mou'd Charlie. He followed 
his occupation till within a few weeks of his 
death" Charlie was a devoted Jacobite, and 
so popular in Aberdeen, that he enjoyed in 
that city a sort of monopoly of the minstrel 
calling, no other person being allowed, under 
any pretence, to chant baihids on the cause 
WMy, or plain-staiies, of "the brave burgh." 
Like the former collection, most of Mussel- 
mou'd Charlie's songs were of a jocose cha- 
racter. 

But the most extensive and valuable addi- 
tions which have been of late made to this 
branch of ancient literature, are the collec- 
tions of Mr. Peter Biich;in of Peterhead, a 
person of indefatigable research in that de- 
partment, and whose industry has been 
crowned with the most successful results 
'I'his is partly owing to the country where 
Mr. Buchiin resides, which, full as it is of 
minstrel relii'^s, Ikis been l)Ut little ransacked 
by any former collectors; so that, while it is 
a" very rare event south of the 'I'ay, to recover 
;my ballad having a claim to antiquity, which 
has not been examined and republished in 
some one or other of our collections of ancient 
poetry, those of Aberdeenshire have been 
coniparatively little attended to. The present 
hldiior w;is the first to solicit attention to 
these northern s(jngs, in consequence of a 
collection of ballads communicated to him by 
his late respected friend. Lord Woodhouslee. 
Mr. .lamieson, in his collections of "Songs 
and Ballads," being himself a native of Moray- 
shire, was able to push this inquiry much 
farther, and at the same time, by doing so, to 
illustrate his theory of the connexion between 
the ancient Scottish and D.inish ballads. u[)on 
which the publication of Mr Buchun throws 
much light. It is. indeed, the most complete 
collection of the kind winch has vet appeared 

Of the originality of the ballads in Mr. Bu- 
chan's collection we do not entertain the 
slightest doubt. Several (we mav instance 
Ihe curious tale of " The Two Magiciiins") 
are translated from the Norse, and Mr. Buchan 
is probably unacquainted with the originals. 
Other.s refer to points of history, with which 
the editor does not seem to be familiar. It is 
out of no disrespect to this laborious and use- 
ful ;intiquary, that we observe his prose com- 
position IS rather florid, and forms, in this 
respect, a strong contrast to the extreme sim- 
plicity of the ballads, which gives us the 
most distinct assurance that he has delivered 
the latter to the public in the shape in which 
he found them. Accordiivgly, we have never 



^ 



seen any collection of Scottish poetry appear- 
ing, from internal evidence, so decidedly and 
indubitably original. It is perhaps a pity that 
Mr. Buchan did not remove some obvious 
errors and corruptions; but, in truth, though 
their remaining on record is an injury to the 
effect of the ballads, in point of ccmipositiun, 
it is, in some degree, a proof of their aiirtieii- 
licity. Besides, although the exertion of this 
editorial privilege, of selecting readings, is mii 
advantage to the ballads themselves, we are 
contented rather to take the whole in thf ir 
present, though imperfect state, than that the 
least doubt should be thrown upon them, by 
amendments or alterations, which might ren- 
der their authenticity doubtful The historical 
poems, we observe, are few and of no remote 
date. That of the " Bridge of Dee." is among 
the oldest, and there are others referring to 
the times of the Covenanters. Some, indeed, 
are composed (m still more recent events; as 
the marriage of the mother of the late illus- 
trious Byron, and a catastrophe of still later 
occurrence, "The Death of Leith-hall " 

As we wish to interest the admirers of an- 
cient minstrel lore in this curious collection, 
we shall only add, that, on occasion of ii new 
edition, we would recommend to Mr. Buchan 
to leave out a number of s<mgs which he has 
only inserted because they are varied, some- 
times for the worse, from sets which have 
appeared in other publications. This restric- 
tion would make considerable room for such 
as, old though they be, possess to this age all 
the grace of novelty. 

To these notices of late collections of Scot- 
tish Ballads, we ought to add some remarks 
on the very curious " Ancient Legendary 'I'ales, 
printed chiefly from Original Sources, edited 
bv the Rev. Charles Henry Hanshorne, MA. 
1829." The editor of this unostentatious work 
has done his duty to the public with much 
labour and care, and made the admirers of 
this species of poetry acquainted with very 
many ancient legendary poems, which were 
hitherto unpublished and very little known. 
It increases the value of the collection, that 
many of them are of a comic turn, a species 
of composition more rare, and, from its neces- 
sary allusion to domestic manners, more cu- 
rious and interesting, than the serious class 
of Romances. 



We have thus, in a cursory manner, gone 
through the history of English and Scottish 
popular poetry, and noticed the principal col- 
lections which have been formed from time 
to time of such compositions, ami the princi- 
ples on which the editors have proceeded. It 
IS manifest that, of late, the public attention 
has been so much turned to the subject by 
men of research and talent, that we may well 
hope to retrieve from oblivion as much of our 
ancient poetry as there is now any possibility 
of recovering. 

Another important part of our task consists 
in giving some account of the modern imita- 
tion of the English Ballad, a species of lite- 
rary labour which the author has himself 
pursued with some success. 



Abbolsford, \st March, 1830. 



7 



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— >k 

APPENDIX TO REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 459 



^: 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

THE BATTLE OF HARLAW. 

P. 452. 
That, there was such an ancient hallml is 
CPitam. ami the luiie. adapted to the ha^pines, 
was Ion? extreitiely popular, and, within the 
letnenihranre of man. the fir.st which was 
phtyed at kirns and ottier rustic festivals. But 
there IS a sus|iici()US praise in the hallad as it is 
puhlished by All;m Rams-iy. v\ hen describing: 
the (lationai confusion, the bard says, 

"Sen the days of auld King Harie, 
Such slaiicliler was not heard or seen." 

Query, Who was the "auld King Harie here 
meant? If Henry VIH be ini ended, as is most 
liKely. it must bring: the date of the poem, at 
least of that veise, as low as Queen Mary's 
time. The ballad is said to have bsen printed 
in 1668. A copy of that edition would be a 
great curiosity. 

See the preface to the reprint of this hallad. 
in the volume of " Early Metrical Tales," anle 
referred to. 



Note B. 

ALLAN RAMSAY'S " EVERGJIEEIT." 

P. 452. 

Green he the pillow of honest Allan, at 
who.se lamp liurns lighted his brilliant torch! 
It is withoui enmity to his memory that we 
record his mi.-ilake in this matter. But it is 
impossitile not to regret that .such an affect intf 
tale as that of Bessie Bell and Mary Grav 
should have fallen into his hands. The 
southern reader must learn, (for what north- 
ern reader la ignf>ranl .') that these two beau- 
tiful women were kinsfolk, and so strictly 
united 111 frieiid>liip. that even personal jea- 
lousy could not interrupt their union. They 
Were visiied by a handsome and aj?reeable 
young man, who was acceptable to them both, 
hut so captivated with their charms, that, 
while contiiient of a preference on the part 
of both, he was unable to make a choice be- 
tween them. While this singular situation of 
the three persons of the tale continued, the 
hreakins out of the pla)?ue forced the two 
laiiies lo take refuge in the beautiful valley 
ot Lynedoch, where they built themselves a 
bower. 111 order to avoid human intercourse 
and the danger of injection. The lover was 
not included in their reiniiiciation of society. 
He visited their retirement, brought with him 
the fatal disease, and unable to return lo 
Perth, which was his usud residence, was 
jursed by the fair friends with all the tender- 
ness of affection. He died, however, having 



first communicated the infection to his lovely 
attendants. Thev followed him lo the prave, 
lovely in their lives, and undivided in their 
death. Their hurial-place. in the vicinitv of 
the bower which thev built, is still visible, in 
the romantic vicinity of Lord LvndochV man- 
sion, and proUmgs the memorv of female 
friendsfiip, which even rivalry could not dis- 
solve. Two stanzas of the original ballad 
alone survive : — 

" Bessie Bell and Mary Grav, 
They were twa bonnie lasses; 
They bigged a bower on yon burn brae, 
And theekit it ower wi' rashes. 

"They wadna rest in Methvin kirk, 
Among: their gentle kin; 
But they wad lie in Lednoch braes. 
To beek against the sun." 

There is, to a Scottish ear, so much tender- 
ness and simplicity in these verses, as must 
induce us to regret that the rest should have 
been superseded by a pedantic modern sons, 
lurnmg upon the most unpoelic part of the 
legend, the hesitation, namely, of the lover, 
which of the ladies to prefer. One of the 
most touching expressions m the song is the 
following exclamation : 

"Oh, Jove! she^- like thy Pallas." 

A neither song, of which Ramsay chose a few 
wonls for the theme of a rijaamenfo, seems to 
have lieen h curious sjiecimen of minstrel re- 
citation. It was partly verse, partly narrative, 
and was alternately sung and repealed. The 
story was the e.scape of a young gentleman, 
pursued by a cruel uncle, desirous of hi."* 
estate ; or a bloody rival, greedy of his life ; 
or the relentless father of his lady-love, or 
.>ome such remorseless character, liaving sinis- 
ter intentions on the person of the fugitive. 
I'he object of his rapacny or revenge being 
nearly overtaken, a shepherd undertakes to 
mislead the pursuer, who comes in sight just 
as the object of his pursuit disappears, and 
greets the shepherd thus : — 

"PURSUER. 

Good morrow, shepherd, and my friend, 
Saw you a young man this way riding : 

With long black hair, on a bob-taiTd mare. 
And I know that I cannot be far behind 
him? 

THE SHEPHERD. 

Yes I did see him this way riding. 
And vvhat did much surprise my wit, 

The man and the mare flew up in the air. 
And 1 see, and 1 see. and I see her yet. 

Behind yon white cloud I see her tail wave. 
And I see, and I see, and I see her vet 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



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Ttie tune of these verses is an extremely 
Roixi one, and Albin Kuinsay has adapted a 
barchanttlian scuik to it with some success; 
but we should have thanked him much had 
he taken the trouble to preserve the orij^iiial 
Ifffend of thft old minstrel. The Valuable and 
learned friend to whom we owe this mutilated 
account of it, has often heard it suns among 
tiie High Jinks of Scottish lawyers of the last 
geiierution. 



Note C. 

JOBKPtt RiTSON. 

" — Keglpcting, in literary d^ba.te, the cour- 
tesies of ordinary society "—P. i^2. 

For example, in quoting a popular sons, well 
known by the name of Magpie Lauder, the 
editor of the Keliques has given a line of the 
Dame's address to the merry minstrel, thus :— 

•• Gin ye be Rob, I've heard of you, 
You dwell upon the Border." 

Ritson insisted the genuine reading was, 

" Come ye frae the Border T" 

And he expatiates with great keenness on the 
crime of the Bishop's having sophisticated the 
text, (of which he produces no evidence.) to 
favour his opinion, that the Borders were a 
favourite abode of the minstrels of both kinR- 
doiiis. The fact, it is believed, is undoUbte<l, 
and the one reading seems to support it as 
well as the other. — [Joseph Kitson died in 
1803.J 



Note D. 

"A MKRK ( ROWDER UPON AN UNTUNED FIDDLE " 

P. 464. 
In Fletcher's comedy of " Monsieur Tho- 
mas," such a fiddler is questinned as to the 
ballads he is best versed in, and replies, 

" Under your mastership's correction I can 
sins, 
'The Duke of Norfolk,' or the merry ballad 
01 ' Divius and Lazarus;' 'The Rose of 

England ;' 
' In Crete, where Dedimus first began ;' 
'Jonas his crying out against Coventry.' 

Ihomas Excellent! 
Rare matters all. 
Fidiikr. ' Mawdlin the Merchant's Daugh- 
ter;' 
'The Devil and ye Dainty Dames.' 
Tfiomas. Rare still. 

Fiddler. ' The Landing of the Spaniards 
at Bow, 
With the bloody battle at Mile-end.'" 

The poor minstrel is described as accompany- 
ing the young rake in his revels. Laun.'elot 
describes 

"The g:entleman himself, young Monsieur 
Thomas, 
Errant with his furious myrmidons- 
The fiery fiddler and myself— now singing, 
Now beating at the donrs," <kc 



Note E. 



MINSTRELS. 



P. 451. 



The "Song of the Traveller," an ancient 
tiiece lately discovered in the Cathedral Li- 
nrary of Kxeter, and published by the Rev. 
Mr. Coneybeare, in his Illustrations of Anglo- 
Saxon P(3etry (1826.) furnishes a most curious 
picture of the life of tlie Northern Scald, or 
Minstrel, in the high and palmy state of the 
profession The reverend editor thus trans- 
lates the closing lines : 

" llle est carissimus Terrse incolis 
Cui Deusaddidit Hominum imperiumgeren- 

dum, 
Quum llle eos [bardos] habeat caros. 
Ita conieantes cum oantileiiis feruntur 
Bardi hommiini per terras miiUas; 
Simiil eos remuneratur ob cantilenas pul- 

chras, 
Muneribus immensis, ille qui ante nobiles 
Vult judicium suum ext(dlere, dignitatem 

suslinere. 
Hubet llle sub cceIo stabilem famam." 

P. 22. 

Mr. Coneybeare contrasts this "flattering pic- 
ture" with the following " melancholy speci- 
men" of the Minstrel life of later times- 
contained in some verses bv Richard Sheale 
(the alleged author of the old Chevy Chase,) 
which are preserved in one of the Ashmolean 
MSS. 

"Now for the good cheere that I have had 

here, 
I give you hearty thanks with bowing of my 

shankes. 
Desiring you by petition to grant me such 

commission— 
Because my name is Sheale, that both for 

meat and meale. 
To you 1 may resort sum tyme for my com- 

forte. 
For I perceive here at all tymes is good 

cheere. 
Both ale, wyne, and beere, as hyt doth now 

appere, 
I perceive without fable ye keepe a good 

table. 
I can be contente, if hyt be out of Lent, 
A piece of beefe to take my honger to 

aslake. 
Both mutton and Veale is gotide for Rycharde 

Sheale ; 
Though I looke so grave, I were a veri 

knave, 
If I wold thinke skome ether evenynge or 

morne. 
Beyns in honger, of fresshe samon or kon- 

gar, 
I can fynde in my hearte, with my frendis 

to take a parte 
Of such us Godde shal sende, and thus I 

make an ende. 
Now farewel, good myn Hoste, I thank youe 

for you re coste 
Untyl another tyme, and thus do I ende my 

rynie." 

P. 28. 



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ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



461 



^ 



Note F. 

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 

P. 455. 

In evidence of what is sfateii in the text, the 
author wiiiiUI quote the iiiirodnctory stanza to 
a lorKotfen poem of Mickle. oriffin;illv pub- 
lished under the injudicious and equivocal 
tiile of 'The Concubine," but in subsequent 
editions called, ''Sir Martyn, or Tlie Progress 
of Dissipation." 

'• Awai<e. ve west winds, through the lonely 
dale. 
And. Fancy, to thy faery bower betake ; 
Even now. with balmy sweetness breathes 
the gale, 
Dimoling with downy wing the stilly lake ; 



Through the pale willows faltering whispers 

wake. 
And evening comes with locks bedropp'd 

with dew; 
On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly 

shake 
The wither'd ryegrass, and the hairbell 

blue. 
And ever and anon sweet MuUa's plaints 

renew." 

Mickle's facility of versification was so great, 
thai, beinu a printer hy profession, he fre- 
quently put his lines into types wiihout taking 
tlie trouble previou.sly to put them into writ- 
ing; thus uniting the composition of the au- 
thor with the mechanical operation which 
typographers call by the same name. 



ESSAY 



Imitations of the Ancient Ballad} 



The invention of printing necessarily occa- 
sioned the uownfall of the Order of Minstrels, 
already reduced to roiiteiii|it by their own had 
habits, by the disrepute attached to their pio- 
fes.^ion. and hy the laws calculated to repress 
their license. When the .Metrical Koiiiaiices 
were very many of I hern in the hands of every 
oue, the occijpatiiin of those who made tlieir 
living by recitiiisr them w:is in some desree 
alMjhslied. and the miiisirels either disappear- 
ed altogether, or sunk into mere iiiu.>icians, 
whose utmost acquaintance wiiii poetry was 
bema able to sins; a ballad. Perhaps old An- 
thony, who acquired, from the song which he 
accounted his masterpiece, the naiiie of An 
Viuny Now Now. was oi.e of the la.st of this 
class in the capital ; nor dues the tenor of his 
poetry evince whether it w:is his own compo- 
sition or that of some other. 2 

But the taste for popular poetry did not de- 
cay with the chiss of men by whom it had 
been for some generations priictised and pre- 
served. Not only did the simple old ballads 
retain their ground, thousrh circulated by the 
new art of printing, instead of l)eing preserved 
by recitation; but m the Garlands, and similar 



1 This riway was written in April 1830, aiiri forms a con- 
tinuation of the " R.-m irkH on Popular Poeiry " -Ed. 

a Hr miaht be sup;>o««l a loniemporary of Henry VIII 
if the Ereetin-; whiih he pretends lo have ujven lo ihal 
monarch is of hiH own compoaition. and spoken in hi^ owi 
penoo. 

"Good morrow lo our noble kinz, quoth I^ 
Good morrow, quoth he. to ihou : 
And (hen he aaid to .Anthony, 
O Auihony now now now." 



collections for general sale, the authors aimed 
at a more ornamental and regular style of 
poetry than had been attempted by the old 
minstrels, whose com[)osition. if not extempo- 
raneous, was seldom committed to writing, 
and was not, therefore, susceptible of accu- 
rate revision. Tins was the more necessary, 
as even the [lotiuhir poetry was now feeling 
the effects arising from the advance of know- 
ledge, and the revival of the study of the 
learned lamruaffes. with all the elegance and 
retinemenl which it induced. 

In short, the gener.d (irosress of the country 
led to an improvement in the department of 
(.opular poetry, tending both to soften and 
melodise the language employed, and to orna- 
ment the diction beyond that of the rude 
minstrels, to whom such topics of coiiiposilion 
had been originally abandoned The mono- 
tony of the ancient recitals was, for the same 
causes altered and improved upon. The eter- 
nal descriptions of battles, and of love dilem- 
mas, which, to satiety, filled the old romances 
with trivial repetition, was retrenched. If 
any one wishes to compare the two eras of 
lyrical poetry, a few verses taken from one 
of the late.-t minstrel ballads, and one of the 
earliest ihat weie written for the press, will 
afford him, in some degree, the power of (lo- 
ins so 

I he rude lines from .Aiitliony Now Now, 
which we have jiisl quoted, may. for example, 
be compared, as Rii.son requests, witti the or- 
namented commencement of the ballad of 
Fair Rosamond ; — 



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•• When as Kitis: Henry ruled this land, 
'The second of that name. 
Besides (us queen he dearly loved 
A f;nr and comely dame. 

"Most peerless was her beauty found. 
Her favour, and her fice ; 
A sweeter creature in the world 
Could never pruice embrace. 

"Her crisped locks, like threads of gold, 
Appear'd to each man's si^'ht; 
Her sparkiins eyes, like orient pearls, 
Did cast a heavenly lipht. 

"Tlie blood within her crystal cheeks 
Did such a colour drive. 
As thoush tlie lily and the rose 
For mastership did strive." i 

It may he rash to affirm, that those who 
lived by sin^ins this more refined poelrv,were 
a class of men dilferent from the ancient min- 
strels; but It anpears, that both tlie name of 
the professors, and the character of the -Min- 
strel poetry, had sunk in reputation. 

The facdiiy of versification, and of poetical 
diction, is decidedly m favour of the moderns, 
as miffhi reasonalily be expected from the im- 
proved taste, anil enlarged knowledge, of an 
ase which abounded to such a desree in poe- 
trv. and of a cliaracter S(» imaginative as was 
the Elizal)etliaii era. The poetry addressed 
to the po|iulace, and enjoyed by them alone, 
viiis animated hy the s[)irit that was breathed 
around We may cite Sliaks[)eaie's unques- 
tionahle and decisive evideiK^e m this respect. 
Ill Twdllh Nhjiil he describes a popular ballad, 
viitli a beauty and precision which no one hut 
himself (■oiiid have atti.ved to its character: 
and the whole (M)nsiilutes the si longest appeal 
in favour of that species tif poetry which is 

written to suit t^he taste of the publm in ge- ; g,,,,,^^^,,^^ u. regret when" he compared .... 
iieral.and is^ most naturally preserved by oral ^^^^^^^ wrought and richlv ornamented poetry 
tradilion. But theiemarkable part of the;,,,- ,„^^ „„.„ ^,„,g_ .^^jj ^^^^ ^„,j^,. ,^,j^ „„„.^ 

enerKetic diction of Chevy Chase. His words. 



The song, thus beautifully prefaced, is as 
follows : 

" Come away, C(mie away, death. 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 

Kly away, fly away, breath; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 
" Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my black coffin let there be stiown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be 

thrown : 
A thousand, thousand sighs to save, 

Lay nie, 0, where 
Sad true lover never find my grave, 
To v/eep there." 2 

On comparing this love elegy, or whatever 
it may be entitled, with the ordinary, and 
especially the earlier popular poetry. 1 cannot 
help thinking that a great difference will he 
observed in the structure of the verse, the 
character of the sentiments, the ornaments 
and refinement of the language. Neither in- 
deed, as might be expected from the progress 
of human affairs, was the change in the popu- 
lar style of poetry achieved without some 
disadvantages, which counterbalanced, in a 
certain degree, the superior an and exercise 
of fancy which had been introduced of late 
times. 

The expressions of Sir Philip Sidney, an 
unquestionable judge of poetry, flourishing in 
Elizabeth's golden reign, and drawing around 
him, like a magnet, the most distintfUished 
poets of the age, amongst whom we need only 
name Shakspeare and Spenser, still show 



ciicuni!- 


;irice IS, 


sunu bv 


Kes'e t 


all parii 


■III;, IS 1 


jostiliei 
lar ball, 
douhlle,!: 
bu; IS r 


id of III 
s. both 
.iher a 


lad-a 1 


)Ve son^ 


ginalive figiues 
and intelligible 
be compared t 



it when the sons is fictuall 
clown, it diU'ers in almost 
1 wliMl. ue iiiiiiht have been 

r-arly period It is simple, 
structure and pliraseolouv, 
e song than a minstrel bal- 



ch:iracter. may nevertheU 
o any ihiiia rather than the 
boldness <if the (ireceding age, and resembles 
liothmg le.ss thaii llie oidmary miiislrel ballad. 
The ordinal. Iliouah so well known, may be 
here quote.d. for the purpose of showing wli;il 
was, m Shakspeare 's lime, regarded as the 
poetry of "the old age " Almost every one 
has the pas.sage by heart, yet I must quote it, 
because there seems a marked difference be- 
tween the species of poem which is described, 
and that which is sung: 



i. 



" Mark it, Caesario ; it is old and plain : 
I'he spinsters and the knilteis in the sun. 
And the free maids, that weave their thread 

with bones, 
Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love. 
Like the old age." 



often quoteil. cannot yet be dispensed with 
the present occasion. They are a chapter in 
the history of ancient poetry. " Certainly," 
says the brave knight, " 1 must confess my 
own barbarousness; I never heard the old 
song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not 

Kii lis iiiiii- iiiy !,(;;„-[ niore moved than with a trumpet. 

very sinipie ^„j ^^^ ^ ,g g^„^ ^^^ g,,,,,,^ ,,|j„,, (.lov^j^jr. 
iiieiess ^,^1 ^^^ loiigher voice than rude style, which 
being so evil apparelled in the dust and cob- 
webs of that uncivil age, what would it work, 
trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Piii- 
dar."3 

If we inquire more particularly what were 
the peculiar charms by which the old minstrel 
balliid produced an effect like a trumpet-sound 
upon the bosom of a real son of chivalry, we 
may not be wrong in ascribing it to the ex- 
treme simplirity with which the narrative 
moves forward, neiileciiiig all the more minute 
ornaments of speech and diction, to tlie grand 
object of enforcing on the hearer a striking 
and affecting catastrophe. The author seems 
too serious in his wish to affect the audience, 
to allow himself to bo drawn aside by any 
thing which can, either by its tenor, or ihe 
manner in which it is spoken, have the per- 



M7. 



3 Sir Philip Sidnty'n Defrine of Poesy. 



y 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



4G3 



yprse effect of distracting attention from the 
catastrophe. 

Such grind and serious beauties, however, 
ocrnrred but rarely to the old minstrels ; and 
in order to Tmd tiiein, it became necessary to 
strnafgle itiroagh lous^ passai^es of monotony, 
lan^'uor. and inanity. Unfortunately it also 
happened, that those who, like Sidney, could 
ascertain, feel, and do full justice to the beau- 
ties of the hemic ballad, were few. compared 
to the numbers who cnuld be sensible of the 
trite verhuiiji: of a bald passa-^e, or the luili- 
cri>us t'ifeci of an absurd rhyme In England, 
acciirdiiigly. the populur balhid fell into con- 
tempt duiiiis the seveireenth century; and 
and aliliougii m remote counties i it.s inspira- 
tion was occasionally tlie source of a few 
verses, it -seems to have h;'Coine almost en- 
tirely obsolete in the capital. Even the Civil 
Wars, which aave so mucti occasion for poe- 
trv, produced rather song and satire, than the 
ballad or popular epic The curious reader 
inav satisfy himself on this point, should he 
wish to asceriaiii the truth of the alleKution, 
by looking through D'Urfeys large and curious 
colleciioh.2 wheii he will be aware that the 
few ballads whicii it contains are the most 
ancient productmns in the book, and very sel- 
dom lake their dale after the coinmeucemeut 
of ihe seventeenth century. 

In Scotland, on the contrary, the old min- 
strel ballad long continued to preserve its 
popularity. Even the last contests of Jaco- 
bin mii were recited with great vigour iu bal- 
lads of tne time, the authors of some of which 
are known and remembered ; nor is there a 
more spirited ballad preserved than that of 
Mr. Skirvniif.s (fattier of Skirving the artist,) 
up.iu tne battle of Prestonpaus, so late as 
\',\b. But this was owins: to circumstances 
connected with the habits of the people in a 
reiiio:e and rude couuirv. which could not 
exist 111 t.iC riciier and wealthier provinces of 
Ensland. 

On the whole, however, the ancient Heroic 
ballad, :is it was called, seemed to he fast de- 
claiiiig among tiie more enlightened and lite- 
rary part of both countries; and if retained 
bv the lower classes m Scotland, it had in Eng- 
land ceased to exist, or degenerated in dog- 
gerel of the last degree of vileness. 

Subjecis the most interestiii£ were aban- 
doned to the poorest rhymers, and one would 
have thousht tiiat, as in an ass-race, the prize 
had been destined to the slowest of those who 
coiiipeied for the prize. The melancholy fate 
of Miss Kay .4 who fell bv tne hands of a fran- 
tic lover, could only inspire I he Grub Street 
muse Willi such verses as these, — thai is, if I 
remember them correctly : 

" A Sandwich favourite was this fair, 
Anil her he dearly loved ; 
By wiiiim six children had, we hear; 
'Tins story fatal proved. 

"A clergyman. O wicked one, 
In Covent Garden shot her; 

1 A curioas ami Bpiriled specimen occurs in Cornwall, 
a» lalf aa llie trial of ihe Bishojis before Ihe Revolution. 
The l're:.idLiit of ilie Royal Society of Loiidon (Jlr. Davies 
U Ibert) tias not diBdaiuud the trouble of pteserviofc it from 
otilivoii. 

3 VMs to Purge Melauchuly. 



^io time to cry upcm her God. 
It's hoped He's not forgot her." 

If it be true, as in other cases, that when 
things are at the worst they must mend, it 
was certainly time t(» expect an amelioration 
in the department in which such doggerel 
passed current. 

Accordingly, previous to this time, a new 
species of poetry seems to have arisen, which, 
in some cases, endeavoured to pass itself as 
the production of genuine aniiquity, and. m 
others, honestly avowed an attempt to emulate 
the merits and avoid the errors with vvhiith 
the old ballad was eiicumlieied ; and in the 
effort to acctmiplish this, a species of compo- 
sition was discovered, which is capable of be- 
ing subjected to peculiar rules of criticism, 
and of exhibiting excellences of its own. 

In writing for the use of the general reader, 
rather than the poetical antiquary. 1 shall he 
readily excused from entering into any inquiry 
respecimg the authors who first sho^eil the 
way 111 this peculiar department of modem 
poetry, which 1 may term the imitation of the 
old ballad, especially that of the latter or 
Elizabethan era. One of the olde.st, according 
to my recoUeciioii. which pretends to engraft 
modern refinement upon ancient simplicity, is 
extremely beauiiful. both from the words, and 
the simple and affecting melody to vvhich they 
are usually sung. The tule is '-Lord Henry 
and Fair Catherine." It begins thus : 

" In ancient days, in Britain's isle. 
Lord Henry well was known ; 
No kQight in all the land more famed, 
Or more deserved reiio-vn. 

"His thoughts were all on honour bent. 
He ne'er would stoop to love : 
No lady in the land had power 
His frozen heart to move." 

Early in the eighteenth century, this peculiar 
species <if composition became pt)pular. We 
find Tickell. the friend of Addison, who pro- 
duced the beautiful ballad '• Of Leinster famed 
for maidens fair," Mallet, Goldsmith, Shen- 
stone, Percy, and many others, followed an 
example which had much to recommend it, 
especially as it presented considerable facili- 
ties to those who wished, at as little exertion 
of trouble as possible, to attain for themselves 
a certain degree of literary reputation. 

Before, however, treating of the professed 
imitators of Ancient Ballad Poetry, I ought to 
say a word upon those who have written their 
imitatitms with the preconceived purpose of 
passing them for ancient. 

There is no small degree of cant in the 
violent invectives with which impostors of 
this nature have been assailed. In fact, the 
case of each is special, and ought to he sepa- 
rately considered, according to its own cir- 
cumstances. If a young, perhaps a female 
author, chooses to circulate a beautiful poem, 
we will suppose that of Hardyknule, under 
the disguise of antiquity, the public is surely 

3 See Hogg's Jacobite Relics, vol. \—Ed. 

4 Mits Ray, the beautiful mistress of the Earl of Sand- 
wier, then First Lord of the Admiralty, was asaasBinaled 
by Mr. Hackman, " in a fit of fr;inlic jealous love," as 
Boswell expresses it, lo 1779. See Croker's Boswell, vol, 
iv. p. 234 —Ed. 



\ 



\ 



464 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



more enriched by the contribution tlian in- 
jured by the deception.! It is hardly possible. 
indeed, without a power of poetical genius. 
and acquaintance with ancient language and 
manners possessed by very few, to succreed in 
deceiving those who "have made this branch 
of literature their study. The very desire to 
unite modern refinement with the wrve of tUe 
ancient minstrels, will itself betray tlie mas- 
querade. A minute acquaintance with ancient 
customs, and with ancient history, is also de- 
manded, to sustain a part which, as it must 
rest on deception, cannot be altogether an 
honourable one. 

Two of the most distinguished authors of 
this class have, in this manner, been detected ; 
being deficient in the knowledge requisite to 
support their genius in the disguise they me- 
ditated Hardyknute, for instance, already 
mentioned, is irreconcilable with all chrono- 
logy, and a chief with a Norwegian name is 
siranaely introduced as the first of the nobles 
brousht to resist a Norse invasion, at the bat- 
tle of Largs : the " needlework so rare," intro- 
duced by the fair authoress, must have been 
certainly long po.sterior to the reign of Alex- 
ander III. In Chatterton's ballad of ''Sir 
Charles Baudwin," we find an anxious attempt 
to represent the composition as ani'ieiit. and 
some entries in the public accounts ol' Bristol 
were appealed to in corroboration. But nei- 
ther was this ingenious but most unhappy 
young man. with all his powers of poetry, and 
with the antiquarian knowledge winch he had 
collected with indiscnininating but astonish- 
ing research, able to impose on that part of 
the public qualified to judge of the noiiiiiosi- 
tioiis. which it had occurred to liim to pass 
otf as those of a monk of the 14th century. 
It was m vain that he in each word doubled 
the consonants, like the sentinels of an endan- 
gered army. The art used to disguise and 
mispell the words only overdid what was in- 
tended, and atforded sure evidence that the 
poems published as antiques had been, in fact, 
tampered wiih by a modern artist, as the 
newiy forged medals of modern days stand 
convicted of imposture from the very touches 
of the file, by which there is an attempt to 
imitate the cracks and fissures produced by 
the hammer upon the original. 2 

I have only met, m my researches into these 
matiers. with one [loem, winch, if it had been 
produced as ancient, could not have been de- 
tected on internal evidence. It is the "War 
Song upon the victory at Brunnanburg, trans- 
lated from the Amrlo-Saxon into Anglo-Nor- 
man." by the Riglit Honourable Joiin Hook- 
ham Frere. See Ellis's Specimens of Ancient 
English Poetry, vol. 1. \i. 32. The accomplish- 
ed Editor tells us. that tins very singular poem 
was intended as an imitation of the style and 
language of the fourteenth century, and was 
written during the controversy occasioned by 
the poems attributed to Rowley. Mr. Ellis 
adds, "the reader will probably hear with 
some surprise, that this singular instance of 
critical ingenuity was the composition of an 
Eton schoolboy." 

The author may be permitted to speak as 



thr 



am.«ay's Tea-table Mucell 



an artist on this occasion, (disowning, at the 
same time, all purpose of imposition,) as hav- 
ing written, at the request of the late Mr, 
Kitsoii, one or two things of this kind ; among 
others, a continuation of the romance 01 
Thomas of Ercildoune, the only one which 
chances to be preserved. 3 And he thinks 
himself entited to state, that a modern poet 
engaged in such a task, is much in the situa- 
ion of an architect of the present day, who. 
f acquainted with his profession, finds no 
difficulty in copying the external forms of a 
Gothic castle or abbey; but when it is com- 
pleted, can hardly, by any artificial tints or 
cement, supply the spots, weather-stains, and 
hues of different kinds, with which time alone 
had invested the venerable fabric which he 
desires to imitate. 

Leaving this branch of the subject, in which 
the difficulty of passing off" what is modern for 
what is ancient cannot be matter of regret, 
we may bestow with advantage some brief 
consideration on the fair trade of manufac- 
turinir modern antiques, not for the purpose 
of passing them as contraband goods on the 
skilful antiquary, but m order to obtain the 
credit due to authors as successful imitators 
of the ancient sim()licity. while their system 
admits of a considerable infusion ormoilerti 
refinement. Two classes of imitation may be 
referred to as belonging to this species of 
composition When they approach each oilier, 
there may be some difficulty in assignms to 
iiulivuluai poems their peculiar character, but 
ill general the difference is distinctly marked. 
The distinction lies betwixt the authors of 
bailads or legendary poems, who have at- 
tempted to imitate the language, the manners, 
and the sentiments of the ancient poems 
which were their prototypes; and those, on 
the contrary, who. without endeavouring to 
do so, have struck out a particular path for 
themselves, which cannot, with strict pro- 
priety, be termed either ancient or ni<v 
dern." 

In the actual imitation of the ancient ballad, 
Dr. Percy, whose researches made him well 
acquainted with that department i>f poetry, 
was peculiarly successful. The " Hermit of 
Warkworlh." the " Childe of Ella," and other 
minstrel tales of his composition, must always 
be remembered with fondness by those who 
have perused them m that period of life when 
the feelings are strong, and the taste for poe- 
try, esitecially of this simple nature, is keen 
and poignant' This learned and amiable pre- 
late was also remarkable for his power of 
restoring the ancient bnllad, by throwing in 
touches Of poetry, so adapted to its tone and 
tenor, as to assiinilate with its original struc- 
ture, and impress every one who considered 
the subject as being coeval with the rest of 
the piece. It must he owned, that such free- 
doms, when assumed by a professed antiquary, 
addressins him.self to antiquaries, and for the 
sake of illustrating literary antiquities, are 
subject to great and licentious abuse ; and 
herein the severity of Rit.son was to a certain 
extent justified. But when tlie license is 
avowed, and practised without the intention 



n, Scott's Poetical Works, 



z 



It" 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 465 



^ 



to deceive, it cannot be objected to but by were perhaps too rnvsticyl and too nhrnnt- 
scrupulous pedantry. yet if it be the purpose of this kind of l.ailaii 

1 U.' (Kiel, perhaps, most capable, by verses, poetry powerfully to excite llie imaeination 
lilies, even sinjileword.s, to reUeve and heislit- with(»ut preiendiiis to satisfy ir few persons 
en the rharacter of ancient poetry, was the have succeeded better than' this "ifted hdv 
."^coliish h.ird Robert Burns. We are not here whose volume is peculiarly fit to be read in ;i 
speakiiiar of the avowed lyrical poems of his lonely house by a decaviiiff lamp 
own composition, winch lie communicaled to As we have already hinted, a numerous 
Mr Geoit'e rhoinson, but of ihe manner in class of the auitiors (some of them of the 
which he recomposed and repaired the old very first class) who condescend to imitaie 
sonars and frai^menls for the collection of the simplicity of ancient poetry, gave Iheni- 
Johnson ' and others, when, if his memory selves no trouble to observe the costume 
supplied the tiieme. or seneral subject of the style, or manner, either of the old minstrel or 
sons, such as it existed in Sc^iitisli lore, his ballad-slii?er. but assumed a structure of a 
peiiius contributed that part which was to, separate and peculiar kind, which could not 
eive lite and immoriality to the whole. If be correctly termed either ancient or modern 
this praise should he thought extravagant, all housrh made the vehicle of beauties which 
the reader may compare lis splendid lyric, were common to both. The discrepancy be- 
•' My heart's III the Hi-lilands." with tiie tame tween the mark which they avowed "their 
and s<;arcely halt-intehiu'ible reniains o( that purpo.se of shooting at. and that at which they 
sons as preserved by .Mr. Peter Buchan. Or. really took aim. is best illustrated by a pro- 
wiiat IS perhaps a siill more magnificent ex- ^ duct ion of one of the most di.stiugui'shed of 
ampie ot what we mean. " .Macpherson's Fare- ! rheir number. Goldsmith describes the voun^ 
well." with all its spirit and srandeur, as re- family of the Vicar of Wakefield, as aniusin? 
paired by Bums, may be ci>lla ed with the themselves with Coiiversm? about poetry. Mr. 
oriKiiial poem called " .Macpherson's Lament.'' Burchell observes, that the British poets. wli(» 
orsonietim.sthe 'Ruffian's Kant." In Burns' imitated the clas.sics, have especially ccnitri- 
biilliaiit rifacimenlo, tiie same .strain of wild buted to introduce a fal.se ta.ste. by loading 
ideas is expressed as we find in the original: their lines with epithet.s. so as to present a 
but wi h an infu-ion ol the sava-e and im- I combination of luxuriant images, wiihout plot 
passioned spirit of Highland chivalry, which | or connexion.— a string of epithe's that im- 
gives a splendour t<i the composition, ol which 1 prove the sound, without carrying on the 
we tinil not a trace in the rudeness oi the an- .sense But when an example of jiopular poe- 
cienl diliy. I can bearwiiness lo ihe older | try is produced as free from ihe fault which 
verses having been current while I was a I rhe critic has just censured, it is the well- 
child, bu' 1 never knew a 1 ne of the inspired I kn< 
edition of the Ayrshire bard iimil the appear- 
ance of Johnson's .Mu.seUiii 



Besiiles Percy. Burns, and othei-s. we must 
noi omit to nieniion .Mr. !■ inlay, whose beau- 
tiful song. 



■['here ca'iie 
slain," 



knight from the field of the 



is so happily descriptive of antique maimers ; 
or Mickle, whose accurate and interesting 
imitations of the ancient ballad we have al- 
ready mentioned with approliation in the 
former tlssay on Ballad Composition. These, 
with others of modern date, at the head of 
whom we must place Thomas Moore, have 
aimed at striking the ancient harp with the 
same bold and rough note to which it was 
awakened by the ancient minstrels. Southey. 
Wordsworth, and other disiinguished names 
of the present century, have, in repeated in- 
stances, dignified this branch of literature; 
but no one more than Coleridge, in the wild 
and imaginative tale of the " Ancient Manner, 



n and beautiful poem of Edwin and An- 
gelina! which, in felicitous attention to the 
language, and m fanciful ornament of imagery, 
is as unlike to a minstrel ballad, as a lady 
assuming the dress of a Shepherdess for a 
masquerade, is different from the actual Sisly 
of Salisbury Plain TickeUs beauiilul ballad 
is equally formed upon a pastoral, sentimental, 
and ideal model, not, however, less beautifully 
executed; and the attention of Addison's 
friend had been probably directed to the bal- 
lad stanza (for the stanza is all which is imi- 
tated) by the praise bestowed on Chevy Chase 
ill the Spectator. 

Upon a later occasion, Ihe subject of Mallet's 
fine poem, Kdwin and Emma, being absolutely 
rural in itself, and occurring at the hamlet of" 
Bowes, in Yorkshire, might have seduced the 
pf>et from the bean ideal which he had pic- 
tured to himself, into something more imme- 
diately allied to comiiuni lite But Mallet was 
not a man to neglect what was esteemed 
fashionable, and piMjr Hannah Railton and her 
lover Wrighlson were enveloped in the elegant 



^ 



ere enve 

'."ich "displays "sTm'u'ch beautV wit'h "such \ ^."' ""^«' ^'\^^'^'y apperlainmg lo E-lwinand 
' - ■ Emma; for the similes, reflections, and sug- 

gestions of the poet are. in fact, too intrusive 
and t(K) well said to sutfer the reader to feel 
the full taste of the tragic tale. 1 he verses 
are doubtless beautiful, but I must own the 
simple prose of the Curate's letter, who gives 
the narrative of the tale as it really happened, 
has to me a tone of serious veracity more 
affecting than Ihe ornaments of Mallet's fic- 
tion. The same author's ballad, '• William and 
Margaret," has, in some degree, the same 

fault. A disembodied spirit is not a person 

lately before whom the living sjiectator takes leisure 
to make remarks of a moral kind, as 



eccentricity. We should act most unjustly in 
this department of Scottish ballad poetry, not 
to mention the names of Leydeii, Higg. and 
Allan Cunningham. They have all three ho- 
noured their country, by arriving at distinction 
from a humble orisjin. and there is none of 
them under whose hand the ancieni Scottish 
harp has not sounded a bold and distinguished 
tone. Miss Anne Bannerman likewise should 
not be foruotlen, whose - Tales of Superstition 
and Chivalry" appeared about 1802. They 



2E 



\ 



A 



^ 466 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



"So will the fniresf, fare appear. 
V\ hen youth and years are flown, 
And siirh the robe that Kiiijs itiust wear 
Wlieii death has reft their crown." 

Upon the whole, the hallad, Ihoush the best 
(if Mallet's vvritinii. is r.eriainly inferior to its 
orie;inaI. whicli 1 presume to "he the very fine 
ant) even territic old Scottish tale, heg^ninin^, 

*' There came a g;h<ist t« Margaret's door." 

It may lie found in Allan Kamsay's "Tea-table 
Miscellany." 

We need (uily stop to mention another very 
bi-aniiful piece of this fanciful kind, by Dr. 
CartwriKht, called Aniiiii and Elvira, contain- 
ioK some exrelU'iit [loi-lry, expressed with 
unusual felicity. 1 have a vision of haviiiff 
met this accomplished setitleman in my very 
early youth, and am the less likely to he mis- 
taken, as he was the first livms poet 1 recol- 
lect to have seen ' His pnt-m had the distin- 
guished honour to be much admired hy our 
celelirated philosopher. I)u<rald Stewart^ who 
was wont to quote with much pathos, the pic- 
ture of resignalKHt lu the following stanza: — 

" And while his eye to Heaven he raised, 
lis silent waters stole away. "2 



After enntneratin? so many persons of im- 
douhted genius, who have cultivated the 
Arcadian style of pi-etry, (for lo such it may 
lie compared.) it woiikl he endless to enume- 
rate the various Sir Klilreds of the hills and 
downs wlmse stones were woven into Ityf.nd- 
arit lolts — which came at length to he the 
name assisriied to this half-aticient half-mo- 
dern style of romposition. 

In general I may observe, that the supposed 
facility of this species of composition, the 
alluriiig simplicity of which was held suffi- 
cient to support It. afforded great attractions 
for those whose ambition led them to exercise 
their untried talents in verse, but who were 
desirous to do so with the least possible ex- 
pense of thought The task seems to present, 
at. least to the inexperienced acolyte of the 
Muses, the same advanlases which an iiis'ru- 
liieiit of swfct sound and small com|)ass offers 
to thosf who begin their studies in music. In 
either case, however, it Irequently happens 
that the scholar, getting tired of the pallinK 
and monotonous character of the poetry or 
ni«isic which he produces, becomes ilesiroiis 
to strike a more mdepenileiit note, even at the 
risk of its being a more difficult one. 

The same simplicity involves an inconve- 
nience fatal to the continued popularity of 
any species of poeiry. by exposing it in a pe- 
culiar degree to ridicule and lo parody. Dr. 
Johnson, whose style of poetry was of a very 
different and more stately description, could 
ridicule the ballads of Percy, in sucli stanzas 
as these : — 



1 Ifl am right in what must be a very early recollKlion, 
1 saw Mr. CariwriRht (then a student of medicine at the 
Eilintiurgh University) at ilie house of my maternal 
grandfather, John Rutherfonl, M.D. 



X 



2 Hapfjily altered by an ai 
" Tlie bilcul wa 



"The tender infant, meek and mild. 
Fell down ii[)on a stone: 
The niir^e took up the .squalling child. 
But still the child squalfd on ;" 

with various sli()shod imitations of the same 
quality 3 it did not require his talents to 
pursue this vein of raillery, for it was such as 
most men could mutate, and all could enjoy. 
It is, therefore, little wonderful that this sort 
of Composition should be repeatedly laid aside 
for considerable periods of tmie. and certainly 
as little so, that it should have been repeatedly 
revived, like some forgotten melody, and have 
again obtained stmie degree of popularity, 
until It sunk once more under stitire, as well 
as [laiddy, hut. above all, the effects of satiety. 

During the thirty years that I have paid 
some attention to literarv matters, the taste 
for the ancient ballad melody, and lor the 
closer or more distant imitation of that strain 
of poetry, has more than once arisen, and 
more than once subsided, m consequence, 
perhaps, of too unlimited indulgence. That 
this has been the case in otiier countries, we 
know ; for ttie Spanish poet, when he found 
that the beautiful Morisco rtmiances were ex- 
cluding all other topics, confers upon them a 
hearty malediction.'' 

A period when this particular taste for the 
potmlar hallad was m the most extravagant 
degree of fashion, became the occasion, unex- 
pectedlv indeed, of my deserting the profes- 
sion to which I was educated, and in which I 
had siiffitaently advantageous prospect^ for a 
person of limited ambiiion I have, m a former 
publication, undertaken to mention this cir- 
cumstance; and I will endeavour to do so 
with becoming brevity, and without more 
egniism than is positively exacted by the na- 
ture of the story. 

I may. in the first place, remark, that al- 
though the assertion litis been mtide, and that 
by persons who seemed satisfied with their 
authority, it is a mistake to suppose that my 
sitiiatiim in life or phice in society were mate- 
rially altered by such success as I attained in 
literary attempts. My birth, without giving 
the least pretension to distinction, w;is that 
of agentleman. and connected me with several 
res|)ect;ible families and ticcomplished (jer- 
soiis. My edu(;ation had been a good one, 
although 1 was deprived of i:s full benefit I 
indifferent health, just at the period ' 
ought to have been most sedulous in im- 
proving it The young men with whom I was 
brought up. and lived most familiarly, were 
those, who. from opportunities, birth, and 
talents, migli' be expected to mtike the great- 
est advances in the career for which v\e were 
all destined; and I have the pleasure still to 
preserve my youthful intimacy with no incon- 
siderable number of them, wlmm ilieir merit 
has carried forward to the highest honours 
of their profe.ssion. Neither was I in a situa- 
tion to be embarrassed by the res aricjusla 
domi, winch might have otherwise brought 



I by 
ill I 



especially annoyed, according to Boswell, 

lit my hat upon my head, 
And walked into ihe Strand, 
d there 1 met another man 
With his hat ill his hand."— £rf 
Iroduction to Loekharl's Spanish Pjlladn, 



"7 



A 



7 



z. 



^ 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



4G 



:\ 



:\ 



painful :ulditi(>ii:il tibstnictmns to a paili in | 
which progress is proverhiailv slow I enjoyed 
a moderafe de-ree of hiisiiiess for niy stand- 
in?, and tlie fnt-iidship of more than one per- 
si.n of consideraiKMi and influence elTiaently 
disposed to ad niv views in life. The private 
firtuiie. also, which I niisrlit expect, and finally 
inherited, from my fmiily, did not. indeed, 
anhiunt to affluence, hut placed me considera- 
bly beyond all apprehension of want. I rnen- 
tiiin these particulars merelv because they 
are true .\iaiiy belter men than myself have 
owed their rl^<e t'roin indigene* and obsciiriiy j 
to their own taleii's, which were, doubtless,! 
much more adeij'iate to the task of raisin? 
them than any wh ch I nossess. But althoush 
it would he absurd and umrracioiis in me to 
deny. Ilia! I owe lo literature many marks of [ 
dis'ini-ii.>u to which I could not otherwise 
hive aspired, and pari icuiarly that of securing: 
llie aci|Uaiii:illie. and even the friendship, of 
lilHiiy leiiiarkahle persons of the age. to whom 
I could not otherwise have made my way; it ' 
would, on the other hand, lie ridiculous to 
iiit'ecl gratitude to the i)uhlic favour, either; 
for my seiirnil position in society, or ihe; 
means' of snpjportin? it with decency, matters ' 
wiijrii had been otherwise secured under the 
usual chaiiCfS of human atfairs. Thus much 
I have thought it necessary to say upon a 
subject, which is, after all, oi' very little con- j 
sequence lo anv one hut myself. I proceeil to | 
del ail the circumstances which engaged me iQ ' 
literary pursuits. I 

Duraig the last ten years of the eighteenth 1 
ci-niiirv. the art of pueiry was at a remarkably ; 
low ebb III Britain. Hayiey, to wh(mi fashion | 
h.id some years before ascribed a higher de- 
gree of reputation than posterity has confirm- 
ed, had now lost his reputation for talent, I 
though he si ill lived beloved and respected as \ 
an amiable and arcoinplished man. The 
Bard of Memory slumbered on his laurels, 
and He of Ho|>e had .scarce he^uu tt) attract 
his share of public attention. Cowper, a poet | 
of deep feeling and brisht genius, was still 
alive, indeed; but the hypoclioudria. which' 
was Ins mental malady, inipedeil his pojiu- 
larily. Burns, whose genius our southern 
iteighhoiirs could hardly yet comprehend, had 
long confined himself lo song writing. Names 
which are now known and disiuiguished 
wherever the Knglish language is siioken, 
were then only beginning to be nienliuned; '■ 
and, unless among the small number of per- 
sons who habitually devote a part of their | 
leisure to literature, even those of Southey. 
Wordsworth, and (Coleridge, were still but 
little known. The realms of Parnassus, like 
many a kinstdum at the period, seemed to lie 
(»pen to the first bold itivader, whether he 
should he a daring usurper, or could show a 
legitimate title of sovereignty. 

As far hack as 1T88, a new species of litera- | 
tiire \wM-A\\ to be introduced into this country. ' 
Germany, long known as a powerful branch ! 
of ilie European confederacy, was then, for 
the first time, heard of as the cradle of a style \ 
of poetry and literature, of a kind much more ' 
analogous to that of Britain, than either the 
French, Spanish, or Italian schools, though 
all three had been at various times cultivated | 
and imitated among us. The names of Les- I 
sing, Klopstock, Schiller, and other German' 



poets of eminence, were only known in Bri- 
tain very imperfectly, " The Sorrows of Wer- 
ter' was the only composition that had attained 
any degree of popularity, and the succe.ss of 
that remarkable novel, notwithstanding the 
distinguished genius of the author, was re- 
tarded by the nature of its incidents. To the 
other compositions of Goethe, whose talents 
were destined to illuminate the age in which 
he flourished, the English remained strangers, 
and much more so to Schiller, Burger, and a 
whole cycle of foreigners of distinguished 
merit, i'he obscurity to which German lite- 
rature seemed to be condemned, did not arise 
from want of brilliancy in the lights l)y which 
It was illuminated, but from the palpable 
thickness of the darkness by which they were 
surrounded Frederick U" of Prussia had 
given a partial and ungracious testimony 
against his native language and native litera- 
ture, and impolitically and unwisely, as well 
as unjustly, had yielded to the French that 
suiie; lority in letters, which, after his death, 
paved Ihe way for their obtaining, for a time, 
an equal superiority in arms That great 
Prince, by setting the example of undervaluing 
his country in one resjiect, raised a belief in 
Its general inferiority, and destroyed the manly 
pride with which a nation is naturally disposed 
to regard its own peculiar manners and pecu- 
liar literature. 

Unmoved by the scornful neglect of its so- 
vereigns and nobles, and encouras^ed by the 
tide of native genius, which flowed in upon 
the nation. German literature began to assume 
a new, interesting, and highly impressive clia- 
rac;er. to which it became impossible for 
strangers to shut their eyes. That it exhibited 
the faults of exaggeration and false taste, al- 
most inseparable from the first attempts at 
the heroic and at the pathetic, cannot be de- 
nied. It was. in a word, the first crop of a 
rich soil, which throws out weeds as well a.s 
flowers with a prolific abundance 

It was so late as the 21st day of April. 1788, 
that the literary persons of Edinburgh, of 
whom, at that period. I am better qualified to 
speak than of those of Britain generally, ot 
especially those of London, were first made 
aware of the existence of works of genius ui 
a language cosnate with the English, and 
possessed of the same manly force of expres- 
sion. They learned, at the same time, that 
the taste which dictated the German compo- 
sitions 'vas of a kind as nearly allied to the 
English as their language. Those who were 
accustomed from their youth to admire .Millou 
and Shakspeare, became acquainted. I may 
say for the first time, with the existence of a 
race of poets who had the same lofty ambition 
to spurn the flaming boundaries of the uni- 
verse,' and investigate the realms of chaos 
and old night; and of dramatists, who, dis- 
claiming the pedantry of the unities, sought, 
at the expense of occasional improbabilities 
and extravagancies, to present life in its scenes 
of wildest cxintrast, and in all its boundless 
variety of character, mingling, without hesita- 
tion, livelier with more serious incidents, and 
exchanging scenes of tragic distress, as the>" 
occur in common life, with those of a connc 
teiideticy. This emancipation from the ruleu 

inoenia muuUi."— Z.ucr£<iiu. 



V 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



so servilely adhered to by the French school, 
and particularly by their dramatic poets, al- 
though it was attended with some disadvan- 
tages, especially the risk of extravagance and 
buinhast. was the means of givms free scope 
to the genius of Goethe. Schiller, and others, 
which, thus relieved from shackles, was not 
Ions in soaring to the liighest pitcli of poetic 
sublimity. The late venerable Henry Mac- 
kenzie, author of "The Man of Keeling," in 
an Essay upon the German Theatre, intro- 
duced his countrymen to l his new species of 
national literature, the peculiaiities of which 
he traced with equal truth and spirit, altlioiigh 
they were at that time known to him only 
through the imperfect and uncongenial me 
dium of a French translation Upon the dav 
already mentioned. (21st April 1788.) he reaii 
to the Royal So(;iety an Essay on German 
Literalure, which made much noise, and pro- 
duced a powerful effect. '•Germany," he ob- 
served, "in her literary aspect, presents her- 
self to observation in a singular point of view ; 
that of a country arrived at matnrily. along 
with the neighbouring nations, m the arts and 
sciences, in the pleasures and refinements of 
nianneis. and yet only in its infancy with re- 
gard to writings of taste and iniagmation. 
'I'his last path, Imwever, from these veiy cir- 
cmristances. she [Mirsues with an eiitliusiMsm 
which no other situation could perhaps have 
produced, the enthusiasm which novelty in- 
spires, and which the servility incident to a 
more cultivated and critical state of literature 
does not restrain." At the same time, the 
accomplished critic showed himself equally 
familiar with the classical rules of the French 
stage, and failed not to touch upon the ac- 
knowledged advantages which these produced, 
by the encouragement and regulation of taste, 
though at the risk of repressing genius. 

But it was not the dramatic literature alone 
of the Germans which was hitherto unknown 
to their neighbours— their lictitious narratives, 
tlieir ballad poetry, and other branches of their 
literature, which are particularly apt to bear 
the stamp of the extravagant and the super- 
natural, began to occupy the attention of the 
British literati. 

In lulinhurgh, where the remarkable coinci- 
dence between the German language and that 
of the Lowland Scottish, encouraged young 
men to approach this newly discoveretl spring 
of literature, a class was formed, of six or 
seven intimate friends, who proposed to make 
themselves acquainted with the German lan- 
guage. They were in the habit of living much 
together, and the tune they spent in this new 
study was felt as a period of great amusement. 
One source of this diversion was the laziness 
of one of their number, the present author, 
who, averse to the necessary toil of grammar 
and Its rules, was in the practice of fighting 
his way to the knowledge of the German by 
his acquaintance with the Scottish and Anglo- 
Saxon dialects, and. of course, frequently com- 
mitted blunders which were not lost on iiis 
more accurate and more studious companions. 
A more general source of amu.sement, was 
the despair of the teacher, on finding it im- 



lA 

^ Bioii 

^ well- 



1 Alexaniler Frawr TyUer, a Judge of Iht 
■ion by the title of Lent Woo<lhou.<elee. 
well-kuowii " HSeraeiits of Ueiieral History,' 



possible to extract from his Scottish studeii's 
the degree of sensibility necessary, as he 
thought, to enjoy the beauties of the author 
to whom he considered it pro()er first to intro- 
duce them. We were desirous to penetrate 
at once into the recesses of the Teutotiic lite- 
rature, and therefore were ambitious of perus- 
ing Goethe and Schiller, and others whose 
fame had been sounded by Mackenzie. Dr. 
Wijlicli. (a medical genileinan.) who was our 
teacher, was judiciously disposed tocommence 
our studies with the more simple diction of 
Gesner, and prescribed to us " The Death of 
Abel," as the produftion fnim which our Ger- 
man tasks were to be drawn. The pietislic 
style of this author was ill adapted to attract 
young persons of our age and disposition. We 
could no more sympathize with the overstraii*- 
ed sentimentality of Adam and liis familv, than 
we could have had a fellow-feeling with tiie 
jolly Faun of the same author, who broke his 
beautiful jug, and then made a song on it 
which might have affected all Staffordshire. 
To sum up the distresses of Dr WiUich. we. 
with one consent, vo'ed Abel an insiifferahle 
bore, and gave the pre-eminence in point of 
masculine character, to his brother Cain, or 
even to Lucifer himself When these jests, 
whioh arose out of the sickly monotony and 
alfected ecstasies of the poet, failed to amu.se 
us, we had lor our entertainment the unuMer- 
able .sounds manufactured by a Frenchman, 
our fellow-student, who, with' Hie economical 
purpose of learning two languages at once, 
was endeavouring to acquire Goriii;in. of which 
he knew nothing, by means of English, con- 
cerning which he was nearly as ignorant. 
Heaven only knows the notes which he utter- 
ed, in attempting, with unpractised organs, to 
imitate the gutturals of these two miractahle 
languages. At length, in the midst of much 
laughing and little study, most of us acquired 
some knowledge, more or less ex.ensive, of 
the German language, and selected for our- 
selves, some in the [ihilosophy of Kant, some 
m the more animated works of the German 
dramatists, specimens more to our taste than 
"The Death of Abel." 

About this period, or a year or two sooner, 
the accoiiifihshed and excellent Lord Wooil- 
houselee.i one of the friends of my youth, 
made a spirited version of " The Robbers" of 
Schiller, which I believe was the first piib- 
lished, though an English version appeared 
soon afterwards in London, as the metropolis 
then took the lead m every thing like literary 
adventure. The enthusiasm witii which this 
work was received, greatly iiicrensed the ge- 
neral taste for German compositions. 

Wfiile universal curiosity was thus distin- 
guishing the advancing taste for the German 
language and literature, the success of a very 
young student, in a juvenile piiblicai ion. seem- 
ed to show that the prevailing taste in that 
country might be easily employed as a formi- 
dable auxiliary to renewing the spirit of our 
own, upon the same system as when mt'duMl 
persims attempt, by the transfusion of b.oi.d, 
to pass into the veins of an aged and exhaust- 
ed patient, the vivacity of the circulation and 



irt of Si's- neiil as Prof.-; 
^or of Ihe burgh. He died i 
long emi. 



tlle Uui' 



lily of l-iiin- 



y^ 



r 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



liveliness of sensation which dislin^ush a 
yoiinsr subject. 'I'lie person wlio tiist attempt 
ed to intr.iiiuce sometliiiig like tlie Gerniaii 
taste into EiikIisIi fictitious drainatic; and poe- 
tical ciiiiiposition, alili()ii§rh Ins worl\s, wlien 
first published, engaged general atteiirion. is 
now coiii[iaratively forgotten. I mean Mat- 
thew Gregory Lewis, whose character ami 
literary hisiorv are so immediately connected 
witli the Mibject of which I am treating, that 
a few authentic particulars may be here in- 
seited by one to whom he was well known.' 

Lewis's rank in society was determined by 
his birth, which, at the same lime, assured Ins 
fortune His father was Under J>ecretary at 
War. at that time a very lucrative appoiiit- 
nit-nt. and the young poet was provided with 
a seat m Parliament as soon as Ins age per- 
miit. d him to fill it. But his miiid did not m- 
cliiie him to politics, or. if it did, they were 
not of the complexion which his father, at- 
tached to .Mr Piti's atlmimstration. would 
h.ive approved. He was. moreover, indolent, 
and though p"sse.«sed of aiiilities sufficient to 
conquer any difficulty which in(glit stand in 
the way of clas.-ical attainments, he preferred 
applying his exertions in a path where they 
were rewarded with more immediate ap- 
plause. As he completed his education 
abroad, he had an opiiortunity of indulging 
tiis iiiclmaiioii for the extraordinary and su 
peinalural. by wandering through the whole 
enchanted land of (jerman faery and diablene, 
not forgetting the paths of her en;husiastic 
tragedy and romantic poetry. 

V\ e are easily induced li) imitate what we 
admire, and Lewis early distinguished him- 
self by a romance in the Geruiaii laste. called 
'■ I he Monk." In this work, written in his 
twentieth year, and founded on the Eastern 
apoloiue of the Sanion Barsisa, the author 
iiurodiiced supernatural machinery with a 
?ouiageous consciousness of his own power 
to manage its ponderous strength, which com- 
m.'inded the respect of Ins reader. " The 
MoiiK'was published in 1795, and, though 
liable to the objections common to the school 
to vviiich It. belonged, and to others peculiar 
to Itself, placed its author at once high in the 
scale of men of letters. Nor can that be re- 
g.ifded as an ordinary exertion of genius, to 
wliicn ("liarles Fox paid the unusual compli- 
meiiL of crossing the House of Commons that 
he might congratulate tlie young author, 
whose work obtained high praise from many 
other aiile men of that abie lime. "I'he party 
winch approved '• The Monk" was at first su- 
f>ei lor 111 the lists, and it was some time before 
iiie aniinynious author of the " Pursuits of 
Literature" denounced as puerile and absurd 
I he su ei natural machinery winch Lewis bad 
111 roduced— 

■' I bear an English heart, 

L'nused at ghosts or rattling bones to start." 

Yet the acute and learned critic betrays some 
iiijtinsi.steucy in praising the magic of the 
Italian p<)ets, and complimenting Mrs. Kad- 
(tlitfe for her suci;ess in supernatural imagery, 
for which at the s.ime moinent he thus sternly 
censures her brother novelist. 

A more legitimate topic of condemnation was 



8«: mo.e of Lewis ii. tbe L\fe of Seult, vol. i 



. 8-X4. 



the indelicacy of particular passages The 
present author will hardly be deemed a wil- 
ling, or at least an interested ajMilogist for an 
offence equally repugnant to decency and good 
breeding But as Lewis at once, and with a 
good grace, submitted to the voice of censure, 
and expunged the olijeciionable passages, we 
cannot help considering the iiiaiiiier in wliich 
the fault was insisted on, after all the amends 
h;id been offered of winch the case could ad- 
mit, as in the last degree ungi-iieroiis and 
uncandid. The pertinacity with which liie 
passages so much found fault wih were dwelt 
upon, seemed to warrant a belief thai some- 
thing more was desired than the correction 
of the author's errors; and that, where the 
apologies of extreme youth, foreign eoiication. 
and ins ant siilmiission. were unable to satisfy 
the crnics' turv, they must have been deter- 
mined to act on the seventy of the old pro- 
verb. '• Confess and be hanged " Certain it is, 
that other persons, offenders in the same de- 
gree, hiive been permitted to sue out their 
pardon without either retracticm or palinode.2 

Another peccadillo of the author of ••The 
Monk" was his liavmg borrowed from .\lusaeus. 
and from the popular tales of the Germans, 
the singular and striking adventure of the 
'• Bleeding Nun." But the bold and free hand 
Willi whi(-h he traced some scenes, as well of 
natural terror as of ihat which arises from 
supernatural causes, shows distinctly that the 
plagiarism could not have been occasioned by 
any deficiency of invention on Ins part, though 
it might take place from wantonness or wil- 
fulness. 

In spite of the objections we have stated, 
'■The .Monk" was so highly popular, that it 
seemed to create an epoch in our literature. 
But the publi(; were chiefly captivated by the 
poetry wiUi which .Mr. Lewis had interspersed 
his prose narrative. It has now passed Iroiii 
recollection among the changes of literary 
taste; but many may reineuiber. as well as I 
do, the effect produced by the beautiful ballad 
of Durandar e," which liad the good fortune 
to be adapted to an air of great sweetness and 
pathos; by the ghost tale of '• Aioiizo and 
Imogiiie;" and by several other pieces of 
legendary poelry, which addressed themselves 
ill all the charms of novelty and of simplicny 
to a public who had lor a long time been un- 
used lo any regale of the kind. In Ins p.ietiy 
as well as his prose. .Mr. Lewis had been a 
successful imitator of the Germans, both in 
his attachment to the ancient ballad, and in 
the tone of superstition which they willingly 
mingle with it. New arrangements of the 
stanza, and a varied construction of verses, 
were also adopted, and welcomed as an addi- 
tion of a new string to the British harp. In 
this respect, the stanza in which "Alonzo the 
Brave" IS written, was greatly admired, and 
received as an improvemenl worihy of adop- 
tion into English poelry. 

In short. Lewi.s's works were admired, and 
the author became famous, not merely through 
his own merit, though that was of no mean 
quality, but because he had in some measure 
taken' the public by surprise, by using a style 
of composition, winch, like national nieliHii't;s, 
IS so congenial to the general tasie il.f.t, 



469 > 

Th« ^ 



3 See .\ppeiullX. Note li. 



\ 






7^ 

^ 470 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



though It palls by beiiis much hackneyed, it i Tliis idea was hurried into exHcuiiDii, in 
has oidy to he for a sliort lime forsoilen in conseijueiice of a temptation wliicli otiiers, as 
order lo recover its orisinal po[nilunty. I well as llie aiiihor. loiiiid it ditficiili to resist. 

It chanced tliat. while In- fame was at the {The celebrated ballad of " I.eiuiie." by Bnr- 
hishesl. Mr. f.ewis became almost a yearly i per, was about tins time iiiirodiiced into Eiiff- 
visitor 10 .Scotland, chietiv from attachment to ; land ; an J it is remarkable, that, written as 



the illusirions family of Argyle. '{'he writer 
of these remarks had the advantase of hein? 
made known to the most distinguished author 
of the (lay. by a lady wtio belongs by birth to 
that family, and is equally distinguished by her 
beauty and accomrilishinents 1 Out of tlii's ac- 
cidental acquaintance, which increased into a 
sort of iii'iiuacv. conse(iuences arose which 
altered almost all the .Scottish baliad-maker's 
future [irospeols in life. 

In early yoiuh I had been an eager student 
of Ballad Poeiry.and the tree is still in my 
recoiled ion, beiie;ilti which I lav and first en- 
tered upon the enrliaiitiiig [leru-^al of Percy's 
" Rehques of Ancient I'oeiry."^ all hough it 
has long perished m llie general blight which 
afiected the whole race of Oriental platanus 
to which it belonged 3 The tiiste of another 
per.son had strongly eiicoiiiiified my own 
researches into this species of legendary 
lore. But I had never dreamed of an at- 
tempt to imitate what gave me so much plea- 
sure. 

1 had, indeed, tried the metrical translations 
which were occasionally recommended to us 
at the Hiph School. I got credit for attempt- 
ing to do what was enjoined, but very little 
for the mode in which the task was perform- 
ed, and 1 used to feel n<rt a little mortified 
when my versions were placed in contrast 
Willi others of admitted merit. At one period 
of my schoollioy days 1 vvas so tar left to my 
own desires as to become guilty of Verses oil 
a riiunder-storm.'» which were much approved 
of. iiiiiil a malevolent ciitic sprung up. in the 
sliaiie of an apothecary's blue-buskilied wife, 
who affirmed that my most sweet poetry was 
stolen r'i'om an old magazine. 1 never forgave 
the imputation, and even now I acknowledge 
some resent ment agaiiisi the poor wcjuian's 
memory. She indeed accused me unjustly, 
wi.eii she said I had stolen my brooms ready 
made; but as 1 had. like iiiost premaHire 
poets, copied all the wnrds and ideas of which 
my verses consisted slie was so far right, I 
made one or two f i;nt attempts at verse, after 
I had uiideigone this sort of daw plucking at 
the hands of the ajiothecary's wife; but some 
friend or other always advised me to put my 
Verses m the fire, ami, like Dorax in the plav. 
I siibiniLted, though "with a swelling heart?' 
In short, exne|)iiiig the usual tribute to a mis- 
Ire.ss's eye-brow, which is the language of 
pa.ssion raiher iliaii poetry, 1 had not for ten 
years indul£;ed the wisli to couple so much as 
lovf and dovt, when, finding Lewis in po.sses- 
sioii of so much re|)Utatiou, and conceiving 
that, if I fell behind him in poetical powers, 1 
considerably exceeded iiim in general infor- 
mal ion, I suddenly look it into my head to 
attemiit the style of poetry by which he had 
raised himself to fame. 



1 The Lady Charlolte Bury.- 
a Sie Life of Scott, vol. i. [1. 



ched to a cottage 



\ 



far hack as 1775. it was upwards of twenty 
years before it was known in Britain, though 
calculated to make so strong an impression. 
The wild character of the tale was such as 
struck the imagination of all whorea<l il, al- 
though the idea of the lady's ride behind the 
spect.-e horseman had been long before hit 
upon by an English ballad-maker. But this 
pretended English original, if in reality it be 
such. IS so dull, flat, and prosaic, as to leave 
I he dislingmslied German aulhor all that is 
valuable in his story, liv do hmg it, with a 
fanciful wildness of expression, which serves 
to set forlh the marvellous l.iie in its native 
terror. The ballad of •• Leiioie" accordingly 
possessed general aliracMoiis fur such of the 
English as understood the language in which 
it IS written ; and. as if there had been a charm 
in the ballad, no one seemed to cast his eyes 
upon It without a desire lo mHl<e it known by 
translation to his own country men. and six or 
seven versions were accoidinglv presented to 
the public Although the jiiesent author was 
one of those who intruded his translation on 
the wtnid at this time, he may fairly exculpal# 
himself from the rashness of entering the lisis 
against so many rivals. The circumstances 
which threw him into this competition were 
quite accidental, and of a nature lending to 
show how much the destiny of human life 
depends upon unimportant occurrences, to 
which little consequence is attached at the 
moment. 

About the summer of 1793 or 1794, the cele- 
brated Miss Laelilia Aikin, beiier known as 
Mrs. Baibauld, paid a visit to Edinburgh, and 
was received by such literary society as the 
place then boasted, with the hospitality lo 
which her talents and her worth entitled her. 
Among others, she was kindly welcomed by 
the late excellent and admired Professor Du- 
gald Stewart, his lady, and family. It was iii 
their evening society that Miss Aikin drew 
from her pocket hook a version of " Lenore," 
e.\ecuted by William Taylor, Esq of Norwich, 
with as mii(di freedom as was consistent with 
gteat spirit and scrupulous fidelity. She read 
this composition to the company, who were 
electrified by the tale. It was the mine suc- 
cessful, that Mr. Taylor had boldly copied the 
imil alive harmony of the German, and de- 
scribed the spectral journey in language re- 
sembling that of the original. Burger had 
thus painted the ghostly career: 

" Und hurre. hurre. hop, hop. hop, 
Gmgs fort in sausendem Gahipp, 
Dass Ross und Reiter schnoben, 
Und Kies und Funken sioben." 

The words were rendered by the kindred 
sounds in English : 



many of the happif 

hije, vol. i. p. I.'iK.-- 

4 Sie these Verse 

follow this '• Essay," 

the pen of r 

dudcd iu ai 



it days of my youth. (18:il.) [See 

among the •* Misrellaniets," whirh 
wheie also many other \imrs from 
Scott are now for the first lime lu- 



I ed;liou of his Poetical Workn. (1841.) 



'^ 



^ 



7^ 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



'• Tramp, tramp, amiss the lan-.l tliey speede, 
Splash, splash. arn»s the sea ; 
Hurra, the deail can ride apace! 
Dost fear to ride with me ?" 
Wlien Miss Aikiii had finished her recita- 
tion, she replaced in her puckel-book the 
paiier from winch she had read it. and enjoyed 
the satisfaction of havin:^ made a strong im- 
pressioin on the hearers, wliose bosoms ihnll- 
etl yet the deeper, as the ballad was not lu be 
more closely introduced to them. 

The author was not present upon this occa- 
sion, although he had then the dis'insuished 
advanta-re of heitiff a familiar Iriend and Ire- 
qiient visitor of Profess(jr Stewart and his 
fannly But he was absent from town while 
Miss Aikin was in Edjnbursh, and ii was not 
until his return that he foiiiid all his friends in 
raptuiH with the intelliirence and arood sense 



my ov\n vanity, and the favourable o|iinion or 
friends, niteiesied bv the temporary revival 
of a species of poetry cimtaining a "germ of 
popularity of which perhaps ihey were not 
themselves aware. .uiaed me to the decisive 
step of sendinjc a selection, at least, of my 
translations to the press, to save the numerous 
applications which were made for copies. 
When was there an author deaf to such a re 
commendation? in 1796. I he present aulior 
was prevailed on. "by request of friends." to 
indulge his own vanity liy publishing the 
translation of '• Leiioie,''2 with that of '• Tlie 
V\ lid Huntsman," in a thin qii;<?lo 3 

The fate of this, my fiist publication, was 
by no means flattermg. 1 distributed so manv 
copies among my friends as, acc<iiiling to the 
book.seilers, materially to interfere with tlie 
sale; and the number of translations which 




of their visitor, but in panicuiar with the i ^PPeared in England abinit tin 
vmnderfiil translation from the Uerman. hyl<^ludiug that of .Mr. Taylor, to which I had 
means of winch she had delighted and asto- j heen so much indebted, and which was pub- 
nished them. The enthusiastic description | 'ished in " The Monthly .Magazine." were suf- 
piven of Burger's ballad, and the broken ac- i ficient to exclude a provincial writer from 
Count of the story, of which only two lines j competition. However dilferent my succe.ss 
were recollected,' inspired the author, who ] nnght tiave been, had I been fortunate enough 
had some acquaintance, as has been said, wnh "• ''ave led the way in the general scramlile 
the German language, and a strong taste for 1 *•"■ precedence, my efforts sunk unnoticed 
popular poetry, with adesire to see the original. I when launched at the same time with those 

This was not a wish easily gratified ; Ger- i <>f Mr Taylor (uiion who.se property I had 
man works were at that time seldom found in |C(mimitted ttie kind of piracy already noticed, 
I-oiidon for sale— in Edinburgti never. A lady | "'.'J who generously forgavir' me the invasion 
uf noble German descent. 1 whose friendship! i "' ''is rights); of my ingenious and amiable 
have enjoyed for many years, found tiieans. friend of many years, William Robert Spen- 
however. to procure me a copy of Burger's ser; of .Mr. Pye, the laureate of the day. and 
works from Hamburgh. The perusal of the | uiany others besides. In a word, my adveii- 
oriiinal rather exceeded than disappointed the I ^^>'*:, where so many pushed off to sea. proved 
expectations which tlie report of Mr. Stewart's ! " 'lead lo.ss. and a great part of 1 he edn ion 
family had uiduced me to form. At length, I was condemned to the service of the irnnk- 
when the book had been a few hours in inv niaker. Nay, so complete was the failure of 
possession, 1 found myself giving an animated ['be unfortunate ballads, that the very exist- 
acx:ouut of the poem' to a friend, and rashly eiice of them was soon forirotten; and, m a 
addecf a promise to furnish a copy in Liiglisii . newspaper, in which I very lately read, to my 
ballad verse. j no small horror, a most ap[ialling list of my 

i well recollect that I began my task after | own various publicaiions. I saw this, my tiist 
supper, and rinished it about daybreak the | offence, had escapeil the industrious collector, 
next mormng, by which time the ideas vvhi<-h i for whose indefatigable research I may in 
the titsk had a tendencv to summon up were gratitude wish a belter object * 



rather of an uncomfortable cliarac'er As my 
object was much more to make a good iraiis- 
laiioii of the poem for those whom I wished 
to please, llian to acquire any poetical fame 
for myself, I retained in my translation the 



Toe failure of my first publication did not 
o|)erate. in any unplea.sant degree, either on 
my tee lings or spiriis I was boldly received 
by strangers, but fny reputation began rather 
;ase among my own friends, and. 



two lines whicli .Mr. Tavhir had rendered wi;h j Ihe whole, I was more bent to shovv the world 
equal boldness and felicirv. 1 that it had neglecied somettiing worth notice, 

.\ly attempt suc.<teeded far bevoiid mv expec- I than to Ije affronted by its iiidiirereiice. Or 
tations; and it may readily be believed, that 1 | rather, to speak candidly, I found pleasure in 
was induced to persevere m a pursuit which Uie literary labour in wlnch I had, almost by 
pratitied uiy own vanity, while it seemed to I accident, become engaged, and laboured, less 
amuse others. I accomplished a translation j m theliope of pleasing others, though cer- 
«if •• [)er Wilde Jager" — a romaniic ballad tainly without despair of doing so, than m tlie 
founded on a superstition universallv current pursuit of a new and agreeat)le amusement to 
in Germany, and known also m Scotland and to myself. I pursued the German language 
Fr.iiice. In this 1 took rather more license keenly, and, though far from being a correct 
than in versifying •' Lenore; " and I balladized . scholar, became a bold and daring reader, nay, 
one or two other poems of Burger with more even translator, of various dramatic pieces 
or less success In the course of a few weeks, i from that tongue. & 



1 Bora Coun 
married to tl 
warth, thr aut 



H.irrict Bruhl of Marlinskircheii, and 4 The li.st here referred to was drawn up and inserted in 

Scott, Esq. of Hard.-n, now Lord Pol- the Caledonian Mercury, by Mr. Jam-s Shaw, for marly 

> relative, aiid much-valued friend al- i forty years past in the house of Sir Walter Scon's puli- 

osi irom iniaiicy. I lishers, Messrs. Constalile and Cariell. of t/linburgh. — /ii 

2 Under the title of " William and Helen."— £d. (See it in Life of Scott, vol. x pp 2«0 276 ) 

3 i'tiis thin quarto was piiblinhcd by Messrs Manners i 5 Sir WaliT Scott's second publication was a translation 
Id M.lier of ^illuburgh.— £J. of Goetlie's drani.i of Goetz of Berlichiiigen with the Iron 



^T 



Z. 



/ 



7 



X 



472 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



The want of books at that time, (about 1796) 
was a great iiiterniprioii to tlie rapiility of my 
movements; for the young do not know, and 
perliaps my own contemporaries may hnve 
forgotten, the difficulty with whicli publica- 
tions were then procured Trom the continent. 
The won hy and excellent friend, of whom I 
gave a sketch m:iny years afterwards in the j 
person of Jonathan Oldhuck.i procured me 
Adelung's Diciionary, through the mediation | 
of Father Pepper, a monk of ihe Scotch Col- | 
lege of Katishon Other wants of the same j 
nature were supplied hy Mrs Scott of Harden, i 
whose kindnei»in a similar instance I have had | 
already occasion to acknowledge. 'I'hrough 
this lady's connections on the continent. I oh- , 
tamed copies of Burger, Schiller, Goethe, and \ 
other standard German works; and though: 
the obligalion be of a distant date, it still re- [ 
mains impressed on my memory, after a life 
spent in a constant interchange of friendship 
and kindness with that family, which is, ac- j 
cording to Scottish ideas, the head of my 
house. 

Bemg thus furnished with the nece.ssary 1 
originals, I hesan to translate on all sides, 
certainly without any thing like an accurate 
knowledge of the language ; and although the ; 
dramas of Goetlie. Schiller, and others, f)ow- | 
erfuUv atiracted one whose early attention to i 
the German had been arrested by Mackenzie's 
Dissertation, and the play of "The Robbers," 
yet the ballad poetry, in which I had made a 
bold essay, was still my favourite. I was yet 
more delighted on finding, that the old Eng- 
lish, and especially the Scottish language, 
were so nearly similar to the German, not in 
sound merely, but in the turn of phrase, that 
they were capable of being rendered line for 
line, with very little variation 2 

By degrees. I acquired sufficient confidence 
to attempt the imitation of what I admired. 
'I'he ballad called - Glenfinlas" was. 1 think, 
the first original poem wliich 1 ventured to 
compose. As it is supposed to be a translation 
from the Gaelic, 1 consulereil myself as libe- 
rated from imitating the antiquated language 
and rude rhythm of the Minstrel ballad. A 
versification of an O.ssianic fragment came 
nearer to the idea 1 had formed of my task ; 
for although c(jntroversy may have arisen 
concerning the authenticity of these poems, 
yet I never heard it dispnied. Iiy those whom 
an accurate knowledge of the Gaelic rendered 
competent judges, that in their spirit and dic- 
tion they nearly resemble irHgineiits of poetry 
extant I'n that langu:ige. lo the genuine anti- 
quity of wliKth no doulit cm attach. Indeed, 
the celebrated dispute on that subject is some- 
thing like the more bloody, though scarce 
fiercer, controversy, about the Popish Plot in 
Charles the Second's time, concerning which 
Dryden has said — 

"Succeeding times will equal folly call, 
Believing nothing, or believing all." 

The Celtic people of Erin and Albyn had, in 



:n. 



Hand, whicli appeared in 1799 He about the same time 
translated several other German plays, which yet remain 
in MS —Ed. 

1 The lite Genrce Constalile, E-q. See Introduction to 
Ihe Aniiquary, Waverley Novels, vol. v. p iv.— £d. 

2 See Appendix, Note C. 

9 This is of Utile consequence, except in as far as it con- 



short, a style of poetry properly called na- 
tional, though Macpherson was rather an ex- 
cellent poet than a faithful editor and trans- 
lator This style and fashion of poet ry, existing 
in a ditFerent language, was supposed to give 
the original of " GleiifinUi>.'' and the author 
was to pass for one who had iiseil his best 
command of Enelish to do the Gaelic model 
jiislK-e. In one point, the incidents of the 
poem were irreconcilable with the costume of 
the times in winch they were laid. The an- 
cient Highland chieftains, when they had a 
mind to •• hunt the dun deer down." did not 
retreat ini(» solitary bothies, or Iru.-^t the suc- 
cess of the chase to their own unassisted ex- 
ertions, without a single gillie to help them ; 
they assembled iheir clan. :nid all [lai took of 
the sport, forming a ring, or enclosure, called 
the Tinchell. and driving the prey towards tlie 
most dis inguished persons of ihe hunt.' This 
Course would not have suited me, so Ronald 
and .Moy were cooped up in their solitary 
wigwam, like two moorfowl-shooters of the 
pre.sent day. 

After "Glenfinlas." I undertook another 
ballad, called "The Eve of St John." The 
incidents, except the hints alluded to in the 
marginal notes, are entirely imasinaiy. but 
the scene was that of my early childhood. 
Some idle persons had of late years, during 
the proprietor's absence, torn the iron-grated 
door of Srnailholm Tower from Us hinges, 
and thrown itdown the rock. I was an earnest 
suitor to my friend and kinsman. Mr Scott of 
Harden, already mentioned, that the dilapida- 
tion mii.'ht be put a sto[i to, and ihe mischief 
repaired. This was readily promiseil, on (;oii- 
dition that I should make a ballad, of which 
the scene should lie at Smailholm 'I'ower. and 
among the crags where it is situated. 3 The 
ballad was approved of, as well as its com- 
panion "Glenfinlas;" and 1 remember that 
they [irocured ine many marks of atientioii 
and kindness from Duke John of Koxlnirghe, 
who gave me the unlimited use of that cele- 
brated collection of volumes from which the 
Koxliurghe Club derives its name. 

Thus I was set up for a poet, like a pedlar 
who has got; two ballads to begin the world 
upon, and 1 hastened to make the rounil of all 
my acquaintances, showing my precious wares, 
and requesting criticism — a boon which no 
auihor asks in vain For it may be observed, 
that, in the fine arts, those who are in no re- 
spect able to produce any specimens them- 
selves, hold themselves not the less entitled 
to decide upon the works of others; and. no 
doubt, with justice to a certain degree; for 
tiie merits of composition producetJ for tlie 
express purpose of pleasing the world at 
large, can only be judged of hy the otanion ot 
individuals, and perhaps, as in the ca.se of 
Moliere's old woman, the less sophist icatd the 
person consulted so much the better ■» But I 
was ignorant, at the time I speak of, that 
though the applause of the many may justly 
appreciate the general merits of a piece, it is 



traUiets a story which I have i 
Mr. Soott of Harden was him 
ancient building; than which 
curate. 

4 See the account of a rnnv 
Scoit and Sir Thomas Lawrei 
of British Painters," ic. vol 



1 print, ave 



self about 
nothing can 



ing thi 
! more ina 



vi" p. naa—Ed. 



-/■ 



7 



z. 



ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



473 



not so safe to submit such a perforniauce to 
the mure minute rntirism of the s;inie indivi- 
•liiais. when e;ic.li. m turn, liuviim sealed lii:n- 
self in the rensor's chair, has placed his mind 
in a critical altitude, and ilehvers his opinion 
senteniKnisly and ex cathedra. General ap- 
(ihnise was in almost everv case freely ten- 
«lert-il. hut the aiiateineiits in the way of pro- 
[iD-ed alterations and correc ions, were crut-lly 
pu//.i|iii; It was in vain the youns author. 
Iisteiiinu^ wirli l)ecoiiun? modesty, and with a 
li;:' ural wish to please, cut and carved, tinker- 
eii and <-oo|!ered. upon his unfortunate ballads 
— It was In vain that he placed, displaced, re- 
placed, and misplaced; every one of his ad- 
visers was displeased with the concessions 
made to his co-assessors, and the author was 
blamed liy some one. in almost every case, for 
haviii!; made two holes in attempting: to patch 
up one. 

At last, after thinkin? seriously on the suh 
ject. I wrote out a fair copy, (of Glenriolas. I 
liiink.) and marked all the vanoiis corrections 
which had lieen proposed. On the whole. I 
found that, 1 had been required to alter every 
verse, almost every line, and the only s'aiizas 
of the whole t)all:id which escaped (Tltic sin 
were two which could neither be termed g-imd 
nor had. speakina: ot'them as [metrv. hut were 
of a mere conifiioiiplace (viarac'er. absolutely 
necessary inr Coiulurtins; the busiiies< of the 
tale, 'liiis unexpec'ed result, afier ahoiii a 
f'lrmi^lifs anxiety, led me to adopt a rule 
from which 1 have seldom departed during 
more than thirty years of lierary life. When 
a friend, wh ise judirment I respect, has de- 
cided, and upon go. id a.lvisement lold me. th.it 
a iiiaiiuscript was vvcirth nothins. or at least 
possessed no redeemins qualifies sufficient to 
atone for its defecs, I have ereiierally cast it 
aside; hut I am little in ttie custom of payins 
attention to minute criiicisiiis, or of offering 
such to any friend who may do me the honour 
to consult me. I am convinced, that, in ee- 
neral. m removing even errors of a trivial or 
venial kind, the character of origuiality is losi. 
which, upon the whole, may be that which is 
most valuable in the production. 

About the time I hat 1 shook hands with 
criticism, and reduced my ballads back to ttie 
orismal form, stripimis them without remorse 
«)f tho.se •• lend ings" which I had adopted ai 
the suggestion of others, an opportunity unex- 
peciedly otFered of inlroducina; to the world 
what had hitherto been confined to a circle 
of friends. Lewis had announced a collection, 
first intended to bear the mle of " Tales of 
Terror." and afterwards published under that 
of "Tales of Wonder." As this was to he a 
collection of tales turning on the preterna- 
tural, there were risks in the plan of which 
the ingenious edstor was not aware. The 
su|iernatur.il. thougii appealing to certain 
powerful eniotmns very widely and deeply 
sown amonu'st the human race, is. neverthe- 
less, a sp' ina: which is peculiarly apt to lose its 
elasiiciiy bv being loo much pressed on. and a 
collection of ghost s ories is not more likely to 
be terrible, than a collection of jests to he 
merry or enteriainiii^. Hut although the very 
title of the iiro|i(ised work earned in )t an ob- 
siruciion to its effect, this was far from being 
suspected at the time, for the popularity of the 
editor, and of Ins compositions, seemed a war- 

40» 



rant for his success. The distinguished favour 
wii h which I he " Castle Spectre" was received 
upon the stage, seemed an additional pledge 
for the safety of his new attempt. I readily 
agreed to contribute the ballads of -'Glenfin- 
las" and of "rhe Eve of Saint John.'' with 
one or two others of less merit; and my 
friend Dr. l.eyden became also a contributor. 
.Mr. Southev.a lower of .strength, added "The 
Old Woman of Berkeley." " Lord WiHuim." 
and several other interesting ballads of the 
same class, to the proposed collection. 

In the meantime, my friend Lewis found it 
no easy matter to discipline his northern re- 
cruits. He was a martinet, if [ may so term 
him, in the accuracv of rhymes and of num- 
bers ; I may add. he ha<l a right to be so, for 
few persons have exhibited more mastery of 
rhyme, or greater command over the melody 
of verse. He was. therefore, rigid in exaciin^ 
similar accuracy from others, and as I was 
quite unaccustomed to the mechanical part 
of poetry, and used rhymes which were merely 
permissible, as readily as those which were 
legitimate, contests often aro.se amongfst us, 
which were exasperated by the pertinacity of 
my .Mentor, who, as all vvho knew him can 
testify, was no granter of proposinons As an 
instance of the obstinacy with which I had .so 
lately ado|)ted a tone of detiaiice lo cri;icisrn, 
the reader will find in the Appendix ' a few 
specimens of the lectures whiirli I underwent 
from my friend Lewis, and which did not at 
the time produce any effect on my inHexihility, 
though I did not forget them at a future pe- 
riod. 

The proposed publication of the "Tales of 
Wonder" was, from one reason or another, 
postponed till the year 1801, a circumstance 
by wliich, of itself, the success of the work 
was considerably impeded; for ()rotracted ex- 
pectation always leads to disappointment. 
But besides, there were circumstances of va- 
rious kinds which contributed tti its deprecia- 
tion, some of which were imputable to the 
editor, or author, and some to the book- 
seller. 

The former remained insensible of the pas- 
sion for ballads and ballad-mongers having 
been for some time on the wane, and that 
with such alteration in the public taste, the 
chance of success in that line was diminished. 
What had been at first received as simple a^id 
nai ural, was now sneered at a- puerile and 
extravagant. Another objection was, that my 
friend Lewis had a high but mistaken opinion 
of his own powers of humour. The truth 
was. that though he could throw .some gaiety 
into his lighter pieces, after the manner of the 
French writers, his attempts at what is called 
pleasantry in English wholly wanted the qua- 
lity of humour, and were generally failu es. 
But this he would not allow; and the "Tales 
of Wonder" were filled, in a sense, with at- 
tempts at comedy, which mi^ht be generally 
accounted abortive. 

Another objection, which might have been 
more easily foreseen, subjected the editor to a 
charge of which .Mat Lewis was entirely inca- 
pable,— that of collusion with his publisher in 
an undue attack fm the pockets of the public. 
The •• Tales of Wonder" formeil a work in 



AppeiiUn, ISole U 



/. 



21 



474 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



royul octavd, and were, by lnra:e printlna:. 
drivirt out, as it is techtiicully leriiiect, to two 
viilumes, winch were sold at a \\\s.\\ price. 
Piuciiasers iniirmured ut, fimliiii; that this size 
hiid been attained by the in.sertiori of some of 
the best known pieces of the Kriffhsh lan- 
guage, such as Dryden's "Theodore and Ho- 
noria." Parnell's "Hermit," l,isie's •' Porsenna 
Knig of Knssia," and many other popular 
poems of old date, and generally known, which 
(iiisht not in conscience to have made part of 
a set of tides, •' written and collected" hy a 
modern author. His bookseller was also ac- 
cused in the public prints, whether truly or 
Hot I am uncertain, of having: attempted to 
secure to himself the entire profits of the 
larse sale which he expected, by refnsme to 
his brethren the allowances usually, if not in 
all cases, made to the retail triide. 

Lewis, one of the most liberal as well as 
benevolent of mankind, had not the least par- 
ticipation in these proceedings of his hibliopo- 
list; but his work sunk under the ohhtjiiy 
which was heaped on it by the offended par- 
ties. The book was termed '•'Pales of Plun- 
der," w:is censured by reviewers, and attaiked 
in newspapers and maKazines. A very clever 
parody was made on the style and the person 
of the author, and the world laiiKhed as wil- 
lingly !is if it had never applauded 

Thus, owiriif to the failure of the vehicle I 
had chosen, my efforts to present myself be- 
fore the public as an orig:inal writer [iroved as 
vam as those by which 1 had previously en- 
deavoured to dl-tinsuish myself as a trans- 
'ator. Like Lord Home, however, at the 
battle of Plodden. t did so far well, that I was 
able to stand and save myself; and amidst 
the general depreciation of the "Tales of 
Wonder." my small share of the obnoxious 
publication was dismissed without much cen- 
sure, and in some cases obtained praise from 
the critics. 

The Consequence of my escape made me 



naturally more darins:. and I attempted, ia 
my own name, a collection of ballads of va- 
rious kinds, both ancient and modern, to he 
conned ed by the common tie of relation to 
the Border districts in which I had Ktilhercd 
the materials. The original ()reface explains 
my purpose, and the assistance of various 
kinds which I met with. The edition was 
curious, as hems, the first work printed by 
my friend and schof>l-fellow, Mr James Bal- 
laiityne, who, at that period, was editor of a 
provincial newspaper, called "'I'lie Kelso 
Mail " When the book came out, in 1802. the 
imprint. Kelso, was read with wonder by 
amateurs of typography, who had never heard 
of such a place, and were astonished at the 
example of handsotne printing which so ob- 
.>icuie a town produced. 

As for the editorial part of the task, my at- 
tempt to imitate the plan and style of Bishop 
Percy, observing only more strict fidelity Cdii- 
cerninsr niy originals, was favourably received 
by the public, and there was a demand witliin 
a short space for a second edition, to which I 
proposed to add a third volume, ^les^rs. 
Ciidell and Davies. the first publishers of the 
work, declined !he publication of this second 
eiliiion. which was undertaken, at a very 
liberal |)rice. hy the well-know n firm of Messrs. 
Lontrnian and Kees of Paternoster Kow. My 
progress in the literary career, in which I 
might now be considered as .'ieriously engaged, 
the reader will find hriellv traced in an Intro- 
duction prefixed to the " Lay of the Last Min- 
strel." 

In the meantime, the Editor has accom- 
plished his proposed task of acquamting the 
reader with some particulars respecting I he 
modern imitations of the Ancient Ballad, and 
the circumstances which gradually, and al- 
most insensibly, engagi^l himself in that spe- 
cies of literary emplovment. 

\\. S. 

Ahbolsfurd, April 1830. 



APPENDIX. 



\ 



Note A. 

THE PRODUCTION OF MODERN AS ANCIENT 
BALLADS. 

P. 4Gt. 

This failure applies to the repairs and rifaci- 
mentos of old ballads, iis well as to complete 
imitations. In the beautiful and simple ballad 
of Gil Morris, some affected person has stuck 
in one or two factitious verses, which, like 
vulgar persims in a drawing-room, betray 
themselves hy their over-finery. Thus, after 
the simple and affecting verse which prepares 
the readers for the coming tragedy. 



^ 



V 



"Gil Morrice sat in good green wood. 

He whistled and he sang: 
'O, what mean a' yon folk coming. 

My mother tarries lang V " 

some such "vicious intromitter" as we have 
described, (to use a barbarous phrase for a 
barbarous proceeding.) has inserted the fol- 
lowing quintessence of affectation: — 

" His locks were like the threads of gold 
Drawn from Minerva's loom ; 
His lips like roses drapping dew, 
His breath was a' perfume. 



7 



^ 



^^ 



APPENDIX TO IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 475 



\ 



' His brow WHS like tlie moiiiitaiii snow, 

Gill by the murniiiii beam ; 
His cheeks like living r()ses blow, 
His een like azure stream. 

' The hoy was clad in robes of green, 

Sweet as the iiifuiit spniis:; 
And. like the mavis oii the bush, 
He gart the valleys ring." 



Note B. 

M. U. LEWIS. 



P. 469. 



Tn justice to a departed friend, I have sub- 
joined his own det'eiine against an arcnsation 
so remorselessly persisted in. The following 
is an extract of a letter to his father : — 

Feb. 23, 1798. 
"My dear Father.— Though certain that the 
clamour raised asainst • The Monk' cannot 
have given you the smallest doubt of the lec- 
tinide of my inteniions, or the purity of my 
principles, yet 1 am conscious that it must 
have grieved you to find any doubts on the 
sulyect existing in the mmds of othtr people. 
'I'o express my sorrow for h;iviii:r siveii you 
pain is my motive lor now addressins you, and 
also to assure you. that you shall not feel that 
pam a seconil lime on iny accounr. Having 
made you feel it at all, would be a sufficient 
reason, had I no others, to make me resrret 
having published the first edition of 'The 
Monk;' but 1 have others, weaker, indeed, 
than the one mentioned, but still sufficiently 
strong. I perceive that I have put too much 
confidence in the accuracy of my own judg- 
ment; that, convinced of my object being un- 
exof piiouable, 1 did not sufficiently examine 
whether the means by which I attained that 
object were equally so; and that, upon many 
accounts. I have to accuse myself of hish im- 
prudence. I^t me, however, observe, that 
twenty is not the age at which prudence is 
most to be expected. Inexperience prevented 
my distinguishing what would give offence; 
but as soon as 1 found that offence was given, 
I made the only reparation m my power — I 
carefully revised the work, and expunged 
every syllable on which could be grounded 
the slightest construction of immorality. This, 
indeed, was no difficult task ; for the objec- 
tions rested entirely on expressions too strung, 
and words carelessly cho.'-en, not on the senii-- 
monts, characters, or seneral tnidtncy of the 
wi.rk ;— that the Uitler is undeserving censure. 
Addison will vouch for me. The moral and 
omline of mv story are taken from an allegory 
inserted by him in the 'Guardian.' and which 
lie commends highly for ability of invention, 
and propriety of object.' Unluckily, in wmk- 
ina: it up. I thought that the stronger my co- 
lours, the more effect would my picture pro- 
duce ; and it never struck me, tliat the exhiln- 
tioii of vice in her temporary triumph, might 
possiblv do as much harm, as her final expo- 
sure and punishmeiU could do good. To do 
much good, indeed, was more than I expected 
of my book ; having always believed that our 
conduct depends on our own hearts and cha- 
racters, not on the books we read, or the sen- 



timents we hear. But though 1 did not hope 
much benefit to arise from t^ perusal of a 
trifling nmiance, written by a youth of twenty, 
1 was in my own nnnd convinced, that no harm 
could be produced by a work whose subject 
was furnished by one of our best moralists, 
and in the composition i>f which. I did noi m- 
troducH a single incident, or a single ch.irac- 
ter. without meaning to illustrate some maxim 
uaiversally allowed It was then with intiniie 
surprise, that I heard the outcry rai.sed against 

[1 regret that the letter, though once per- 
fnct, now only exists in niy possession <is a 
fragment.] 



Note C. 

GERMAN BALLADS. 

P. 472. 

Among the popular Ballads, or Volkslieder, 
of the celebrated Herder, is (take one instance 
out of many) a version of the old Scottish 
song of " Sir Patrick Spence," in which, but 
for difference of orthogiapliy, the two lan- 
guages can he scarcely distiiigiushed from 
each other. For example — 

"The King sits in Dunfermling town. 
Drinking the blood red wine ; 

' Where will 1 get a good skipper 
To sail this ship of mine V •' 

" Der KcEiiig snzt in Dumfermling Schloss : 

Er Irnikt blutrolhen Wein ; 
' wo triff ich emeu Segler gut 

Dies Scliiff zu seglen mem ?' " 

In like manner, the opening stanza of " Child 
Waters," and many other Scottish ballads, fall 
as naturally and easily into the German habits 
and forms of speech. ;is if they had originally 
been composed m that language : 

" About Yule, when the wind was cule, 
And the round tables began, 
O there is come to our king's court 
Moiiy weel favour'd man " 

" In Christmessfest. in winter kalt, 
Als Tafel rund began. 
Da kam zu Komg's Hoff and Hall 
Manch wackrer Ritter an " 

It requires only a smattering of both lan- 
guages, to see at what cheap expense, even of 
vocables and rhymes, the popular poetry nf 
the one may be transferred to the other. 
Hardly any thing is more fluttering to a Scot- 
tish student of German ; it resembles the un- 
expected discovery of an old friend m a foreign 
land. 



Note D. 

EXTRACTS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF 
M G. LEWIS. 

P. 473. 

My attention was called to this subject, 
which is now of an old date, by reading the 
following passage in Medwin's " Account of 
Some Passages in Lord Byron's later Yeais ' 
Lfud Bvron is supposed to speak. " When 
Waller Scott began to write poetry, which 



::^ 



en 

/ 



7" 

f 4-( 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



^ 



not iit a very early age. Monk Lewis ofirrected 
his ver.se : lie niulerstood little then of the 
njerhiiiiical part of the art. The Fire Km?, in 
the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,' was 
almost all Lewis's. One of the ballads in that 
work, and, except some of Leydeii's. perhaps 
one of the best, was made from a story picked 
np m a sta^e-coach ; I mean, that of 'Will 
Jones.' 

'They boil'd Will Jones within the pot, 
And not much fat had Will.' 

"I hope Walter Scott did not write the re- 
view on 'Chnstaliel ;' for he certainly, in corn- 
riion witli many of us, is indebted to Coleridije. 
But tor him. perhaps. • 'I'he Lay of the Last 
Minsti^r would never have been thought of 
I'he line, 

' Jesn Maria shield thee well !' 

is word for word from Cole rid gre" 

There are some parts of this passage ex- 
tremely mistaken and exaggerated, as aene- 
rally attends any atteui()t to record what 
passes m casual conversation, which resem- 
bles, in difficulty, the experiments of the old 
chemists for (ixnig quicksilver. 

'1 he following is a specimen of my poor 
friend Lewis's criticism on my juvenile at- 
tempts at ballad poeiry; severe enough, per- 
haps, but for which I was much indetited to 
him, as forcing upon the notice of a young 
and careless author hints which the said au- 
thor's vanity made him unwilling to attend to, 
but which were absolutely necessary to any 
hope of his ultimate success. 

Supposed 1799. 

"Thank you for your revised 'Glenfinlas.' I 
grumble, but say no more on this subject, al- 
IhoUKh I hope you will no' be so inflexible on 
that of your other Ballads; for 1 do not de- 
spair of convincing you in time, that a bad 
rhynif is, in tact, no rhyme at all You de- 
sired me to point out my objectioiis. leaving 
you at liberty to make u.se of them or not; 
and so have at • Frederic and Alice.' Stanza 
1st, •/«>«' and 'joys' are not rhymes; the 1st 
stanza ends witli 'jays;' the 2d begins with 
'joying.^ In the 4th, there is too sudden a 
change of tenses, 'flows' and 'rosti.' 6th, 7lh. 
and 8ih. I like much. 9!h. Does not ' jpnij his 
ears' sound ludicrous in yours? '1 he first idea 
that presents iiself is. that Ins ears were pull- 
ed ; hut even Ibe lunimij of the ears does not 
please. I'ith. ' Showrr' and ' roar,' not rhymes. 
'Soil' and 'aisU.' in the 13ih. are not much 
better; hut ' hiad' mid •(/<5rmd" are execrable. 
In the Uih. 'bar' and • stair' are ditto; and 
'yropinij' is a nasty word Vide Johnson, 'He 
yropfs his brnchis with a vionnrch's an.' In the 
15th. you change your metre, which has al- 
ways an unpleasant efl'ect ; and 'safe' and 
'receive' rhyme jut about as well as Scott 
and Lewis world. 16th, 'within' and 'strain' 
are not rhymes. 17ih. 'hear' and 'air' not 
rhymes. ISth, Two metres are mixed ; the 
saine objection to the third line of the 19th 
Observe that, in the Ballad, I do not always 
object to a vanalion of metre ; but then it 
oiiytit i(» increase the melody, wtiereas, in my 
opinion, in these instances it is dinnnished. 

'• The Chase— \2lU, The 2d line re;)ds very 
harshly ; and • choir an<l • lore' are not rliymes. 



13th. • Rides' and 'side' are not rhymes. SOth, 
'Pour' and 'obscure.'' not rhymes. 40ih 
' Siireads' and ' invades' are not rhymes. 46lh, 
' Keiuls' and 'ascend' are not rhymes. 

•' Williiim and Helen — In order that I may 
bring it nearer the original title, pray intro- 
duce, in the first stanza, the name of EUenora, 
instead of Ellen. ' Crusade' and ' sp«/' not 
rhymes in the 2d. 3d. 'Made' and 'shed' are 
not rhymes: and if they were, conie too close 
to the rhymes in the 2d. In the 41 h, 'Joy' and 
' victory' ure not rhymes 7th. The first line 
wants a verb, otherwise is not intelligible. 
13' h, ' ^roce' ami ' W^ss' are not rhymes. Itili, 
' Bait' and ' hell' are not rhymes 18: h, • Vnm' 
and 'fruitless' is tautology; and as a verb is 
wanted, the line will run better thus, "And 
vain IS every prayer' 19ih. Is not 'to hir' 
absolutely necessary in the 4th line? 20 h, 
• Grace' and ' bliss' not rhymes. 21st. ' Bale' 
and 'heW not rhymes. 22d. 1 do not like the 
word 'spent' 23d, 'O'er' and 'star' are vile 
rhymes. 26ili, A verb is wanted in the 4ili 
line; better thus, 'Then whispers thus a 
voice.' 28ih, Is not ' Is't thou, my love?' bet- 
ter t hail ' My love ! my love !' 31st. If ' wiiiht' 
means, as 1 conjecture, ' enchanled.' does not 
this let the cat oui of the bag? Ought not the 
spur lo be sharp rather than bright? In the 
|4.h line, 'Slay' and 'day' jingle together: 
I would It not be better, "I must he gone e'er 
' day ?' 32d, ' Steed' and 'bed' are not rhymes. 
I 34lh, • Bride' and • bed' not rhymes. 35 h, • Seat' 
i and 'await,' not rhymes. 39th, ' Keep hold' and 
'sit fast' seem to wij^ ear vulgar and prosaic. 
40tli. The 4th line is defective in point of Eng- 
lish, and, indeed. I do not quite uiulerstand the 
meaning. 43d, 'Arose' and 'pursues' are not 
rhymes 45tli, 1 am not pleased with the epi- 
thet ' savnye;' and the latter part of the stanza 
IS, to me, uniiitelligilile 49lh, Is it not closer 
to the original in line 3d to say. 'Swift ride the 
dead?' 50th, Does the ram ' whistle ?' .'i5th, 
line 3d. Does it express. ' Is Helen alraid of 
them ?' 59th. ' Door' and 'flower' do not rhyme 
together. 60th. 'Scared' and 'heard' are not 
rhymes. 63d. ' Bone' and ' skeleton' not rhymes. 
Blih. The last line sounds ludicrous; one fan- 
cies the heroine coming down with a plump, 
and sprawling upon her bottom. 1 have now 
finished my severe examination, and pointed 
out every objection which I think can be sug- 
gested." 

6th January, 1799. 

" Wellwyn,— 99. 
" Dear Scott,— Your last Ballad reached me 
just as I was stepping into my chaise to go to 
Brocket Hall, (Lord Melbourne's.) so I took it 
with me, and exhibited both that and Glenfin- 
las with great success. I must not, however, 
conceal from you, that nobody understood the 
Lady Flora of Glengyle to be a disguised de- 
mon till the catastrophe arrived; and tiiat the 
opinion was universal, that some previous 
stanzas ought to be introduced descriptive of 
the nature and office of the Wayward Ladies 
of the Wood. V\ illiam Lamhe.' too, (who 
writes good verses himself, and, therefore, 
may he allowed lo Judge those of other [leo- 
ple.) was decidedly for the omission of the last 
stanza but one. These were the only ohjec- 



1 Now Lord Melbourne.— Bi. 



V 



y^ 



7" 



APPENDIX TO IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 4 



•ions started. I Ihousht it jis well that ydu 
shiiukl know them, whether you attend to 
tliem or not. With resard to St. John's Eiif, 
I like it ninch, and, instead of findine faiil 
wiih Its broken metre, I approve of it hisrhly. 
1 think, in this la.st Ballad, you have hit oft the 
ancient maimer better than in your former 
ones. Glenfinlas, tor exaniole. is more like a 
polished lale. than an old Ballad. But why. 
in verse 6th, is the Baron's helmet tiarked and 
liHwed. if (as we are given to understand) he 
had assassinated his enemy ? Ought not lore 
to he torn! Tore seems to me not English. 
In verse 16th, the last line is word for word 
fn.m GU Morrice. 21st, • Floor and • bower' are 
not rhymes." <kc. &c. (to. 

The gentleman noticed in the following let- 
ter, as partaker in the author's heresies re- 
specting rhyme, hud the less occasion to justify 
such license, as his own have been singularly 
accurate. Mr. Smvtlie is now Professor of 
Modern History at Cambridge. 

" London, January 24. 1799. 
"I must not omit telling you, for your own 
comfort, and that of all such persons as are 
tcicked enough to make bad rhymes, that Mr 
Smyltie (a very clever man at Cambridge) took 
great pains tlie otlierday to convince me, not 
merely that a bad rhyme might pass. I»ut iljal 
occasionally a bad rhyme was better than a 
good one ! ! ! ! !! I need not tell you that he 
left me as great an infidel on this suljjeci as he 
found me. 

" Ever vours, 

'• M. G. Lewi.s." 

The next letter respects the Ballad called 
the •' Fire King," stated by Captain Medwin to 
be almost all Lewis's This is an entire mis- 
conception. Lewis, who was very fond of his 
idea of four elementary kings, had prevailed 
on me to supply a Fire King After being re- 
peatedly urged to the task, I sat down one day 
after diiiner. and wrote the " Fire Kuig," as it 
was published in the "Tales of Wonder." 
The next extract gives an account of the man- 
ner in which Lewis received it, which was 
not very favourable; but instead of writing 
the greater part, he did not write a single 
word of it. Dr. Leyden, now no more, and 
another gentleman who stdl survives, were 
sitting at my side while 1 wrote it; nor did 
mv occupation prevent the circulation of the 
biittle. 

Leyden wrote a Ballad for the Cloud King, 
which is mentioned in the ensuing extract 
But It did not answer Mat's ideas, either in 
the colour of the wings, or some point of cos- 
tume equally important; so Lewis, who was 



otherwise fond of the Ballad, converted it into 
the Elfin King, and wrote a Cloud King him- 
self, to finish the hierarchy in the way de- 
sired. 

There is a leading mistake in the passage 
from (^aplain Medwin. "The Minstrelsy of 
the Border" is spoken of. but what is meant 
IS the " Tales of Wonder " The former work 
contains none of the Ballads mentioned by 
Mr. Medwin— the latter has them all Indeed, 
the dynasty of Elemental Kings were written 
entirely for Mr Lewis's [niblication 

My intimate friend. WiHinni Clerk. Esq. was 
the person who heard the legend of Bill Jones 
told 111 a mail-coach by a sea captain, who 
imagiii'tl himself to have seen the ghost to 
which it relates. The tale was versified by 
Lewis himself I forget where it was publish- 
ed, but certainly in no miscellany or publica- 
tion of mine. 

1 have only to add, in allusion to the passage 
F have quoted, that I never wrote a word 
parodying either Mr. Coleridge or any one 
else, which, in that distinguished instance, it 
woidd have been most ungracious in me to 
have done ; for which the reader will see rea- 
sons in the Introduction to '• The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel." 

" London, 3d Febrmry, 1800. 
'• Dear Scott.— 1 return you many thanks for 
your Ballad, and the Extract, and 1 shall be 
very much obliged to your friend for the 
Cloud King' I must, however, make one 
criticism uiion the Stanzas which you sent 
me. The Spirit, being a wicked one, must 
not have such delicate wings as pale blue 
ones He has nothing to do with Heaven ex- 
cept to deface it with storms ; and therefore, 
in ' The Monk.' I have fitted him with a pair 
of sable pinions, to which 1 must request your 
friend to adapt his Stanza. V\ ith the others I 
am much pleased, as I am with your Fire 
Kinv ; but every body makes the same objec- 
tion to It. and expresses a wish that you had 
conformed your Spirit to the description given 
of him in "The Monk,' where his office is to 
play the W'ill o' the Wisp, and lead travellers 
into bogs, &c. It is also objected to, his being 
removed from his native land, Denmark, to 
Palestine: and that the office assigned to him 
in your Ballad has nothing peculiar to the 
' Fire King,' but would have suited Anmanes, 
Beelzebub, or any other evil spirit, as well. 
However, the Ballad itself I think very pretty. 
1 suppose y(m have heard from Bell respecting 
the citpies of the Ballads. I was too much 
distressed at the time to write myself," &c 
<tc. 

"M. G L." 



ft 




^ 



y- 

y 478 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



CONTRIBUTIONS 



Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 



IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



IN THREE PARTS. 

PART FIRST. — ANCIENT. 



Few persons are so renowned in tradition as 
Thomas of Err.ildoune, known hy the appella- 
tion of The Rhymer. Uniiin?, or supposing to 
unite, in his person, the powers of poetical 
composition, and of vaticination, his memory, 
even after the lapse of five hundred yeiirs. is 
regarded with veneration liy his rninitryinen 
To give any thins like a certain history of tliis 
remarkable man would he indeed ditTiciiit: 
but the cnrioiis may derive some satisfaction 
from the particulars here hroug:ht together. 

It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, 
and probably the hiriliplace. of this ancient 
hard, was Eicildoiine, a village situated utioii 
the Leader, two miles above its junction with 
the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower 
an; still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. 
The uniform tradition bears, that his sirnaine 
was Lernioiit. or Learniont ; and that the ap- 
pellation of The Rhymer was conferred on him 
in conseiuence of his poetical compositions 
There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon 
the subject. In a chapter, which is subjoined 
at length,! the son of our poet designed him- 
self "Thomas of Krcildoun, son and heir of 
Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun," which seems 
to imply that the father did not bear the here- 
ditary name of Learmont; or, at least, was 
better known and distinguished by the epithet, 
which he had acquired by his personal accom- 
plishments. I must, however, remark, that, 
down to a very late period, the practice of dis- 
tinguishing the parties, even in formal writings, 
by the epithets which had been bestowed on 
them from personal circumstances, instead of 
the proper sirnames of their families, was 
common, and indeed necessary, among the 
Bolder clans. So early as the end of the thir- 
teenth century, when sirnames were hardly 



K 



1 See Appendix. Note A. 

a The lines alluded to are these - 



introduced in Scotland, this custom must h^ve 
been universal. There is, therefore, nothiiij? 
inconsistent in supposing our poet's name to 
have been actually Learmont. although, in 
this chapter, he is distinguished by the popular 
appellation of The Rhymer. 

We are better able to ascertain the period 
at which Thomas of EiciMoune lived, being 
the latter end of the thirteenth century. 1 am 
inclined to place hisdeaih n little farther back 
lliuii Mr. Pinkerlon, who supposes ihat he was 
alive ill 1300, {Li.il of SroUish Poets.) which is 
hardly. 1 ttiiiik, consistent with the charter 
already quoted. l>y which his son. m 1299. for 
himself and his heirs, conveys to the c invent 
of the Trinity of Soltra, the tenement which 
he possessed by inheritance (hereditaire) in 
Ercildoune, with all claim which he or his 
predecessors could pre' end thereto. From 
ihis we may infer, that the Rhymer was now 
dead, since we find the son disposing of the 
family property. Still, however, the argument 
of the learned historian will remain unim- 
peached as to the time of the poet's birth. For 
if, as we learn from Barbour, his prophecies 
were held in reputations as early as 1.306, 
when Bruce slew tlie Red Cummin, the sanc- 
tity, and (let me add to Mr Pinkerton's words) 
the uncertainty of antiquity, must have already 
involved his character and writings. In a 
charter of Peter de Hagade Bemersyde. which 
unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a 
near neighbour, and, if we may trust tradition, 
a friend of the family, appears as a witness.— 
Charlulary of Mflrnse. 

It cannot i)e doubled, that Thomas of Ercil- 
doune was a remarkable and important person 
in his own time, since, very shortly atier his 
death, we find him celebrated as a prophet 
and as a poet Whether he himself made any 
pretensions to the first of these characters, oi 
whether it was gratuitously conferred upcui 
him by the credulity of posterity, it seems 
difficult to decide. If we may believe Mac- 
kenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies 
delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun of a con- 
vent at Haddington. But of this there seems 



' I hope that Thomas'B prophecie, 
Of Erceldouii, shall truly be, 
III hiin," ice 



y 



7 



C N T II I B U T 1 N S TO MINSTRELSY. 




not to be the most distant proof. On the con- 
»rary, all ancient authors, who quote the 
Khyiriers prophecies, nnifornily suppose tliem 
to have lieen emit led hy himself. Thus, iu 
Wjnton's C/ironicle — 

"Of this fvnht quilnni spak Thomas 
Of Krsyldoune, that snyd in derne, 
There siild nieil sialwaitly, starke and 

Sterne. 
He sayd it in his prophecy; 
But how he wist it was Jfrly." 

Book vni. chap. 32. 

There could have been no ffrly (marvel) in 
Winton's eyes at least, how Thomas name hy 
his knowledge of future events, had he ever 
hnard of the inspired nun of Haddinsjton, 
which. It cannot be doubled, would have been 
a solution of the mystery, much to the taste 
of the Prior of Lochle\en. 

V\ hatever doubts, however, the learned 
mistit have, as to the source of the Rhymer's 
prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to 
ascribe the whole to tlie intercourse between 
the hard and the Queen of Faery. The popular 
tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an 
early age, to the Faiiy Land, where he ac- 
quired all the knowledge, which made him 
afterwards so famous. After seven years' re- 
sidence, he was permitted to return to the 
earth, to enlighten and astonish his country- 
men by his prophetic powers ; still, however, 
remaining bound to return to his royal mis- 
tress, when she should intimate her pleasure. 
Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry 
with his friends in the Tower of Ercildouiie, a 
jierson came running in, and told, with marks 
of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind 
had left the nei«hbounng forest, and were, 
composedly and slowly, parading the street of 
the village.) 'i'he prophet instantly arose, left 
his hai)ilation, and followed the wonderful 
animals to the forest, whence he was never 
seen to return. According to the popular be- 
lief, he still "drees his weird" in Fairy Land, 
and is one day expected to revisit earth. In 
the meanwhile, his memory is held in the 
most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, 
from beneath the shade of which he delivered 
his prophecies, now no longer exists; but the 
spot is marked hy a large stone, called Eildoii 
Tree Stone. A neighhounii? rivulet takes the 
name of the Bogle Burn {Goblin Brook) from 
the Khymer's supernatural visitants. The 
veneration paid to his dwelling-place even 
aiiacued itself in some degree to a person, 
who. wiihin ihe memory of man, chose to set 
up his residence in the ruins of Learmoiit's 
tower. The name of this man was .Murray, a 
kind of herbalist; who. by dint of some know- 
ledge in simples, the possession of a musii^al I 
2lock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed 
alligator, added to a supposed communication 
with Thomas the Rhymer, lived for many 
years in very good credit as a wizard. 

It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to 
dismiss a person so important in Border tradi- 
tion as the Rhymer, without some farther no- 
tice than a simple commentary upon the fol- 
lowing ballad. It is given froni a copy, obtained 

1 Tliere is a singular resemblance betwixt this tradition, 
and ail incident occurring in Ihe life of Merlin Caledonius, 
»hich the reader will find a few pages onwards. 



from a lady residing not far from EicilUoune, 
corrected and enlarged by one in Mrs, Brown's 
iMSS The former copy, however, as mi!:ht 
be e.vpected, is far more minute as to local 
descripiion. To this old tale the Editor has 
ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a 
kind of cento, from the printed prophecies 
vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer ; anil a 'Tliird 
Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradi- 
tion of his Tiaving returned with the hart and 
hind, to the Land of Faery. 'To make his 
peace with the more severe antiquaries, the 
Editor lias prefixed to the Second Part some 
remarks on Learmoiit's prophecies. 



CljomcLg tlje liX'ijvmtx, 

PART FIRST. 



True Thomas lay on Hiintlie bank-, 

A ferlie he spied wT his ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright. 

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne; 

At ilka tett of her horse's mane. 
Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap. 
And louted low down to his knee, 
"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see."— 

'• O no, no, Thomas." slie said, 
'•That name does not belang to me ; 
I am but the Queen of fair Elfiand, 
That am hit her come to visit thee. 

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 
Sure of your bodie I will be." — 

" Belide me weal, betide me woe. 

That weird shall never daunton me." — ' 
Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips. 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now. ye maun go wi' me." she said ; 
"True 'Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; 
And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas tip liehind : 
And aye. whene'er her bridle rung, 

'The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

O they rade on. and farther on ; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind; 
Uniil they reach'd a desert wide. 

And living land was left behind. 

' Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ; 

Abide and rest a little space. 

And I will show vou fellies three. 



^ 480 



X 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



IT 

U8, (I. 

V Knaw 

^ diiie. 



"O si-^e ye nut yon narrow road, 

So tliick hesei wiili Uiorns and briers 1 
TliiU IS ttip path of righteousness. 
Though afier it hut few enquires. 

" And see ye not that braid braid road, 
That hes across that lily leven T 
That IS the path of wickedness, 
'I'hough some call it the road to heaven. 

' And see not ye that imnny road. 

That winds about the fernie brae? 
Tliat is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I tliis nisht maun ^ae. 

'•But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 
Whatever ye may hear or see; 
For, it ye speak word in Elflyn land. 
Ve'll ne'er get back to your aiii countrie." 

they rade on. and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the 
knee. 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae 
stern light. 
And they waded through red blude to the 
knee ; 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth 
Kms through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree—' 
" 'i'ake this for thy wages, true Thomas; 
It will give thee the tongue that can never 
he."— 

" My tongue is mine ain." true Thomas said ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 

1 neither doiight to buy nor sell, 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

"I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 

Nor ask of grace from fair iadye."— 
" Now hold thy peace !" the lady said, 
•' For as I say, so must it be." — 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past. 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 2 



PART SECOND. 

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. 

The prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Er- 
cildoune, have been the principal means of 
securing to him remembrance •' amongst the 
sons of his people." The author of Sir Tris- 
trem would long ago have joined, in the vale 
of oblivion, "Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the 
adventure of Schir Gowain," if, by good hap, 
the same current of ideas respecting antiquity, 

1 Tlic traditional commenlary upon tlii« ballad inrorms 
ug, ll.ot the a|iple was the produce of the fatal Tree of 
and that the garden was the terrestrial para- 
dise. Ihe rcpuguanie of Thomas to be debarred the luie 



which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magi- 
cian by the Lazaroni of .Naples, had not exalt- 
ed the bard of Ercildouiie to the prophetic 
cliaracter. Perhaps, indeetl, he himself affect- 
ed It during his life. We know, at least, for 
certain, that a belief in Ins sui)ernatural know- 
ledge was current soon after his death. His 
prophet^ies are alluded to by Barbour, by Win- 
ton, and by Henry the Minstrel, or Blind Horry, 
as he is usually termed None of these au- 
thors, however, give the words of any of the 
Rhymer's vaticinations, hut merely narrate, 
historically, his having predicted the events 
of which they speak. The earliest of the 
prophecies ascribed to him. which is now ex- 
tant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a MS 
It is supposed to be a response from Thomas 
of Ercildoiine to a question from the heroic 
Countess of March, renowned tor the defence 
of the Castle of Dunbar agam.st the Enslish, 
and termed, in the familiar dialect of her 
time. Black A<jms of Dunbar. This prophecy 
IS remarkable, in so far as it bears very little 
resemlilance to any verses published in the 
printed copy of the Kliymers supposed pro- 
phecies. The verses are as follows : — 

" Ln Countesse de. Drmbor dntiande a Thoniaa 
dk Essedoune quanl la uuerre d. 'Escoce pren- 
dre.it Jyn. E yl Va repunndy el dyt. 

When man is mad a kyng of a capped man ; 
WJien man is levere other mones thyng than 

his owen ; 
When londe thouys forest, ant forest is felde ; 
When hares kendles o' the her'stane; 
When Wyt and Wille werres togedere ; 
When moil makes stables of kyrkes, and steles 

castels with stye; 
When Rokesboroughe nys no burgh ant mar- 
ket IS at Forwyleye; 
When Bambourne is donged with dede men; 
When men ledes men in ropes to buyen and 

to selleli; 
When a quarter of whaty whete is chaunged 

for a colt of ten inarkes ; 
When prude (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in 

prisoun ; 
When a Scot nc me hym hude ase hare in 

forme that the English lie shall hym 

fynde ; 
When ryclit ani wronge astente the togedere; 
When laddes weddeth lovedies; 
When Scotles flen so fuste. that, for faute of 

shep. hy dniwneth hemselve ; 
When shal this he? 
Noulher in thine tyme ne in mine ; 
Ah coinen ant gone 
Withmne twenty winter ant one." 

Fmkerlon's Poems, from Mailland's MSS. 
quolingfrom Hart. Lib. 2253, F. 127. 

As I have never seen the MS from which 
Mr. Pinkerton makes this extract, and as the 
date of It is fixed by him (certainly one of the 
most able antiquaries of our age) to the reign 
of Edward I. or II., it is with great diffidence 
that 1 hazard a contrary opinion. There can, 
however, I believe, be little doubf, that these 
prophetic verses are a forgery, and not the 



of falsehood when he might find it < 
effect. 

8 See Appendix, N 



iient, has a comic 



7 



^ 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



481 



w 



nctimi of our I'hoiiias the Rhyrrif^r. But 
. . ..... inclined to believe llieni of :t later date 

I Vhati the reign of Kdwaid I. or II. 
' The gallant defence of I he castle of Dunbar, 
by Black Allies, took place in the year 1337. 
'I he Khyrtier died previous to the year 1299 
(.see the charier, by his son. in the Appendi.f.) 
it seems, therefore, very improbable, that the 
Countess of Dunbar coiild ever have an oppor- 
tunity of consulting Thomas the Rhymer, 
s;nce that would infer that she was married, 
or at least encased in stale matters, previous 
to 1299: whereas she is (]e>cribed as a young, 
or a middle-aged woman, at the period of her 
l)eing besieged in the fortress, which she so 
vs.ell defended If the editor might indulge a 
conjecture, he woiiKI suppose, that, the pro- 
phecy was contrived ft>r the encouragement 
of the F^iglish invaders, duiin;^ the Scottish 
wars ; and that the names of the Countess of 
Duiib:ir. and of Thomas of Ercildoune. were 
used for the greater credit of the forgery. 
According to iliis hvfwjthe.-is. it seems likely 
to have been composed after the siege of 
Dunbar, which had made the name of the 
Countess well known, and consequently in 
the reign of Edward III. The whole tendency 
of the prophecy is to aver, that there shall be 
no end of the Scottish war (concerning which 
the question was proposed,) till a final con- 
quest of the country by England, attended by 
all the usual severities of war. " When the 
cMiltivated country shall become forest," says 
the prophecy ;—" when the wild animals shall 
inli:<hit the abtxle of men ;— when Scots shall 
not be able to escape the English, should they 
crouch as hares in their form"— all these de- 
nunciations seem to refer to the time of l-.'d- 
ward III., upon whose victories the prediction 
was probablv founded. The mention of the 
exchange betwixt a colt worth ten marks, and 
a quarter of "vvhaty [itidilferentj wheat." 
seeiris to allude to the dreadful famine, about 
the year 1388 The independeiii;e of Scotland 
was. however, as impregnable to the mines of 
superstition, as to the steel of our more power- 
ful and more wealthy neighbours. The war 
of Sc^dland is, thank God. at an end; but it 
IS ended without her people having either 
crouched like hares in their form, or being 
drowned in their flight, '• for faute of ships."'— 
thank God for that too —The proi)hecy. quoted 
III the preceding page, is probably of the same 
date, and intended for the same purpose. 

A fniiiute search of the records of the time 
would, probably, throw additional light, upon 
the allusions contained in these ancient le- 
gends Among various rhymes of prophetic 
import, which are at this day current amongst 
the people of Teviotdale, is one. supposed to 
be pronounced by Thomas the Rhymer, pre- 
saging the destruction of his habitation and 
family : 

"The hare sail kittle [litter] on my hearth 

stane. 
And there will never be a Laird Learmont 

again." 
The first of these lines is obviously borrowed 
from that in the MS. of the Harl. Library — 
" V\hen hares keiidles o' the her'staiie"— an 
emphatic image of desolation. It is also inac- 
curately quoted in the prophecy of Waldliave, 
published by Andro Hart, 1613: 



"This is a true talking that Thomas of tells. 
The iiare shall hirple on the hard fhearthl 
stane." 

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous his- 
torian, seems to have been a firm believer in 
the authenticity of the prophet ic wares, vended 
in the name of Thonnis of Ercild<iiine. '• The 
prophecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, 
i whereupon he was commonly called Thomas 
the Rhymer, may justly he admired; having 
foret<ild, so many ages before, the union of 
England :ind Scotland in the ninth degree of 
the Bruces blood, with the surcesMon of 
; Bruce himself to the crown, being vet a child, 
and other divers particulars, whuh the event 
I hath ratified and made good. Boethius. in his 
story, relateth his prediction of King Alexan- 
der's death, and that he did foretel the same 
I to the Earl of March, the day before it fell 
■out; saying, 'That before the next day at 
I noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotiand 
had not felt for many years before.' The next 
I morning, the dn^v being clear, and no change 
I appearing in thfc air. the nobleman did chal- 
lenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an 
impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet 
passed. About which time a post came' to 
advertise the earl of the king his sudden 
death. 'Then.' said Thomas, 'this is the tem- 
pest I foretold ; and so it shall prove to Scot- 
land.' Whence, or how. he had this know- 
! ledge, can hardly be aflfirmed ; but sure it is, 
' that he did divme and answer truly of many 
things to come.'' — Spotlrswooiie, p. 47. Besides 
that notable voucher. Master Hector Boec^, 
the good archbishop might, had he been so 
minded, have referred to Fordun for the f)ro- 
phecy of King Alexander's death. That his- 
torian calls our bard " ruralis ille vales." — 
Fordun, lib x. cap 40 

What Spotti>woode calls "the prophecies 
extant in Scottish rhyme," are the metri'.al 
productions ascribed to the .seer of Ercildoune. 
which, with many other compositions of the 
same nature. Iiearing the names of Bede, 
Merlin, Gildas. and other approved soothsayers, 
are contained in one small volume, published 
by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh. 1615. Nisbet 
the herald (who claims the prophet of Ercil- 
doune as a brother-professor of ins art. found- 
ing upon the various allegorical and emblema- 
tical allusions to heraldry) intimates the exist- 
ence of some earlier copy of his prophecies 
than that of Andro Hart, which, however, he 
does not pretend to have seen.' The late ex- 
cellent Lord Haile.s made these compositions 
the subject of a dissertation, published in his 
Remarks on the History of Scotland. His atten- 
tion is chiefly directed to the celebrated pro- 
phecy of our bard, meniiuned by Bishop Spot- 
tiswoode, bearing that the ciowns of England 
and Scotland should be united in the person 
of a King, son of a French Queen, and related 
to the Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord Hailes 
(ilainly proves, that this prophecy is perverted 
from its original purpose, in order to apply it 
to the succession of James VI. The ground- 
work of the forgery is to be found in the pro- 
phecies of Berliiigton, contained in the same 
collection, and runs thus: 



1 See Appendix, Note C. 



A 



7 



482 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



' Oi' Bnice's left side shall spring out a leafe, 
As iieere as the iiiiiih deirree ; • 
And shall he fleemed of faJre Scotland, 
In France farre heyond the sea. 
And then shall come aKain rydins. 
With eyes that many men may see. 
At Aberladie he shall light. 
With hempen helteres and horse of tre. 



However it happen for to fall, 

The lyon shall be lord of all ; 

The French Quen shall bearre the sonne, 

Shall rule all Britamne to the sea; 

Ane from the Bruce's blood shal come also, 

As neer as the nnith degree. 

Yet shal there come a keene knight over 

the salt sea, 
A keene man of courage and bold man of 

armes ; 
A duke's son dowbled \i. e dnbl)ed], a born 

man in France, 
That shall our mirths augment, and mend 

all our harmes ; 
After tlie date of our Lord 1.513, and thrice 

three thereafter; 
Which shall brooke all the broad isle to 

himself. 
Between thirteen and thrice three the threip 

shall be ended : 
The Saxcnis shall nerer recover after." 

There cannot be any doubt that this pro- 
phecy was intended to' excite the confidence 
of the Scottish nation in the Duke of Albany, 
regent of Scotland, who arrived from France 
in l.'il.5. two years after the death of James IV. 
in the fatal field of Floilden. The Regent was 
descended of Bruce by the left, i. e. by the 
female side, within the ninth degree. His 
mother was daughter of the Earl of Boulogne, 
his father banished from hiscountry — "fleeniil 
of fair Scotland." His arrival must necessarily 
be by sea, and his landing was expected at 
Aberlady. in the Frith of Forth. He was a 
duke's son. dubbed knight; and nine years, 
from 1513. are allowed hnii, by the pretended 
prophet, for the accomplishment of the salva- 
tion of his country, and the exaltation of 
Scotland over her sister and rival. All this 
was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence 
and spirit of the country. 

The prophecy, put in the name of our Tho- 
mas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, 
refers to a later period. The narrator meets 
the Rhymer upon a land beside a Lee, who 
shows hiin many emblematical vision.s, de- 
sru'ibed in no mean strain ol' poetry. I'liey 
chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden and 
Pinkie, to the national distress which followed 
these defeats, and to future halcyon days, 
which are promised to Scotland. One quota- 
tion or two will be sufficient to establish this 
fully :— 

" Our Scottish Kiner sal come ful keene, 

The red lyon bearetli he ; 

A feddered arrow sharp, I ween, 

Shall make him winke and warre to see. 

Out of the field he shall he led. 

When he is bludie and woe for blood : 

Yet to his men shall he say, 
' For God's love turn you againe. 

And give yon sutherne folk a frey ! 



Why should I lose, the right is mine! 
My dale is not to die this day.'" 

W'ho ran doubt, f(»r a moment, that this re- 
fers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popu- 
lar reports concerning the doubtful fate i>f 
James IV. T Allusion is imiiiediately after- 
wards made to the death of George Douglas, 
heir apparent of Angus, who fought and fell 
with his sovereign :— • 

"The sternes three that day shall die. 
That bears the harte in silver sheen." ' 

The well-known arms of the Douglas family 
are the heart and three stars. In another 
place, the battle of Pinkie is expressly men- 
tioned by name :— 

" At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt 
Much gentle blood that day ; 
There shall the bear lose the guilt, 
And the eagill bear it away." 

To the end of all this allegorical and mysti- 
cal rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edi- 
tion by Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlmg- 
ton's verses, before quoted, altered and manu- 
factured, so as to bear reference to the acces- 
sion of James VI.. which had just then taken 
place. The insertion is made with a peculiar 
degree of awkwardness, betwixt a question, 
put by the narrator, concerning the name and 
abode of the person who showed lum these 
strange matters, and the answer of the pro- 
phet to that question : — 

" Then to the Beirne could 1 say, 
Where dwells thou, or in what countrie? 
[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane, 
From the north to the south sey ? 
A French queene .shall bear the sonne. 
Shall rule all Britanie to the sea : 
Which of the Bruce's blood shall come, 
As neere as the nint degree : 
1 framed fast what was bis name. 
Where that he came, from what country.] 
In Erslingtoun I dwell at hame. 
Thomas Rymour men cals me." 

There is surely no one, who will not con- 
clude, with Lord Hailes. that the eight lines, 
enclosed in brackets, are a clumsy interpola- 
tion, borrowed from Berlington, with sucli 
alterations as might render the supposed pro- 
pliecy applicable to the union of the crowns. 

While we are on this subject, it. may be pro- 
per briefly to notice the scope of some of the 
other predictions, in Hart's C^ollection. As 
the prophecy of Berlington wa.s intended to 
raise the spirits of the nation, during the re- 
gency of Albany, so those of Sybilla and 
Ellraine refer t<i that of the Earl of Arran, 
afterwards Duke of Chatelherault. during the 
minority of Mary, a period of similar cala- 
mity. This is obvious from the following 
verses :— 

"Take a thousand in calculation. 
And the longest of the lyon. 
Four crescents under one crowne, 
With Saint Andrew's croce thrise, 
Then threesciue and thrise three; 
Take tent to Meilmg true ; 



y- 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



48a 



\ 



Then shall the wars ended be, 
And never again risf. 
In th it yere there shall a kinff, 
A duke, and no crown'd king : 
Benaus the prince shall be yonj, 
And lender of yeares." 

The date, above hinted at. seems to be 1549, 
when the Scottish Hegent. by means of some 
succours derived from France, was endea- 
vouring to repair the cimscqupiices of the fatal 
battle of Pinkie. Allusion is made to the sup- 
ply ffiVen to the " Moldwarte [EnRland] by the 
fained hart." (the Earl of Aiiifus ) The KcKeiit 
is described by his beanne the antelope ; iarse 
supplies are proniiseil from France, and com- 
plete conquest predicted to Scotland and her 
allies. Ttius was the same hackneyed strata- 
(rem repeated, whenever the interest ot the 
lulers appeared to stand in need of it. The 
Resent was not. indeed, till after this period, 
created Duke of Chaielherault ; but that ho- 
nour was the object of his hopes and e.xpecia- 
lions. 

The name of our renowned soothsayer is 
liberally used as an autliority. throughout all 
the prophecies published by Andro Hart. Be- 
sides those expressly put in his name, Gildas, 
another a.-isunied personage, is supposed to 
derive his knowledge from him; for he con- 
cludes thus:— 

"Irue Thomas me told in a troublesome time, 
In a harvest muni at Plldoun mils." 

The Prirphecy of Gildaa. 

In the prophecy of Berlmgton, already 
quoted, we are told, 

" .Marvellous Aterlin. that many men of tells, 
And 1 honias's sayings comes all at once." 

While I am upon the subject of these pro- 
phecies, may I be permitted to call the atten- 
tion of aiiliquarips to Merdwynn Wyllt. or 
Mniin the Wild, in whose name, and by no 
means in that of Ambrose Merlin, the friend 
of Ailhnr, the Scoitish prophecies are issued ? 
That this peisoiiiige resided at Drumnielziar. 
and roamed, like a secmid Nebucliadnezzar. 
the woikIs of Tweeddale. in remorse for the 
death of his nephew, we learn from Fordim. 
In the Scoiichrimicon. lib. 3 cap. 31. is an ac 
count of an interview betwixt St. Kentigeni 
and .Merlin, then in this distracted and mise- 
ralile state. He is said to have been called 
Lailokm, fmm his mode nf life On being 
commaiided by the saint to give an account 
of himself, he says, that the (jenance which he 
perfiirms was imposed on liim by a voice from 
heaven, during a bioodv contest, betwixt Lidel 
and Carwauolow, of winch liattle lie had been 
tlie cause According to his own prediction, 
he perished at once by wood, earth, and water ; 
for. beiiiR pursued wiih stones by the rustics, 
lie fell from a ri>ck into the river Iweed. and 
was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there 
for the purpose of extending a fishing-net : — 

" Sude perfnsstis, Inpide percusstis, et unda, 
Hcec tria Merlinuin Jerltir imre necem 
Stcque ruit, mersusgice Juit Uguoquf. prthen- 

sus. 
El fecit vatem per terna pencula vcrum. " 



But, in a metrical hi.-storv of Merlin of Cale- 
donia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, 
from the traditions of the Welsh bards, this 
mode of death is attributed to a page, whom 
Merlin's sister, desirous to convict the prophet 
of falsehood, because he had betrayed hei 
intrigues, introduced lo him, under three va- 
rious dissuises, enquiring each time m what 
manner the person should die. To the first 
demand Merlin answered, the party should 
perish by a fall from a rock; to the secoi d, 
that he should die by a tree ; and to the third, 
that he should be drowned. The youth |>e- 
rished, while hunting, in the mode iiiipuied by 
Fordun to .Merlin himself 

Forduii. contrary to the French authorities, 
confounds this person with the .Meilin of Ar- 
thur; but concludes by mformins us, that 
many believed him to he a diflferenl person. 
The grave of Merlin is pointed out at Driim- 
melziar. Ill Tweeddale, beneath an aged thorn- 
tree. On the east side of the chuichvard. the 
brook, called Pausayl. falls into the Tweed: 
and the following prophecy is said to have 
been current concerning their union : — 

" When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's 
grave, 
Scotland and England shall one monarch 
liave." 

On the day of the coronatirm of James VI, 
the Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined 
the Pausayl at the prophet's grave. — Pmnii- 
cuick's History oj Twieddale, p. 26. These 
circumstances would seem to infer a commii- 
iiicatum betwixt the south-west of Scotland 
and Wales, of a nature peculiarly intimate; 
fori [(resume that Merlin would retain sense 
enough lo choose for the scene of his wander- 
ings, a country having a language and man- 
ners similar lo his own. 

Be this as it may. the memory of Merlin 
Sylvester, or the Wild, was fresh among the 
Scots during the reign of James V. Wald- 
liave,' under whose name a set of prophecies 
was published, describes himself as lying upon 
Lomond Law; he hears a voice, wliicli bids 
him stand to his defence; he looks around, 
and l)eholds a flock of hares and foxes » pur- 
sued over the mountain by a savage figure, to 
whom he can hardly give the name of man. 
At the sight of Waldliave. the apparition leaves 
the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him 
with a club. Waldliave defends himself with 
Ins sword, throws the savage to the earth, and 
rr^fuses to let him arise till he swear, by the 
law and lead he lives U|(oii, "to do him no 
harm." This done, he permits him to arise, 
and marvels at his strange appearance : — 

" He was formed like a freike [man] all his 

four quarters ; 
And then his chin and his fac° haired so 

thick. 
With haire growing so grime, fearful to 

see." 

He answers briefly to Waldhave's enquiry 
coucerniiig his name and niiture, that lie 



1 I do not kn'-w whrlher the prr-nii I 
Waldhavr, an ahhot of Mtlrosr, who dird 
sanctity, about 1160 

3 See Appendix, Note D. 



V 






^ 



484 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



"diees his weird," i. e. does penance in that 
W(M»d ; and, having hinted that questions as to 
his own state are offensive, he pours forth an 
obscure rhapsody concerning: futurity, and 
concludes.— 

"Go musine upon Merlin if thou wilt : 
For I mean no more, man, at this tune." 

This i? exact'y similar to the meeting be- 
twixt Merlin and Kentigern in Fordun. These 
prophecies of Merlin seem to have been m 
request in the minority of James V.; for. 
unions the amusements with which Sir David 
Lindsay diverted that pnnce during his in 
fancy, are, 

" The prophecies of Rymer. Bede, and Merlin." 
Sir David Lindsay's Epistle to the King 

And we find, in Waldhave at least one allu- 
sion to the very ancient prophecy, addressed 
to the Countess of Dunbar : — 

" This is a true token that Thomas of tells. 
When a ladde with a ladye shall go over the 
fields." 

The original .stands thus : — 

"When laddes weddeth lovedies." 

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have 
been current about the time of the Regt^nt 
Morton's eXecunon. When that nobleman was 
committed to the charge of his accuser. Cap- 
tain James Stewart, newly created Earl of 
Arran, to be conducted to his trial at Edin- 
burgh. Spottiswoode s;iys, that he asked, 
"■Who was Earl of Arran?' and being an 
swered that Captain James was the man. after 
a short pause, tie said, ' And is it so? I know 
then what I may look for?' meaniner, as was 
thought, that the old prophecy of the * Falliiis 
of the heart i by the mouth of Arran,' should 
then be fulfilled. Whether this was Ins mind 
or not, it IS not known ; but some spared not, 
at the lime wiien the Hamilions were banish- 
ed, in which business he was held too earnest, 
to say. that he stood in fear of that prediction, 
and went that course only to disappoint it. 
But if so it was. he did find himself now de- 
luded ; for ho fell by the mouth of another 
Arran than he imagined.'' — Spottiswoode, 3}3 
The fatal words alluded to seem to be these 
in the prophecy of Merlin :— 

"In the mouth of Arrane a selcouth shall fall. 
Two bloodie hearts shall be taken with a 

false traine. 
And derfly dung down without any dome." 

To return from these desultory remarks, 
into which I have been led by the celebrated 
name of Merlin, the style of all these prophe- 
cies, published by Hart, is very much the 
same. The measure is alliterative, and some- 
what similar to that of Pierce Plowman's Vi- 
sions ; a circumstance which might entitle us 
to ascribe to some of them an earlier date 
than the reign of James V.. did we not know 
thai Sir Galloran of Galloway and Gawaine 



land Golngras.twn romances rende.-ed almost 
unintelligible by the extremity of affected alli- 
teration, are perhaps not prior to that period. 
Indeed, although we may allow that, during 
much earlier times, prophecies, under the 
names of those celebrated soothsayers, have 
been current in Scotland, yet those published 
by Han have ohviouslv been so often vamped 
and re-vamped, to serve the political purposes 
of different periods, that it may he shrewdly 
suspected, that, as in the case of Sir John 
Cutler's transmigrated stockings, very little 
of the original materials now remains. I can- 
not refrain from indulging my renders with 
the publisher's title to the last prophecy, as it 
contains certain curious information concern- 
ing the Queen of Sheba. who is identified with 
ihe Cuniifian Sibyl: "Here followeth a pro- 
phecie, pronounced bv a noble queene and 
matron, called Sybilla. Regina Austri. that 
came to Solomon Through the which she 
compiled four bookes, at the instance of the 
said King Sol. and others divers: and the 
fourth book was directeil to a noble king, 
called Baldwine. King of the broad isle of 
Britain ; in the which she maketh mention of 
two noble prmctes and emperours, the which 
IS called Leones. How these two shall sub- 
due and overcome all eartlilie princes to their 
diademe and crowne, and also be glorified and 
crowned in the heaven among saints. The 
first of these two is Constantiniis Magnus; 
that was Leprosus. the son of Saint Helena, 
that found the croce. The second is the sixt 
king of the name of Steward of Scutland, the 
which is our most noble king." With such 
editors and commentators, what wonder that 
the text became unintelligible, even beyond 
the usual oracular (jbscurity of prediction? 

If there still remain, therefore, among these 
predictions, any verses having a claim to real 
antiquity, it seems now imp()ssible to discover 
them from those which are comparatively 
modern. Nevertheless, as there are to be 
found, in these compositions, some uncom- 
monly wild and nia.sciiline expressions, the 
Editor has been induced to throw a few pass- 
ages together, into the sort of ballad to which 
this disquisition is prefixed. It would, indeed, 
have been no difficult matter for him, by a 
judicious selection, to have excited, in favour 
of Thomas of Ercildoune, a share of the ad- 
miration bestowed by sundry wise persons 
upon Mass Robert Fleming. For example : — 

"But then the lilye shal be loused when they 

least think ; 
Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear 

of death ; 
For churls shal chop off heads of their chief 

beirns, 
And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath 

appointed. 

Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal ari.se ; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be 

sunken ; 
Seculars shall sit in spiritual seats. 
Occupying offices anointed as they were." 

Taking the lily for ihe emblem of France, 
can there be a more plain prophecy of the 
muider of her monarch, the destruction of her 
nobility, and the desolation of her hierarchy ' 



7^ 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



485 \ 



But. without lodkins f.irther into the signs 
of the times, the Kilitnr. Ihoiigh the least of 
all the prophets, cannot help thinkiiisr. that 
every true Briton will aiiprove of his appli- 
cation of tlie last prophecy quoted ia the 
ballad 

H;irt's Cidlection of prophecies was fre- 
quently reprinted duringr the last century 
prohahly to favour the pretensions of the un- 
fortunate family of Stuart. For the prophetic 
renown of Gildas and Bede, see Furdun 
lib. 3. 

Before leaving the suhject of Thomas's pre- 
dictions. It may be ni>ticed, that sundry rhymes, 
passing for his prophetic effusions, are still 
current among the vulgjar Thus, he is said 
to have prophesied of the very ancient family 
of Haig: of Bemerside, 

" Betide, betide, whate'er hetide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 

The grandfather of the present proprietor 
of Bemerside had twelve daughters, before 
his lady brought him a male heir. The com- 
mon people trembled for the credit of their 
favourite soothsayer The late Mr. Haig was 
at length horn, and their belief in the pro- 
phecy contiriiied hevond a shadow of doubt 

Another memoriibie prophecy bore, that the 
Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins 
of the .Abbey, should " fall when at the fullest " 
At a very crowded sermon, about thirty years 
ago. a piece of lime fell from the root of the 
church The alarm, for the fultilment of the 
words of the seer, became universal; and 
happy were they who were nearest the door 
of the predesiined edifice. The cliurch was 
in consequence deserted, and has never since 
had an opportunity of tutnbling upon a full 
Congregation I hope, for the sake <if a beau- 
tiful specimen of Saxo-Gothic architecture, 
that the accomplishment of I his propliecy is 
far disiant. 

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
seems to have been founded on that sort of 
insight into futurity, possessed by most men 
of a .sound and combining judgment It runs 
thus:— 

" At Eldon Tree if you shall be. 
A brigg ower Tweed you tiiere may see." 

The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the course of the river; and it was 
easy to foresee, that when ihe country should 
become in the least degree improved, a bridge 
would be somewhere thrown over the stream 
In fact, you now see no less than three bridges 
from that elevated situation. 

Corspatrick. (Comes Patrick) Earl of March, 
but more commonly taking ins title from his 
castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during 
the wars of Edward I in Scotland. As Tho- 
mas of Ercildoune is said to have delivered lo 
him his famous prophecy ot King Alexander's 
death, the Editor has chosen to iniroduce 
him inl(t the following ballad. All the pro- 
pnetic verses are selected from Hart's putdi- 
caiion. 



C:tjomas tl)c 3ai)»mer. 



PART SECOND. 

When seven years were come and gane. 

The sun blink'd fair on pool and stream; 
And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank. 

Like one awaken'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed. 

He saw the flash of armour flee. 
And he beheld a gallant knight 

Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. 
He was a stalwart knight, and strong; 

Of giant make he "pear'd to he : 
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode, 

Wr gilded spurs, of faushion free. 

Says—" Well met. well met, true Thomas ! 

Some uncouth terlies show to me."— 
Savs— '-Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave! 

Thrice welcume, good Dunbar, to nie ! 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave '. 

And I will show thee curses three. 
Shall gar f lir Scntland greei and grane. 

And change the green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar this very hour. 
From Ross's hills to Solway sea."— 

" Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar ! 
For the sun shines sweet on fauld and 
lee" — 

He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; 

He show'd him a rock beside the sea. 
Where a king lay stiff beneath his sieed.i 

And sleel-dight nobles wiped their ee. 

"The neist curse lights on Branxlon hills: 
^ By Flodden's high and heatherv side. 
Shall wave a banner red as blude. 

And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride. 

"A Scottish King shall come full keen. 

The ruddy lion beareth he; 
A feather'd arrow sharp. I ween. 

Shall make him wink and warre to see. 

" VVhen he is bloody, and all to bledde, 
Thus to his men he still shall sav — 

'For God's .sake, turn ye back again. 
And give yon Southern folk a fray ! 

Why should I lose, the right is mine ? 
My doom is not to d e this day.' 3 

"Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 
And woe and wonder ye sail see; 

How forty thousand stiearmen st;uid. 
Where yon rank river meets the sea. 

There shall the lum lose the gvHe. 

And the libbards bear it clean away; 
At Pinkyn Cleudi there shall be spilt 

Much gentil bluid that day "— 

" Eiionsh. enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessings show thou now to me. 
Or, by the failh o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, 
Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me !" — 



lich 



ScoUanil, 



z 



/ 



^ 486 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"The first (if Messiiies I shall thee show, 
Is hy ii })i)rri. that's call'd of bread ; l 

Where Saxon men shall tine the bow. 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

" Beside that hrisg:, out ower that burn. 
Where the water bickeretli bright and 
sheen. 

Shall many a fallen courser spurn. 
And knights shall die in battle keen. 

" Beside a headless cross of stone. 

The lilibards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go,. 
.'\nd drink the Saxon hlmd sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know, 
So ihick the corses there shall be." — 

'• But teil me now," said lirave Dunbar, 
"True Thomas, tell now unto me. 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Even from the north to the southern sea T"- 

•' A French Queen shall hear the son. 
Shall rule all Britain to the sea; 

He of ihe Bru(;e's blood shall come. 
As near as in the ninth degree. 

"The waters worship shall his race; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride over ocean wide. 

With hempen bridles, and hor.se of tree." 



STljomns t!)c 3£v|)gnicr. 



P.iRT THIRD. — MODERN. 
BY WALTER SCOTT. 

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among 
his contemporaries, as the author of the cele 
brated romance of Str Tristrem. Of this once 
admired poem only one copy is now known to 
exist, which is in the Advocates' Library. The 
Editor, in 180-1, published a small edition of 
this curious work ; which, if it does not revive 
the reputation of the bard of Ercildoune, is at 
least the earliest specimen of Scottish poetry 
hitherto published Some account of this ro- 
mance has already been given to the world in 
Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Annent Poetry, vol. i. 
p. 16.5, iii. p 410; a work to which our prede- 
cessors and our posterity are alike obliged ; 
the former, for the preservation of the best- 
selected examples of their poetical taste: and 
the latter, for a history of the English lan- 
guage, which will only cease to be interesting 
with the existence of our mother-tongue, and 
all that genius and learning have recorded in 
it. It is sufficient here to mention, that so 
great was the reputation of the romance of 
Sir Tristrem. that few were thought capable 
of reciting it after the manner of the author— a 
Circumstance alluded to by Robert de Bruiine, 
the annalist : — 

1 Oue of ThomaB'B rhymes, preserved by traditioa, runs 
thus:— 

" The hum of breid 
Shall run fow rrid." 
Baniiiirlc-burii is the brook here infant. The SrotB 
Ihe name of bannock lo a Ihick round cake of unleaveneij 

2 Eubertlaw and Dunvon are two hills near Jedbnrijh 



" I see in song, in sedgeyng tale. 
Of Erceldoun. and of Kendale, 
Now thame says as they thame wroght. 
And in thare saying it semes n(»cht. 
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem, 
Over gestes it has the steme, 
Over all that is or was ; 
If men it said as made Thomas." &c. 

It appears, from a very curious MS. of the 
thirteenth century, penes Mr. Douce of Lon- 
don, containing a French metrical romance 
of Sir Tristrem. that the work of our Thomas 
ihe Rhymer was known, and referred to, by 
I he minstrels of Normandy and Bretagne. 
Having arrived at a part of the romance where 
reciters were wont to differ in the mode of 
telling the story, the French bard expressly 
cites the authority of the poet of Ercildoune : 

" Plusurs de nos granter ne volent, 
Co que del unim dire se solent, 
Ki Jtmme Kaherdin dut atmer, 
L' naim rediU Tristram narrer, 
E rntusche par arnnt enuin. 
Quant il afole Kniierdin ; 
Fur rest plai e pur rest mat, 
Enveiad Tristram Guvernal, 
En Enyleterre pur Yso/l: 
Thomas ico gr-anter ne volt. 
Et SI volt par raisun moslrer, 
Qu' ico 7ie put pas esteer," &.c. 

The tale of Sir Tristrem. as narrated in the 
Edinburgh MS . is tolally different from the 
voluminous romance in prose, originally com- 
piled on the same subject by Rusiicieii de 
Ptiise. and analyzed by M. de Tressan ; but 
agrees in every essential particular with Ihe 
metrical performance just quoted, which is a 
work of much higher antiquity 

The following attempt to Commemorate the 
Rliymer's poetical fame, and the traditional 
account of his marvellous return to Fairy 
Land, being entirely modern, would have lieen 
placed with greater propriety among the class 
<»f Modern Balhids, had it not been for its im- 
mediate connexion with the first and second 
parts of the same story. 



STljomas tl)e T3i])smex. 



PART THIRD. 

When seven years more were come and gone 
Was war through Scotland spread, 

And Kuberslaw show'd high Duiiyon" 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow.3 
Pitch'd palliouiis took their room. 

And crested helms, and spears a rowe. 
Glanced gaily through the brooiri. 



" Veiieeance I vengeance! when and where J 

On Ihe house of Cnldinsknow, now and ever inair!" 
The spot is rendered elassical hy its having given name 
to Ihe beautiful melody called the Broom u' the GumiUu- 
tnoun 



y 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



487 ^ 



The {^ader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Kesiturids the erisenzie ; ' 
They roused the deer fixini Caddeahead, 

To distant Torwoodlee.^ 

The feMst whs spread in Eroildomie, 
In Leurrriorifs hi^h Jind ancient hull: 

And there were kniahts (it great renown, 
And ladies, laced m pull. 

Nor lacked tliey, while they sat at dine, 

The music nor the tale. 
Nor gohletii of the blo<id-red wine, 

Mor manilinKquaighsS of ale. 

Trne Thomas rose, with harp in hand 

When as the leust was done : 
Jin Uiinstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Husli'd were the throng, both limb and tongue 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords lean"d on their sword?, 

And hearkeifd to the tale. 

Ill numliers high, the wit^^hing tale 

'i'he prophet pour'd along; 
No alter bard might e'er avail* 

Those numbers to prolong. 

Vet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears. 

He sung King Arthur's Table Round : 

The VVurrior of the Lake; 
How courteous Gawaine met the wound. 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise. 

The nntes melodious swell; 
Was none excell'd m Arthur's days, 

The knight of Lioaelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A venom'd wound he'bore ; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand ; 

No medicine oould be found. 
Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had probed the rankling wound. 

With gentle hand and soothing tongue 

She bore the leech's part; 
And. while she o'er his sick- bed hung. 

He paid her with his iieart. 

O fatal was the gift, 1 ween! 

For, doom'd in evil tide. 
The maul must be rude Cornwall's queen. 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 

Their loves, their woes, the gifted hard 

In fairy tissue wove; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 

In gay confusion strove. 

1 £n«enri«— War-cry. or gal hf ring word. 

2 Torwoodlee and CaiUlenhfad are places in Selkirk- 
shire; both the property of .Mr Priusle of Torwoodlee. 

3 Quai/fAi— Wooden cups, cotnpo»e4 of maves hooped to- 
gether. 

4 S^e Introduction to this ballad. 
6 Se^ouM— WondrouH. 



The Garde Jove use. amid the tale. 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
In all us wonders spread. 

Brungwain was there, and Segramore, 
And fiend-born Merlin's grainarye ; 

or that fameil wizard's mighty lore, 
O who could sing but he ? 

Through many a maze the winning son 

In changeful passion led. 
Till bent at length the listening throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His ancient wounds their scars expand, 
With agony his heart is wrung : 

O where is Isolde's lilye hand. 
And where her soothing tongue? 

She comes! she comes!— like flash of flame 

Can lovers' ftnitsteps fly : 
She comes ! she comes !— she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Jom'd m a kiss Ins parting breath; 

The gentlest pair, that Uritani bare. 
United are in death. 

There paused the harp : its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear; 
The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seem'd to hear. 

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : 
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh; 

But. half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower. 

The mists of evening close; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower. 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 

Dream'd o'er the woeful tale; 
When footsteps light, across the bent. 

The warrior's ears assail. 

He starts, he wakes ; — " What, Richard, ho ! 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
What venturous wight, at dead of night, 

Dare step where Douglas lies!" — 

Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 

A selcoulh* sight they see— 
A hart and hind pace side by side. 

As white as snow on Fairnalie.' 

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. 

They stately move and slow ; 
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd, 

Who marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tower a message sped, 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his clothes did on. 



6 An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire, 
a popular edition of the first part of Thomas the Rhytni 
the Fairy Queen thus addresses him :— 
"Gin ye wad meet wi' me a^ain. 
Gang to the bonny banks of Fairnalie.'* 
Faimilee is now one of the sea's of Mr. Friugle of Clif 
too, M. P for Selkirkihire. \%Si. 



\. 




r 488 

^ ITirfit I 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 

Never a word he spake but three ; — 
" My sand is run ; my thread is spun ; 

This sign regardeth me." 

The elfin harp his neck around, 

In minstrel guise, he hung; 
And on the wind, in doleful sound, 

Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went ; yet turn'd him olt 

To view Ins ancient hall; 
On the grey tower, in lustre soft. 
The autumn moonbeams fall ; 

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. 
Danced shimmering in the ray ; 

In deepening mass, at distance seen 
Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

" Farewell, my father's ancient tower ! 

A long farewell," said he : 
"The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, 

Thou never more shalt be. 



'•To I.eartiiont's name no foot of earth 

Shall here again bfiloii-;. 
And, on thy hospitalile hearth. 

The hare shall leave her young. 

" Adieu ! adieu !" again he cried, 

All as he turn'd him roun'— 
"Farewell to Leader's silver tide! 

Farewell to Ercildoune!" 

The hart and hind approaeli'd the place. 

As lingering yet he stood ; 
And there, before Lord Douglas' face, 

With them he cross'd the flood. 

Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed. 

And spiirr'd lum the Leader o'er; 
But, though he rode with lightning speed. 

He never saw them more. 

Some said to hill, and some to glen. 
Their wondrous course had been; 

But ne'er in haunts of living men 
Again was Thomas seen. 



APPENDIX, 



Note A.— P. 478. 

From the CharUdary of the Trimty House of 
SoUra. Advocates' Library, W. 4. 14. 

ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus has literas visuris vel aiidituris 
Thomas de Ercildoun films et heres Thonw. 
Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in Domino. 
Noveritis me per fustein et bacnlum in pleno 
judicio resisrnasse ac per presentes qiiietem 
clamasse pro me et heredihiis meis Maeistro 
domus Sanctaj Trinitaiis de Soltre et fiatribus 
ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum om- 
nibus pertinentibus suis quam in teiiemenlo 
de Ercildoun hereditaiie tenui renunciando 
de toto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure et 
clameoqusB ego sen antecessores mei in eadem 
terra alioque tempore de perpetuo habuiinus 
sive de futuro habere possumus. In cujns rei 
tesiimonio presentibus his sigillum meum ap- 
posui data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo 
post festum Sanctorum Apostolorum Symonis 
et Jude Anno Domini Millesinu) cc. Nonagesi- 
nio Nouo. 



Note B.— P. 480. 

The reader is here presented, from an old. 
and unfortunately an imperfect MS., with the 
undoubted original of Ihoiiias the Rhymer's 
intrigue with the Queen of Faery. It will 
afford creat amusement to those who would 
study the nature of traditional poetry, and the 
changes effected by oral tradition, to compare 



this ancient romance with the foregoing bal- 
lad. The same incidents are narrated, even 
the expression is often the same; yet the 
poems are as different in appearance, as if i lie 
older tale had been regularly and systemati- 
cally modernized by a poet of the present day. 

Incipit PropJiesia Thomce de Erseliloun. 

In a lande as I was lent, 

In the gryking of the day. 

Ay alone as I went. 

Ill Huntle bankys me for to play, 

I saw the throstyl, and the jay. 

Ye mawes movyde of her song. 

Ye wodwale saiige notes say. 

That al the wod about range. 

In that loiigyng as I lay, 

Uiidir nethe adern tre, 

I was war of a lady gay, 

Come rydyng oiiyr a fair le : 

Zoah 1 siiid sitt io domysday, 

With my tong to wrabbe and wry, 

Certenly all hyr aray. 

It beth neiiyer discryuyd for me. 

Hyr palfra was dappyll' gray, 

Sycke on say neuer none; 

As the son m somers day. 

All abowte that lady schoiie. 

Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone, 

A semly syglit it was to se, 

Bryht with mony a precyous stone. 

And compasyd all with crapste ; 

Stones of oryeiis, gret plente. 

Her hair about her hede it hang, 

Slie rode ouer the farnyle. 

A while she blew, a while she sang. 



7^ 



7^ 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



489 



Her eirths of iiobil silke they were, 

Her hdciils were of beryl stone, 

Siiiiyll iirid hrydil war - -; 

With sylk and sendel aboui hedone, 

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne, 

And hyf r.roper of the arase. 

Her brydil was of sold fine. 

On enery syde forsolhe bans bells thre, 

Her brydil reynes 

A senily syzt 

Crop and patyrel 

In every jovnt 

She led ibre srew houndes in a leash. 

And ratclies fiowpled by her ran ; 

She bar an born about her halse. 

And umir her syrdil nieneflene. 

Thomas lay and sa - - - 

111 the baiikes of - - - - 

He >avil Yonder is Marv of Misht. 

'I bat "bar tlie child thatdied for me. 

Cer es hot I may speke with that ludy brisht, 

Myd my liert will breke in three ; 

I sohal me bye wich a^^Illy might, 

Hyr to mete "at Kldyn Tre 

Thomas railily up her rase. 

And ran ouer niountayii liye, 

If It he sothe tlie story says. 

He met her eiiyn at Eldyn Tre. 

Thomas knelyii d<iwn on his kne 

TJiidir nethe the greiiewnod spray. 

And savd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me. 

Queen of Heaven as you may well be. 

But 1 am a lady of another countrie, 

If 1 he pareld niosr of prise, 

I ride after the wild fee. 

My raiches rumen at my devys. 

If thou be pareld most of prise, 

And rides a lady m stran? foly, 

Lovely lady, as thou art wise. 

Giue you me leue to li^e ye by. 

Do way, Thomas, that were foly, 

1 pray ye. Thomas, late me be. 

That sin will fordo all my bewtie. 

Lovely ladye. rewe on me. 

And euer niore I shall vviih ye dwell. 

Here my trowth 1 plysht to thee. 

Wliere you belieues in heum or hell. 

Thomas, and you mysht lyse me by, 

Uiidir nethe this ^rene wikle s|tray, 

'I'bou would tell full baslely. 

That thou had layii by a lady gay. 

Lady, mote I lyge by the. 

Undir rielhe the srene wode tre. 

For all the Kold in chrysrenty. 

Suld you neuer be wryede for me. 

Man on molde you will nie marre. 

And yet bot you iiiav haf your will, 

'i row you well. Thomas, you cheuyst ye 

wane ; 
For all my bewtie wilt you spill. 
Down lyslilyd that lady br\zt. 
Undir nethe the greiie wode spray, 
And as ve story saytli full ryzt, 
Seuyn tymes by her he lay. 
Stie sayil. Man, you lyst tin play. 
What berde in bouyr may dele with thee, 
'I'hat manes me all this Ions: day ; 
i pray ye, I'liomas, let me be. 
'1 hoin IS si ode up in the stede. 
And behelde the lady eay. 
Her heyie bans: down about hyr hede, 
The taiie was hlak, the other jiray. 
Her evil semy' oilte before vv:is gray, 
Her jiay cleiliyiig was all away 



That he before had sene in that stede 

Hyr body as blow as ony bede. 

Thomas" sishede, and sayd. Alias. 

Me ihviike this a duUfull syght, 

That tliou art fadyd in the face. 

Before you shone as son so bryzt. 

Tak thy leue. Thomas, at son and nione. 

At gresse. and at euery ire. 

This iwelmontb sail you with me gone, 

Medyl erth you sail not se. 

Alas, he seyd. ful wo is nie. 

I trow my dedes will werke nie care, 

Jesu, my sole tak to ye. 

Whedir so euyr my body sal fare. 

She rode furt'h with all her niyzt, 

Undir nethe the derne lee. 

It was as derke as at midnizt. 

And euyr in water unto the kne; 

Throush the space of days thre. 

He herde but swowyns of a flode ; 

Thomas sayd. Ful wo is me. 

Now I spyll for fawte of fode ; 

To a garden she lede him tyte. 

There was fruyte in grefe plente. 

Peyres and appless tlier were type. 

The date and the damese. 

The fig:se and als fvlbert tre; 

The nyshfyngale bredyn? in her neste. 

The papigaye about gaii fle. 

The throstylnock sang wald hafe no rest. 

He pres-sed to pulle fruyt with his hand. 

As man for faule that was faynt ; 

She seyd, Thomas, lai al starid, 

Or els the deiiil wil tlie aiavnt. 

Sche seyd, Thomas, I the hyzt. 

To lay thy hede upon my kne. 

And thou slialt see fayrer syght, 

Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. 

Sees ihou, Th»)mas. yon fayr way. 

That lyggs ouyr yoiie fayr playn ? 

Yonder is the way to lieuyii for ay, 

W ban synful sawles haf derayed their payne. 

Sees thou, I hoiiias, von se<-.uiid way. 

That lygges lawe undir the ry.se? 

Streisht IS the way. solbly t<i say. 

To the joyes of pa'iadvce' 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, 

'That lysfges ouyr yone how ? 

Wide IS the way. sollily to say. 

To the hrynyna fyies of belle. 

Sees thou, 'Thomas, yone fayr castell. 

That staiides ouyr yone fair hill ? 

Of town and tower it beereth the belle. 

In middell erih is none like theretill. 

Whan thou coinyst in yone oastell gaye, 

I pray thee curteis man to be ; 

What so any man to you say, 

Loke thu answer none but me. 

My lord is servyd at yche messe. 

With XXX knizi'es feir and f re ; 

t shall say syityns on the dese. 

1 toke thy speche beyoiie the le. 

Thomas stode as still as stone. 

And behelde that ladye gaye ; 

Than was sche fayr. and ryche anone. 

And also ryal on hir palfreye. 

The grewhouiides had fylile thaini on the 

dere. 
The raches coupled, by my fay. 
She blevve her borne Thomas to cliere, 
To tlie castell she went her way. 
The ladye into the hall went. 
Thomas folowyd at her hand ; 
Thar kept her mouy a lady gent, 



^: 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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V\ ilh cnrtasy nnd l;iwe. 

Harp iind feUyl \wx\\ he fande, 

'I he eetein Hiid the sawiry, 

Lut Hiid rytiid ther e<>ii gnn. 

Thair was al maner of inynstralsy, 

'I'lie niosr ferlly that 'I'honias ihoght. 

When he r,<ini emyddes the fiore, 

Fourty hertes to qiiarrv were brosht, 

That had l)een hefor hoth long and store. 

Lvmors lav happyng bUide. 

And kokes slandyns with dressyng: knyfe, 

And dressvd dere as thai wer wode, 

And reweil was thair wonder. 

Knvshtes dansyd by two and thre, 

Airthat leue lon^ day. 

Liidyes that were Rret of gre, 

Sat and sans of rycli arav. 

Thomas sawe much more in that place, 

Than 1 can descryve. 

Til on a dav. alas, alas, 

Mv Invelveladye sayd to me. 

Biisk ye. Thomas, yon must agayn, 

Here you may no lonaer be : 

Hv then zerne that yon were at hame, 

I sal ve brynff to Eldyn I re. 

Thomas answerd with heuy. 

And said. L<iwely ladye, lat me be. 

For I say ye certeniv here 

Haf I be hot the space of dayes three. 

Sothlv. Thomas, as 1 telle ye. 

You hath l>en here Hire yeres. 

And here you may no longer he; 

And I sal tele ye a skele, 

To-morrowe of helle ye foule fende 

Amang our foike shall chuse his fee; 

For vou art a lars; man and an hende, 

"irowe you wele he will chuse thee. 

Fore all the g.ilde that may be, 

P'ro hens unto the worldes eiide. 

Sail you not be betrayed by me. 

And thairtor sail you hens wende. 

She hroglit hym euyn to KIdyn Tre, 

Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 

In Hnntle hankes was fayr to be. 

Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day. 

Ferre oiiyr yon niontayns gray, 

Ther hathe my facon : 

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. 



The Elfin Queen, after restoring Thomas to 
earth, pours forth a string of prophecies, in 
which we distinsnish refejences to the events 
and personages of the ^;cottlsh wars of Ed- 
ward HI The battles of Dnpplin and Halidon 
are mentioned. ;ind also Black Asnes, Countess 
of Dunbar. There is a copy of this poem in 
the museum of the Caihedral of Lincoln, an- 
other in the collection in Peterboroush. hut 
unfortunately they are all in an imperfect 
state Mr J;miiesoii. in his curious Ccilleciioii 
ot Scottish Ballads and Sonsfs, has an entire 
copy of this ancient poem, wiih all the colla- 
tions. The laniiKB of the former editions have 
been supplied from this copy. 



Note C. 

ALLUSIONS TO HERALDRY. 

P. 481. 
" The muscle is a square figure like a lozniQe, 
but It IS always voided of llie fi,lil They are 
earned as principal figures by the name of 



Learmont. Learmont of Earlstoun, in the 
Merss, carried or on a bend azure three mus- 
cles; of which family was Sir Thomas l-ear- 
mont. who is well known by the name of Tho- 
mas the Rhymer, because he wrote his pro- 
pliecies in rhime. This prophetick herauld 
lived in the days of Kins Alexander the Third, 
and prophesied of his death, and of many other 
remarkable occurrences; particularly of the 
union of Scotland wiih England, vvhich was 
not accomplished until the reign of James the 
Sixth, some hundred years after it was fore- 
told by this gentleman, whose prophecies are 
much esteemed by many of the vulgar even 
at this day. 1 was promised by a friend a sight 
of his prophecies, of which there i-; everywhere 
to be had an epitome, which. I suppose, is 
erroneous, and differs in inanv ihinsrs from the 
original, it having been oft re irinted hv some 
unskilful persons. I'lius n.iny things are 
amissmg in the small book which are to be 
met with in the original, particularly these 
two lines concerning his neighbour, Bemer- 
side :— 

'Tyde what may betide. 
Haig shall be laird of Bemerside.' 

And indeed his prophecies concerning that 
ancient family have hitherto been true ; for, 
since that time to this day. the Haigs have 
heert. lairds of that place. T'hey came. Azure 
a saltier cantoned with two stars in chief and 
in base argent, as many crescents in the 
flanques or; and for crest a rock proper, with 
this motto, taken from the above -written 
rhyme— 'Tide what may.'"— ,V?s6e< on Marks 
of Cadency, p 1.58 — He adds, " that Thomas' 
meaning may he understood by heraulds when 
he speaks of kingdoms whose insignia seldom 
vary, but that individual families cannot be 
discovered, either because they have altered 
their bearings, or because they are pointed out 
by their crests and exterior ornaments, which 
are changed at the pleasure of the bearer." 
Mr, Nishet. however, comlorts himself (or this 
obscurity, by reflecting, that " we may cer- 
tainly conclude, from his writings, that he- 
raiildry was in good esteem in his days, and 
well known to the vulgar,"— 76«/. p. 160.— It 
may be added, that the publication of predic- 
tions, either printed or hieroglyphical. in which 
noble families were pointed out by their ar- 
morial bearings, was. in the time of Queen 
Elizabeth, extremely common ; and the influ- 
ence of such predictions on the minds of the 
common people was so great as to occasion a 
prohibition, by statute, of prophecy by refer- 
ence to heraldic emblems. Lord Henry How- 
ard also (afterwards Earl of Northampton) 
directs against this practice much of the rea- 
soning in his learned treati.se. entitled. '"A 
Defensution against the Poyson of pretended 
Propliecies." 



Note D.— P. 483. 

The strange occupation in which Waldhave 
beholds Merlin engaged, derives .some illustra- 
tion from a curious passage in Geoffrey of 
Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. 'The 
poem, after narrating that the prophet had fled 
to the forest in a state of distraction, proceeds 
to inenlioii, that, looking upon the stars one 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



491 



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clear evening, he discerned from his astrolo- 
Rifal knowledse, that his wife. Gunediden, 
had resolved, upon the next morning, to take 
aniither husband. As he had presasjed in her 
that this would liappen, and had promised her 
a nuptial gifi (naulioiiiiiir her. however, to keep 
the hnde^riKiin our of his sisht,) he now re- 
solved to make sood his word. Arcordinsily, 
he collected all the stass and lesser game in 
his neightioiirhdod : and, having seated him- 
self upon a buck, drove the herd before hinn 
to the capital of Cumberland, where Guendo- 
len resided. But her lover's curiosity leading 
him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary 
cavalcade. Merlin's rage was awakened, and 
he slew him with the stroke of an antler of 
the stag. The original runs thus: — 

'• Dixfrnl : el silvns et sol/us circuit nmnes, 
Crrvnrumque ijrcges agmen colleyil, in umim. 
El llamas, capreasqtie sminl ; cervoque resedil. 
El. vnut?ile die. compelUnis aamina prcB se, 
Festinans vadil quo nul/il GueudolcRnn, 
Foslquam venil eo, pucienter ipse, cotyit 



Cervos ante fores, procl/miatis, ' Guendolana, 
GuendolcRna. veni, te lalia munera spectant. 
Onus ergo venit subridens GuendolcBna, 
Geslnrique virum cervu tniralur. ft Ulum 
Sic parere viro, lantum quoqw posse fernrum 
Uniri numerum quas pree se solus ayebat. 
Siait paslor oves, quas duc.ere suevit ad herbas 
Stahat ab excelsa sponsus sperlaitdo fenestra, 
In scio mirans equilem. risanique movebat. 
Asl nhi vidil eum vales, animoque quia esset 
Calluit, exlemplo divulsil comiia cervo 
Quo qe^slahatur, vibrataque jecit in ilium. 
El caput illius penitus cuntrivit, eiimque 
Reddidit exanimem. vitamque fuqavil m auras , 
Ociits inde suum, laloruin verbere, cerviim 
D'ffuoiens egil, silvasque redire paravil" 

For a perusal of this curious poem, accu- 
rately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library 
nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted 
to my learned friend, the late Mr. Kitsori. 
There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the 
curious and entertaining Specimens of Earlp 
Eiiyltsli Romances, published by .Mr. Ellis. 



GlENFINLAS; 



OR, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.' 



Tlie simple tradition, iinon which the fol- 
lowing stanzas are founded, runs thus : Wiiile 
two Highland hunters were passing I he nigiil 
in a solitary holhy. (a hut. built for the purpose 
of hunting,) and making merry over their 
venison and whisky, one. of them expressed a 
wish that they had pietty lasses to complete 
their party. The words were scarcely uttered, 
when two beautiful young women, habited in 
preen, entered the hut. dancing and singing. 
One of the hunters was seduced by the siren 
who attached herself particularly to him, to 
leave the hut: the other remained, and. suspi- 
cious of the fair seducers, continued to play 
upon a trump, or Jew's h:irp. some strain, con- 
secrated to the Virgin .Mary. Day at length 
came, and the temptress vanished. Searching 
in the furest, lie found the bones of his unfor- 
tunate friend, who h;id been torn to [iieces 
and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he 
had fallen The place was from thence called 
the Gleii of the Green Women. 

Gleiitinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying 
in itie Highlands of Perthshire, not far from 
Callenderiii Menleith. It was formerly a royal 
forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. 
This country, as well jis the adjacent district 
of Balqiiidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly 
iiiliabiied by tlie Macgregors. To' the west ot 
the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and 



:i 



its ro.Tiiaiiiic, avenive, called the Troshachs. 
Beiiiedi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are moun- 
tains in the same disiricr, and at no great dis 
tance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes 
Callender and the Castle of Doune, and joins 
the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny 
is immediately above Callender. and is the 
principal access to the Highlands, from that 
town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoir- 
lich. The whole forms a sublime tract of 
Alpine scenery. 

This ballad first appeared in the Tales of 
Wonder. 



©Glenfinlas; 

OK, 

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. 



" For them the viewless forms of air ohey, 

Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; 
They know what spirit brews the storrcful day, 
And hearlless oft, like moody madness stare, 
To Bee the phantom-train their secret work prepare." 

Collins. 

" O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 2 

Tlie pride of Alhin's line is o'er. 
And fall'n Glenartney 's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lt»rd Ronald more !" — 



'^ 




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492 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



N 



lanUf 

as 



O, sprung frrmi great MHCsilliaiiore, 
The chief that never feiir'd a foe, 

How niatcliless was thy broad olayinore, 
How deadly thine uii'errinj; l)ow'! 

Well can the Saxun widows tell,' 
How, on the Teith's resoundiiis shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell. 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills, in festal day. 

How blazed Lord RonaUfs beltane-tree,' 
While youths and maids the lishi strathspey 

So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! 

Cheer'd by the strengih of Ronald's shell, 

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar; 
But now the loud lament we swell, 

ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! 

From distant isles a chieftain came, 
The joys of Ronald's halls to find. 

And chase with him ihe dark-brown game, 
That bounds o'er Aibin's lulls of wind. 

*Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
The >eer's prophetic spirit found, 3 

As. with a minstreTs fire the while. 
He waked his harp's harmonious sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear ; 

And many a lay of potent lone. 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 
High converse with the dead lliey hold, 

And oft esfiy the fatal shroud, 
'I'liat shall the future corpse enfold. 

O so it fell, thai on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way. 

And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen. 

No vassals wait their sports to aid. 
To watch their safely, deck their board ; 

Their simple dress, the Highlaiui phnd. 
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. 

Three summer days, through brake and dell, 
Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 

And still, when dewy evening fell. 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

'I'he solitary cabin stood. 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook. 

Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 

When three successive days had flown ; 
And summer mist in dewy balm 

Sieep'd heathy bunk, and mossy stone. 

Tlie moon, half-hid in silvery flakes. 

Afar her dubious radiance shed. 
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise. 
Their sylvan fare the Chiefs enjoy: 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes. 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 

1 The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied hy the Higb- 
landfrs to tht-ir Low-Country neighbours. 

3 See Appendix. Note A. 3 Ibid, Mote B. 

4 See Appendix, Note C. 



" What lack we here to crown our bliss. 
While thus the pulse of joy heats high? 

What, but fair woman's yieliling kiss. 
Her panting breath and melting eye? 

"To ch;ise the deer of yonder shades. 

This morning left their father's pile 
The fairest of our mountain maids. 

The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

'• Long have I Sfiught sweet Mary's heart. 
And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh : 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

"But thou niayst teach that guardian fair, 
While far with Mary I am flown. 

Of other hearts to cease her care. 
And find it hard to guard her own. 

"Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me. 

Hang on thy notes, 'twist tear and smile. 

•■ Or. if she choose a melting tale. 

All underneath the greenwood bough. 
Will good St. Oran's rule prevail 4 

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"— 

"Since Enrick's fight, since .Morna's death. 
No more on me shall rapture rise. 

Responsive to the panting breath. 
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, when o'er the heath of wne. 

Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow. 

On me the Seer's sad spirit came. 

"The last dread curse of angry heaven. 

With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, 
To dash each glimpse of Jov was given — 

The gift, the future ill to know. 

"The bark thou saw'st. yon summer morn. 

So gaily part from Oban's hay. 
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

"Thy Fergus too— thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st. with pride, the gallant's ii >wer 
As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe, 

He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

"Thou only saw'st their tartans 5 wave. 

As down Benvoirlich's side they wound. 
Heard'st but the pibroch.s answering brave 

To many a target clanking round. 

"I heard the groans. I mark'd the tears, 
1 saw the wound his bosom bore. 

When on the serried Saxon spears 
He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 

" And thou, who bidst me think of bliss. 
And bidst my heart awake to glee. 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 

"I see the death-damps chill thy brow; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; [now . . 

The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and 

No more is given to gifted eye !" 

S Tortaju— The full Highland dress, made of the che- 
quered stuff so trrmid. 

8 Pibroch— A piece of martial music, adapted to lb< 
Highland bagpipe. 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



493 >^ 



"Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil lioiir! 
Shv, should we scorn joy's transient heams, 

Because lo-niorrow's storm may lour? 

"Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangiilian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear; 

His bl(»(id shall hound at rapture's alow. 
Though doom'd to stain tlie Saxon spear. 

" Fl'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
My Mary's huskins hiush the dew " 

He spoke, nor hade the Chief farewell, 
But (tailed his doss, and say withdrew. 

Within an hour return'd each hound; 

In rush'd 'he rousers of the deer; 
Thev liowl'd in inelanrholy sound. 

Then closely couch'd beside the Seer. 

Wo Ronald yet; though midnisht came, 
And sad were Moy's proplietic dreams, 

As. Iiendina: o'er the dymu fl ime. 
He fed the watch-fire's liuiverins gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 

And sudden cease their inoanin!; howl; 
Clo^e press'd to Moy, thev mark tiieir fears 

By shivering: liinhs and stifled growl. 

Untouch'ii, the harp hesan to ring. 
As softly, slowly, oped the door; 

And shook responsive every string. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 

And hy the watch-fire's sliminering light, 
Cliise by the miustrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beaiiiy bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her ffurments seem; 

Cliill'd was her cheek, her hosom bare. 
As. bendiiiff o'er the dyiiiff gleam. 

She vvruns the moisture from her hair. 
With maiden blush, she softly said, 

"() srentle huntsman, hast thou .seen 
III deep Glenfinlas' monnlisht glade, 

A lovely maid in vest of green : 

" With her a Chief in Highland pride; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The iiiounam dirk adonis his side. 

Far on the wind his tartans flow ?" — 

" And who art thou ? and who are they ?" 
All ghastly gazing. Moy ivplied : 

"And why. beneath the mnon's pale ray. 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?"— 

"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide. 
Blue. dark, and deep, round many an isle. 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side. 
The castle of the bold Giengyje. 

"Til chase the dun Glenfinlas deer. 
Our woodland course this inorii we bore, 

And liaplv met, while wandering here, 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair. 

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost: 
Alone, I dare not venture there. 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost ' 

" Yes. many a shrieking glios;t walks there ; 

Then, first, my own s;itl vow to keep. 
Here will I oour my rnnliiiijhf prayer. 

\\ hich still must rise when mortals sleep "- 



" O first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way 1 

For 1 must cross the haunted brike. 
And reach my father's lowers ere day." — 

"First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 

And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 
Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 

So shall we safely wend our way." — 

"0 shame to knighthood, stninge and foul ! 

Go. dort' the bonnet irom thy iirow. 
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 

Whicli best befits thy sullen vow. 

'• Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 

When gaily rung thy raptured lyre 
To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, 
.And high his sable locks arose. 

And quick his c.-loiir went and came, 
As fear and rage alternate rose. 

" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 

I lay, to her and love resign'd. 
Say. rode ye on the eduying smoke. 

Or sail'd ye on tiie midnight wind ? 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood. 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood— 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 

He multer'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme. 

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;* 

Then lurn'd him to the eastern clime. 
And sternly shook his coal black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-noies on the wii.d ; 

And loud, and high, and struiige. they rung. 
As many a magic change they find. 

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. 
Till to the roof her stature grew ; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
With one wild yell away she flew. 

Ram beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear: 
The slender hut in fragments flew ; 

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gnle. 
Loud burs s of ghastly laughter rise; 

High o'er the minstrel's' head they sail. 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood. 
As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 

And, spiiitering foul, a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next dropp'd from high a mangled arm; 

The fingers slrain'd an half-drawn blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm. 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field. 

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore 
That arm the broad claymore could wield, 

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 



See A|ipendix, Note D. 



42 



T- 



A 




SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Woe to Moiieira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Gleiifinlas' drenry glen ! 
There never sou of Alhiii's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft ageii ! 

EVn the tired piifxrinvs burniiiK feet 
At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward Ladies ol the Glen. 



And we — behind the Chieftain's shield, 
No more shall we in safety dwell ; 

None leads the people to the field— 
And we the loud lament must sweU. 

O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 

'i'he pride of Albin's line is o'er! 
And fall'n Gleiiartney's stateliest tree; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Konald more ! 



APPENDIX. 



OllOl 

utm 
V the 

^I niei 



Note A. 

How blazed Lord Ronald's bdtane tree. 

■ P. 492 
The fires lighted by the Highlanders, on the 
first of May. in complianre with a custom de- 
rived from the Pagan times, are termed The 
BfUnne-tree. It is a festival celebrated with 
various superstitions rites, both in the north 
of Scotland and in Wales. 



Note B. 

The seer^s prophetic spirit found.— 492. 
I can oidy describe the second sight, by 
adofiting Dr. .lohnson's definition, who calls it 
" All iiii[)ression. either by the mind upon the 
eye. or by the eye upon the mind, by which 
thmss distant and future are perceived and 
seen as if they were present." To which I 
would only add. that the spectral appearances, 
thus presented, usually presage misfortune; 
that the faculty is painful to those who sup- 
pose they possess it; and that they usually 
acquire It while themselves under the pressure 
of melancholy. 



Note C. 

Will good St. Oran's rule prevail ?—P. 492. 

St. Oran was a friend and follower of St 
Columha. and was buried at Icolmkill. His 
pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. 
According to the legend, he consented to be 
buried alive, in order to propitiate certain de- 
mons of the soil, who obstructed the attempts 
of Columba to build a chapel. Columha caused 
the body of his friend to be dug up, after three 
days had elapsed: when Oran. to the horror 
and scandal of the assistants, declared, that 
thnre was neither a God, a judgment, nor a 
future state! He had no time to make fur- 
ther discoveries, for Columha caused the earth 
once more to be shovelled over him with the 
utmost despatch. The chiipel. however, and 
the cemetery, was called RcIkj Quran; and, in 
memory of Ins risjid crlihiicy, no female was 



permitted to pay her devotions, or he,b,uried 
in that place. This is the rule alluded to in 
the poem. 



Note D. 

Ajid thnce St. Fillan's powerful prayer. 

P. 49; 
St. Fillan has given his name to many cha- 
pels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, 
according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pitten- 
weem, in Fife; from which situation he re- 
tited, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glen- 
urchy, A. D. 649. While engaged in transcrib- 
ing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed 
to send forth such a splendour, as to afford 
lisht to that with which he wrote ; a miracle 
which saved many (laiidles to the convent, as 
St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that 
exercise The 9th of January was dedicated 
to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, 
in Renfrew, and St Phillans. or Forgend, in 
Fife. Lesley, lib. 7. tells us. that Robert the 
Bruce was possessed of Fi Han's miraculous 
and luminous arm. which he enclosed in a 
silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of 
his army. Previous to the Battle of Bannock- 
burn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, 
abstracted the relic, and deposited it in a 
place of security, lest it should fall into the 
hands of the English. But. lo! while Robert 
was addressing Ins prayers to the empty 
casket, it was observed to open and shut sud- 
denly , and. on inspection, the saint was found 
to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine 
as an assurance of victorv Such is the tale 
of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed 
that the" arm of St. Fillan should a.^^sist his 
own. he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory 
at Killin, upon Loch Tay 

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there 
is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 
11th July, 1487, by which James HI. confirms, 
to Malice Doire. an inliabitant of Strathfillan. 
in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and en- 
joyment of a relic of St. Fillan. being appa- 
rently the head of a i)astoral staff called the 
Quegrich, which he and his predecessors :ire 
said to have possessed since the days of Ro- 
bert Bruce. .\s the Quegrich was used to 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



cure diseases, this doniment; is prohahlv the 
most ancient patent ever granted for :i quack 
niediome I'he irisenious correspondent, l)y 
wlioin It is furnished, farther observes, that 
additional particulars, concerning St Fillan. 
ure lo be found in Beiletulen's Boerf, Book 4. 
foho ccxiii . and in Pennant's Tour in Scot/and, 
1772. up. 11. 15. 



See a note on the lines in the first canto of 
Marinion. . . . 

"Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well, 
\^'hose spring can frenzied dreams dispel. 
And the crazed brain restore,'" &c 

Eilttor 



495 > . 



The Eve of St. John. 



Sniaylho'me, or Sniallholm Tower, the scene 
of the foliowins ballad, is situated on the 
northern l)oiindary of Roxburghshire, among a 
cluster 01 wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Cra'gs. 
the property of Hugh Scott. Esq. of Harden, 
[now Lord Polwarth] The tower is a high 
square buildmg. surrounded by an outer wall, 
now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, 
being defended on three sides, by a precipice 
and morass, is accessible only from the west, 
by a sleep and ri>cky path. The apartmenis, 
as is usual in a Border keep, or fori ress, i.re 
placed one above another, and communicate 
by a narrow stair; on the roof are two barti- 
zans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure 
Ttie inner door of the lower is wood, the outer 
an iron gate; the distance between them be 
ing nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the 
wall From the elevated situation of Smayl- 
ho'me Tower, it is seen many miles m every 
direction. Among the crass by which it is 
surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the 
Walchjold, and is said to have been the stntion 
of a beacon, in tiie times of war wii h Eiisjiaiid. 
Without tlie tower-Cdurc is a ruined chapel. 
Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood 
of Sniaylho'me lower. 

This ballad was first printed in .\Ir. Lewis's 
TalfS of Wonder. It is here published, with 
8onie addiUonai illuslrations. particularly an 
account of the battle of .Ancrani .Moor; which 
seemed proper in a work upon Border anti- 
quiiifs 'i'he catasiro(ihe of the tale is founded 
upon a well-known Irish tradition. I his an- 
cient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene 
of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim 
from him this attempt tu celebrate them in a 
Border tale. 



EU fSbe of St. JJoljn. 



The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day. 

He spurr'd his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way. 

That leads to Brotherstone. 



1 Thi- pl<ite-jark ifi coal-armour, the vauiit-liracc. or v 
brace, trinour for the body : ihe sperihr, a batlle-axe 



He went not with the hold Bucrl«'U'^h. 

His banner broad to rear; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew, 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yei, .lis plate-jack > was braced, and his hel- 
met was laced. 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; 
At his saddle gerthe was a good steel spertlie, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron return'd in three days space 
And his looks were sad and sour; 

And weary was his courser's pace. 
As he reach'd his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor 2 

Ran red with English blood; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Biic- 
cleucli, 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd. 

His acton pierced and tore. 
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 

He held him close and still ; 
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 

His name was English Will. 

'• Come thou hither, my little foot-page. 

Come hither to my knee; 
Though thou art young, and tender of aga 

I think thou art true to me. 

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, 

And look thou tell me true ! 
Since r Irom Smaylho'me tower have been. 

What did thy lady do?"— 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 

For. from height to height, the beacons biiglil 
Of the English foemen told. 

"The bittern clamour'd from the moss. 

The wind blew loud and slinll; 
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 

To the eiry Beacon Hill. 



'i Set- Appeuili» Nole , 



T 



/: 



7 



>k 



496 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'^ 



" I watch'd her steps, and silent came 

Where she sat her on a stone ;— 
No watchman stood hy the dreary flame, 

It burned aJl alone. 
••The second night I kept her in sight. 

Till to the fire she r,:tme, 
And. hv Mary's nnght! an Armed Kuight 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

" And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my ladv there ; 
But the ram tell fast, and loud blew the blast, 

And I heard not what they were. 

••The third night there the sky was fair, 
And the mountain-blast was still, 

As agiiin I watch'd tiie secret pair, 
On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 

" .And 1 heard her name the midnight hour, 

And name this holy eve ; 
And sav. ' Come tliis night to thy lady's bower ; 

Ask ho bold Baron's leave. 

•' ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; 

His ladv IS all alone; 
The door she'll undo, to her knight so true. 

On the eve of good St John '— 
•• ' I cannot come ; 1 must not come ; 

1 dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : 

In thy bower I may not be.' — 
•' ' Now, out on thee, fainthearted knight ! 

Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 

"And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the 

warder sViall not sound. 
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair: 
So, by the black rood-stone,i and by holy St 

John. 
[ conjure thee, my love, to be there !' — 

" 'Though the hlood-hound be mute, and the 
rush beneath my foot. 
And the warder his bugle should not blow. 
Yet there sleepelh a priest m the chamber to 
the east. 
And my footstep he would know.'— 

"•O fe-ir not the priest, who sleepeth to the 
east ! 

For to Drvburgh ^ the way he has ta'en ; 
And there to say mass, till three days do pass. 

For the soul of a kniglit that is slayne.' — 

" He turn'd him around, and grinilv he frown'd; 

Then he laugh'd riglit scornfully— 
• He who says I he mass-rite for the soul of that 
knight. 

May as well say mass for me : 

•' ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits 
have power. 

In thv chamber will I be.'— 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone. 

And no more did I see." 



Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron'a 
brow. 
From the dark to the blood-red high 
"Now. tell me the mien of the knight thou 
hast seen. 
For, by Mary, he shall die !"— 

" His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's 
red light; 
His plume it was scarlet and blue; 
On his shield was a hound, in a silver l<sash 
hound. 
And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 

" Thou liest, thou liest. thou little foot-page, 

I. Olid dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the 
mould. 

All under the Eildon-tree."— 3 

■• Vet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 

For 1 heard her name his name ; 
And that lady bright, she called the kniglit 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame." — 

The hold Baron's brow then changed, 1 trow, 

PYom high blood-red to pale — 
"The grave is deep and dark — and the corp.se 
IS stiff and stark — 

So I may not trust thy tale. 

" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 

And Fildon slopes to the plain. 
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe. 

That gay gallant was slain 

•'The varying light deceived thy sight. 
And the wild winds drown'd the name; 

For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white 
monks do sing. 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame !" 

He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the 
lower-gate. 
And he mounted the narrow stair. 
To the bartizan-.seat, where, with maids that 
on her wait. 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Look'd over hill and vale; 
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's * wood, 

And all down Teviotdale. 

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!"— 

" N(»w hail, thou Banm true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? 

What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — 

"The Ancram Moor is red with gore. 

For many a southron fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us. evermore. 

To watch our beacons well." — 

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said : 

Nor added the Baron a word : 
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her cham- 
ber fair. 

And so did her moody lord. 



I The black rood of Melrose wa»a ( 



\ 



QDryhiKgh 
he Tweeil. 
I Ihe HMllibl 
he Riaht Hoi 



khbey is beautifully sin 
.fter its di«solutinn, it be 

oiirahle Ihe Karl of Bucha 



Ihr order of Pruinonslraleiibea. 



3 Eililon is a high hill, terminating in three con 
nits, immediately above Ihe town of Meliose. « 
he admired ruins of a matnilicent m^ na>1ery. 
ree is said to be Ihe spot where Thomas the Rhyn 
d his prophecies. See ante, p 479. 

4 Mtrtoun is the beaulilul seal of Lord I'olwart 



.al sun 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO iMINSTRELSY. 



Ill sleep the lady niuurn'd.aiid the Baron toss'd 
and turii'd. 
And oft to himself he said.— 
" The worms around him creep, and his bloody 

grave is deep 

It cannot give up the dead '"— 

It was near the rinsrine: of matin-bell, 

The mehr was welltiiarli done. 
Wlieii a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, 

Oil the eve of good St. John 

The lady look'd fhrouffh the rhamber fair, 

Bv the light of adving flame: 
And shi^ w;iM aware of a knight stood there — 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

" Alas ! away, away !" she cried, 

■• Kor the holv Virgin's sake !" — 
" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 

But, lady, he will not awake. 

"By Eiidon-tree. for long nights three, 

In bloody grave have I lain ; 
Tiie mass and the death-prayer are said for 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 

"By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair 
strand. 

Most foully slain, I fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, 

For a space is doom'd to dwell. 



" At our trysMng-place.'- for a certain spar 

1 must wander to and fro; 
But I had noi had power to come to thy bowel 

Had'sl thou not conjured me so." — 

Love tnaster'd fear— her brow shn cross'd ; 

" How, Richard, hast Itiou sped ? 
And art thou saved, or art thou lost ?" — 

The vision shook his liead ! 

'• Who spilletli life, shall forfeit life ; 

.So bid thy lord believe : 
That lawless love is stiilt above, 

'I'liis awful sign receive." 

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam. 

His right upon her hand ; 
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 

For It scorch'd like a fiery brand. 

The sable score, of fingers four. 

Kemains on that board impress'd ; 
And for evermore that lady wore 

A covering on her wrist. 

There i« a nun in Dryburgh bower, 

Ne'er looks upon the sun : 
There is a monk in Melrose tower. 

He speaketli word to none. 

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day ,2 
That uKink. who speaks to none— 

That nun was Smaylho'nie's Lady gay, 
That monk the bold Baron. 



u;«, ^ 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 

B.\TTLE OF aNCR.\M MOOR. 

P. 495. 

Lord Evers, and Sir Brian Latotin. during 
the year 1544, committed the most dreadful 
ravages upon the Scottish frontiers, compelling 
most of the inhabitants, and especially the 
men of Liddesdale. to take assurance under 
the King of England. Upon the ITth Novem- 
ber, in that year, the sum total of their depre- 
dations stolid thus, in the bloody ledger of 
Lord Evers : — 

Towns, towers, barnekynes. paryshe 
churches, bastiU houses, burned 

and destroyed. - - - - - - 192 

Scots slam. 40:? 

Prisoners taken. ------- 816 

Nolt (cattle), 10 386 

Shepe. 12.192 

Nags and geldings, ------ 1296 

Gayt, - - 200 

1 7Vy««inf-p/»c«— Place of rendezvous. 



Bolls of com. 850 

Insight gear. c^c. (furniture) an incal- 
culable quantity. 

Murdm's State Papers, vol. i. p. ^l. 

For these services Sir Ralph Evers was 
made a Lord of Parliament. See a strain of 
exulting congratulation upon his promotion 
poured forth by some contemporary minstrel, 
in vol i. p. 417. 

The King of England had promised to these 
two barons a feudal grant of the country, 
which they had thus reduced to a desert; 
upon hearing which. Archibald Douglas, the 
seventh Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn 
to write the deed of inve.stitiire upon their 
skins, with sharp pens and bloody ink, in re- 
sentment for their having defaced the tombs 
of his ancestors at Melrose —Gndsrrofl. In 
1.545. Lord Evers and Latoun again entered 
Scotland, with an army consisting of 3000 
mercenaries. 1500 English Borderers, and 700 
assured Scottish men, cliiefly Arms'.roiigs, 
Turiibiills, and other broken clans. In Itiis 






Note B. 



•^ 



A 



498 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



second imnirsion, the English sptierals even 
fcxceeded their former cruelty. Evers burned 
the tower of Broornhouse. with its lady, (a 
noble and aired woman. .«ays Leslev,) and her 
whole family. The Ensrlish penetrated as far 
as Melrose, which they had destroyed last 
year, and which they now asain pilla-red. As 
they returned towards Jedhnrsh. they were 
followed by .Angus at the head of 1000 horse, 
who was shortly after joined hv the famous 
Norman Lesley, with a body of Fife -men. 
'I'he Enfflish. being: probably unwillins lo cross 
the Teviot while the Sc'.ots liuns U()rMi their 
rear, halted upon Ancram Moor, above the 
village of that name; and the Scottish general 
was deliberating whether to advance or retire, 
when Sir Walter Scott, of Buccleuch. came up 
at full speed wiih a small but chosen body of 
his retainers, the rest of whom were near at 
band By the advice of this experienced war- 
rior (to whose conduct Pitscottie and Buchanan 
ascribe the success of the engagement). Angus 
withdrew from the height which he occupied, 
and drew up his forces behind it. upon a piece 
of 1 ,w flat ground, called Panier-heugh. or 
Paniel-hengh. The spare horses being sent to 
an eminence in their rear, appeared to the 
English to be the main body of the Scots in 
the act of flight. Under this persuasion. Evers 
and I-atoun hurried precipitately forward, and 
having ascended the hill, which their foes had 
abandoned, were no less dismayed than aston- 
ished to find the phalanx of Scottish spearmen 
drawn up in firm array upon the flat ground 
below. The Scots in their turn became the 
assailants. A heron, roused from the marshes 
by the tumult, soared away betwixt the en- 
countering armies: "0!"' exclaimed Angus, 
"that 1 had here my white go.ss-hawk. that 
we might all yoke at once !" — Godscroft. The 
English, breathless and fatigued, having the 
setting sun and wind full in their faces, were 
unable to withstand the resolute and desperate 
charge of the Scottish lances. No sooner had 
they begun to waver, than their own allies, the 
assured Borderers, who had been waiting the 
event, threw aside their red crosses, and. join- 
ing their countrymen, made a most merciless 
slaughter among the English fugitives, the 
pursuers calling upon each other to "remem- 
ber Bioomhouse!"— i>5Z^V. P 478. 

In the battle fell Lord Evers, and his son, 
together with Sir Brian Latoun. and 800 Eng- 
lishmen, many of whom were persons of rank 
A thousand "prisoners were taken. Among 
these was a patriotic alderman of London, 
Head by name, who, having contumaciously 
refused to pay his portion of a benevolence, 
demanded from the city by Henry VIIL. was 
sent by royal authority to serve against the 
Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he found 
still more exorbitant in their exactions than 
the monarch. — RedpaMs Border History, p. 
563. 

Evers was much regretted by King Henry, 
who swore to avenge his death upon Angus, 
against, whom he conceived himself lo have 
particular grounds of resentment, on account 
of favours received by the earl at his hands. 
The answer of Angus was worthy of a Dou- 



\ 



1 /Vn°ut I 



marrieU the widow of James IV. , 



Kiug Heury VIII. 



glas : "Is our brother-in-law offended," i said 
he, " that I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged 
mv ravaged country, and the defaced tombs 
of my ancestors, upcm Ralph Evers T They 
were better men than he, and I was bound to 
do no less— and will he take my life for that? 
Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirne- 
tahle:2 I can keep myself there against all 
his English host."— Go^/srTo//. 

Such was the noted battle of Ancram Moor. 
The spot, on which it was fought, is called 
Lilyard's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish 
Woman of that name, who is reported, by tra- 
dition, to have distinguished herself in the 
same manner as Squire Witherington.3 The 
old people point out her monument, now bro- 
ken and defaced. The inscription is said to 
have been legible within tliis century, and tii 
have run thus : 

" Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. 
Little was her stature, but great was her 

fame ; 
Upcm the English louns she laid mony 

thumps. 
And, when her legs were cutted off, she 
fought upon her stumps." 

Vide Accoxml oj the Parish of Melrose. 

It appears, from a passage in Stowe.that ai^ 
ancestor of Lord Evers held also a gront of 
Scottish lands Irom an English monarch. "I 
have seen." says the historian, "under the 
broad-seale of the said King Edward 1., i 
manor, called Ketnes. in the county of Forfare, 
in Scotland, and neere the furthest part of the 
same nation northward, given to John Ure and 
his heires. ancestor to the Lord Ure, that now 
IS. for his service done in these paries, with 
market. &lc. dated at Lanercost. the 20th day 
of October, anno regis, 31.'" — Stowe's Annals, 
p 210. This grant, like that of Henry, must 
have been dangerous to the receiver. 



Note B. 

That nun who ne'er beholds the day. — P. 497. 

The circumstance of the nun, " who never 
saw the day," is not entirely imaginary. About 
fifty years ago, an unfortunate female wan- 
derer took up her residence m a dark vault, 
anxmg the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, 
during the day, she never quitted. When 
night fell, she issued from this miserable habi- 
tation, and went to the house of Mr Halibur- 
ton of Newmains, the Editor's great-grand- 
father, or to that of Mr. l-^rskine lif Sheilfield, 
two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From 
their chanty, she obtained such necessaries 
as she could' be prevailed upon to accept. At 
twelve, each night, slie lighted her candle, and 
returned to her vault, a.ssuring her friendly 
neighbours, that, during her absence, her hal)i- 
tation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she 
gave the uncouth name of Fallips; describing 
him as a little man, wearing heavy iron shoes, 
with which he trampled tiie clay floor of the 
vault, to dispel the damps This circumstance 



:tabli-, in a mou.itaiiioui 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



499 



caused h«r tci he re^ardeil. by the well-in- 
foniied. with roiiip;i>sii)U as deraiiired in lier 
uiideistandins; and bv the viiUar. with some 
desree of terror. 'I'he cause of her adoptin? 
this extraordinary mode of life she wi.uld 
never explain It was. however, believed to 
have been occasioned by a vow, thuf, dnrins 
the absence of a man ti> whom she wa-s af- 
taclied, she would never look upon the sun 



Her lover never returned. He fell durins the 
civil war of 1745-6. and she never more would 
behold the light of day. 

Tiie vault, or rather dungeon, in which this 
iiiifortmiHte woman lived and died, passes still 
by the name of the supernatural being, with 
which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed 
imagination, and few of the neighbouring pea- 
sants dare enter it by night.— ISftJ. 



S 



Cabyow Castle. 



The ruins of Cadyow. or Cadzow Castle, the 
ancient baronial residence of the familv of 
TIamilton. are situated upon the precipitous 
hanks of the river Kvaii. about two miles 
above its junction with the Clyde. It was 
dismantled, in Ihe conclusion of the Civil 
Wars, during the reign of the unfortunate 
Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamilton 
devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
which occasioned their temporary obscurity, 
and, very nearly, their total ruin The situa- 
tion of ihe ruins, embosomed in wood, dark- 
ened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and over- 
nanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in 
the nighesi degree, in the immediate vicinity 
of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the 
remains of the Caledonian Forest, wnich an- 
ciently extended through the south of Scot- 
land, from the easiern to the Atlantic Ocean. 
Sofne of these trees measure twenty-five feet. 
and upwards, in circumference ; and the state 
of decay, in which tliey now appear, shows 
that they have witnessed the rites of the 
Druids The whole scenery is included in the 
magnificent and extensive park of the Duke 
of Hamilton There was long ureserved in 
this forest the breed of the Scottish wild 
rattle, untd their ferocity occasioned their 
being extirpated, about forty years ago. Their 
appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, 
with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The 
bulls are described by ancient authors as 
having white manes ; but those of latter days 
had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by inter- 
mixture with the tame breed, l 

In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, 
which IS made the subject of the following 
ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to 
use other words than those of Dr Robertson, 
whose account of that memorable event forms 
a beautiful piece of historical painting. 

"Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the per- 
son who committed this barbarous action 
He had been condemned to death soon after 
the battle of Langside. as we have already re- 

1 Thev were formerly kept in the park at Drumlanrip, 
■lid ire 1*1 ill to he seen at Chillingham (Castle, in Mortbum- 
berland. For their nature and ferocity. Hee Noten. 

a Thm was Sir James Bellenden. Lord Justice-Clerk, 
whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the 
eala.-.lrophe in the UxL—SpoUitwoode. > 



lated. and owed his life to the Regent's cle- 
mency. But part of his e.sfate had been be- 
stowed up(m one of the Regent's favourites 2 
who seized his house, and turned out his wife, 
naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, 
where, before next morning, she became 
furiously mad. This injury made a deeper 
impression on him than the benefit he had re- 
ceived, and from that moment he voweil to be 
revenged of the Regent. Party rage strength- 
ened and inflamed his private resentment. 
His kinsmen, the Hamiltoiis, applauded the 
enterprise. The maxims of that age justified 
the most desperate course he could take to 
obtain vengeance. He followed the Regent 
for some time, and watched for an opportunity 
to strike the blow. He resolved at last to 
wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlith- 
gow, through which he was to pass in his way 
from Stirling to tldinhiirgh. He took his stand 
in a wooden gallery .3 which had a window to- 
wards the street; spread a feather-bed on the 
floor to hinder the noise of his feet from being 
heard ; hung up a tilack cloth behind him, that 
his shadow might not be observed from with- 
out; and, after all this preparation, calmly 
expected the Regent's approach, who had 
lodged, during the night, in a house not far 
distant Some indistinct information of the 
danger which threatened him had been con- 
veyed to the Regent, and he paid so much re- 
gard to it. that he resolved to return by the 
same gate through which he had entered, and 
to fetch a compass round the town. But, as 
the crowd about the gale was greiit, and he 
himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded 
directly along the street ; and the throng of 
people obliging him to move very slowly, gave 
the assassin time to take so true an airii, that 
he shot him. with a single bullet, through the 
lower part of his belly, and killed the horse 
of a gentleman who rode on his other side. 
His followers instantly endeavoured to break 
into the house whence the blow had come ; 
but they found the door strongly barricadoed. 

3 This projecting gallery is still shown. The hoiisi- m 
hich it was attached was the property of the .4r(hh;shn|i 

of St. Andrews, a natural hroiher to the Dulie of Chair). 

herault, and uncle ro Bothwellhaugh. This, among in.iiiy 
■ circumstances, Keem« to evince the aiil whiih Bnih- 

wellbaugh recei.ved from bia clau in etfectiug his purpose. 



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and, befiire il, citulil be forrnd open. Hiiiiiilton 
h;id mounted ;i fleet horse, i whittli stood leadv 
for hini at a hsick passage, and was got tar be- 
yond their reach. 'I'he Regenl died the same 
liiRlit of his woaiiii." — Hislory of Scotland, 
book V. 

Bothwellhauffh rode straight to Hamilton, 
where lie was received in triumph; for the 
ashes of I lie houses in Civdesdale, which had 
been burned l)y Murray's army, were yet 
smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of 
the age, and the enormity of the provocation, 
seemed to his kinsmen to justify the deed. 
AOer a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce 
and deteriiimed man left Scotland, and served 
ill Franire. under the patronage of the family 
of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recom- 
mended by having avenged the cause of their 
niece. Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful bro- 
ttier. De 'Ihou has recorded, that an attempt 
was made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar 
de Coligni. the fiinious Admiral of Prance, and 
the buckler of the Huguenot cause But the 
character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. 
He was no mercenary trader in blood, and 
rejected the offer with contempt and indigna- 
tion He had no auihority. he said, from Scot- 
land to commit murders in France; he had 
avenged his own just quarrel, but he would 
iieitlier, for price nor prayer, avenge that of 
another man — Thnanus. cap. 46. 

'Ihe Regent's death happened 23d January, 
1.569. It is applauded or stigmatized. 1 y con- 
temporary historians, according to thei' reli- 
gious or party prejudices. The triumph of 
Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols 
the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh. " who," he 
oliserves. "satisfied, with a single ounce of 
lead, him whose sacrilegious avarice had 
stripped the metropolitan church of St. An- 
drews of its covering;" hut he ascribes it to 
immediate divme inspiration, and the escape 
of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous 
iiiierference of the Deity.— JeA6. vol. ii. p 263. 
With equal injustice, it was, by others, rnade 
the ground of a general national reflection; 
for, when Mather urged Herney to assassinate 
Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot 
and Bothwellhaugh. the other conspirator an- 
swered, 'that iieyther Poltrot nor Hambleton 
did attempt their eiiterpryse. without some 
reason or consideration to lead them to it; as 
the one, by byre, and promise of preferment 
orrewarde; the other, upon desperate mmd 
of revenge, for a Ivttle wrong done unto him, 
as the re[)ort goethe. according to the vyle 
travterous dvsposvsyon of the hoole natyon 
of the Scotles "—Murdin's State Papers, vol. i. 
p. 197. 



€aT)Sob) (Kastle. 

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 

Tlie song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 



Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaulied wall, 

And echoed light the dancer's honnil. 
As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. 
And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 

Thrill to the music of the shade, 
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadvow's faded fame. 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
And tune my harp, of Border frame. 

On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From [deasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, 

To draw oblivion's pall aside. 
And mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command, 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise; 

l.o! as on Evan's hanks we stand. 
The past returns— the present flies. 

Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side. 
Were blended late the rums green, 

Rise turrets in fantastic pride. 
And feudal bani.ers flaunt between: 

Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe, 

The ashler buttress braves its force, 
And ramparts frown m battled row. 

'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 

And on Ihe wave the warder's fire 
Is chequering the moonlight beam. 

Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-houiuis bay. 

And merry hunters quit the bower. 

The drawbridge falls— they hurry out — 
."latters each plank and swinging chain. 

As. dashing o'er, ihe jovial rout 
Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the Chief rode (m ; 2 
His shouting merry-men throng behind; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than tiie mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks bound, 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain. 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior- sound 
Has roused thei.r mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn. 

What sullen roar comes down the gale. 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 

Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band. 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 



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2 The head of the familv of Hamilton, at this perinil, v 
James, Earl of Arraii. Duke of Chatelheranll, in Fran 
and first peer of ihe Sroltish realm. In 1569, he wis ; 
pointed hv Queen Mjry her lieutenant-general in SloiU 
under the singular til'e of her adopted :alher. 



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Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance lias flown ; 

SlniffKliiiS in bidiid tne savage lies; 
His mar is sunk in hollow sroan— 

Sound, ineiry huntsmen ! sound the pryse! ' 

'Tis noon— asainsl the knotted oak 
The hunters rest llie iille spear; 

Curls Ihroush the trees tlie sieiider smoke, 
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the Chieftain mark'd his clan. 

On greenwood lap all careless thrown, 
Yet niiss'd his eye the boldest man 

Tliat bore the name of Hamilton. 

" Why fills not Boihwelllianffh his place. 
Still wont our weal and woe to sliiire ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunter's fare T" — 

Stern Claud replied,^ with darkening face, 

(Grey Paisley's haughty lord was he,) 
" At merry feast, or buxoin chase. 

No more the warrior wilt thou see. 
" Few suns have set since Woodhouselee 3 

Saw Botiivvellhaugh's bright yoblets foam. 
When to his hearths, in social glee. 

The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 

"There, wan from her maternal throes. 
His .Margaret, beautiful and mild, 

Sate in her bower, a pallid rose. 
And peaceful nursed her new-born child. 

"O change accursed ! past are those days; 

False .Murray's ruthless spoilers came. 
And. for the hearth's domestic blaze. 

Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 

" What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 

Where mountain Eske through woodland 
flows. 
Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 

Oh ! is it she, the pallid rose ? 

"The wilder'd traveller sees her glide. 

And hears her feeble voice with awe— 
' Revenae,' sue cries, "on .Murray's pride ! 

And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !" " 

He ce-.ised— and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kiiuired band, 

And half arose the kindling Chief. 
And half unsheathed his Arran brand 

But who. o'er hush, o'er stream and rock, 
Kides headlong, with resistless speed, 

Whose bloody poiiiard's frantic stroke 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; * 

Whose cheek is pale, whose evehalls glare. 
As one some vision'd sight that saw. 

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair? — 
M'ls he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 

from gory selle.s and reeling steed, 
Spniiig'tlie fierce horseman with a bound, 

And, reeking from the recent deed. 
He dash'd his carbine on the ground. 

1 Sec \|ipciidix. Note A. 3 Ibid, Note B. 

3 Sec Appendix, Note C. 4 Ibid, Note D. 

h .S»/t— Saddle. A word used by Speoaer, and oUier nn- 
ni-nt authont. 
8 See Appendix, Note E. 7 Ibid, Note F. 

( Of Uii8 noted person, il is enough to say, that he was 



Sternly he spoke—" 'Tis sweet to heai 
in good greenwood the bugle blown. 

But sweeter to Revenge's ear. 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 

" Your slaughter'd quarry proudly tr(i.^e. 
At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, 

But prouder base-born .Murr.iy rode 
Througii old Linlithgow's crowded town. 

'• From the wild Border's humbled side,' 
In haughty triumph marched he. 

While Knrx relax'd his bigot pride. 
And sm.led, the traitorous pomp to see, 

"But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 

The settled heart of Vengeance daunt. 
Or change the purpose of Despair 1 

" With hackbut bent,'' my secret stand, 
Dark as the purposed deed. I chose, 

And mark'il. where, mingling in his band, 
Iroop'd Scottish pikes and English bows. 

" Dark \rorton.8 girt with many a spear, 
Murder's foul minion, led the van; 

And clash'd their broadswords in the rear 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan.» 

"Glencairn and stout Parkhead i" were nigh, 
Obsequious at their Regent's rein. 

And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, 
I hat saw fair Mary weep in vain.' i 

" '.Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove. 
Proud Murray's plumage floated high; 

Scarce could his trampling charger move, 
So close the minions crowded nigh. 12 

" From the raised vizor's shade, his eye. 
Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along. 

And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. 

" But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 
A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 

Some fiend was whispering in his breast; 
•Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' 

"The death-shot parts— the charger springs- 
Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! 

And Murray's plumy helmet rings — 
—Rings on the ground, to ri?ie no more. 

" What joy the raptur'd youth can feel. 
To hear her love the liived one tell— 

Or he. who broaches on his steel 
The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! 

" But dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten limes trebled j(»y, 
To hear him groan his felon soul. 

" My Margaret's spectre glided near; 

VVitli pride her bleeding victim saw; 
And sliriek'd m his death-deafen'd ear, 

• Kemeinber injured Bothwellhaugh 1' 



9 See Appendix, Note G. 

10 See Appendix, Note H. 

11 See Appendix, Note I. 

12 See Appendix, Note K. 



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"Then speed thee, noble Chatleniult ! 

Suread to the wind thy haiiner'd tree ! 1 
Kach warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — 

Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free !" 

Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
" Murray is fall'n, and Scotland freed I 

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame 1" 

But. see ! the minstrel vision fails — 
The Klimmerifis: spears are seen no more; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink m Evan's lonely roar. 



For the loud husle. pealins hig-h, 
The blackbird whisiles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 
The banner'd towers of Evandale. 

For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed. 
And Vengeance shoutin;; o'er the slain, 

Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids who list the nimsirel's tale; 

Nor e'er a rud«:r guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale ! 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 



— 9Wind thcpryse!—P. 501. 

Pryse-^The note blown at the death of the 
^anie. — In Caledonia ohm frequp.ns erat sylves- 
tris qnidnm bos, nunc Vero ranor, qui, colore 
candidissitno, jtiham densam el, demissiim itislar 
teonis geslat, trumlrnlHs oc ferns ah Inimmio 
genere abhorrens, ut qumcwique homines vel tna- 
ntbtis conlrecta.rint, vel halilu peijlaverini, ah lis 
mullos post dies omriino abstmiierunt. Ad hm 
tanta atidacia buic bovi mdita erat, Ut non solum 
irritalus equites furetiter prosternerel, sed ne 
tantiUum lacessittts omnes promisaie homines 
cornibtis ac tmjulis peterit ; ac cantim. qui apud 
nos feroctssinn sunt, impetus plane contemneret 
Ejus carnes rartilatjinosa, sed saporis suavissimi 
Brat is olim per illam vaslissimam Caledtmiee 
sylvam frequmis, sed humana muluvie jam as- 
sumptus trihus tanlum locis est rehquus, Strwi- 
liuuii, Cuvtbernaldim, et Kincarnice.—l^slcEus, 
Scotiae Desorii)tio, p. 13 — [See a note on Castle 
Dangerous, Waverley Novels.— jErf.] 



Note B. 

stern Claud replied.—?. 501. 
Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the 
Duke of Chatelherault, and commendator of 
the Abbey of Paisley, acted a distinKui."<hed 
part during the troubles of Queen Mary's 
reign, and remained unalterably attached to 
the cause of that unfortunate princess. He 
led the van of her army at the fatal battle of 
Langside, and was one of the commanders at 
the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given 
complete success to the Queen's faction. He 
was ancestor of the present Marquis of Aber- 
corn 



cie.,1 



Note C. 

Woodhouselee,~V. ."JOl. 

This barony, stretching along the banks of 
the B;sk, near Auchendiiiiiv, belonged to Both- 
wellhaugh. in right of his Wife The ruins of 
the mansion, from whence she was expelled 
in the brutal manner which occasioned her 
death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen be- 
side the river. Popular report tenants them 
with the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwell- 
liaugh ; whom, however, it confounds with 
Lady Anne Bothwell. whose Lament is so po- 
pular. This spectre is so tenacious of her 
rights, that a part of the si ones of the ancient 
edifice having been employed in building or 
rep;iiring the present Woodhouselee, she has 
deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt that 
house also; and, even of verv late vears. has 
excited ronsideral^le disturbance and terror 
among the domestics. This is a more remark- 
able vindication of the riqhts of ghosts, as the 
present Woodhouslee. which gives his tiMe to 
the Honourable Alexander Fraser Tyiler. a 
senator of the College of Justice, is situated 
on the slope of the Pentlaiui hills, distant at 
least four miles from her proper abode. She 
always appears m white, and with her child 
in her arms. 



Note D. 

Drives to the leap his jaded steed.—P. 501. 

Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, be- 
ing closely pursued, " afier that spur and wand 
had failed him. he drew forth his daggei' : nd 
strocke his horse behind, whilk caused he 
horse to leap a very brode stanke [?. e. ditch], 
by whilk means he escapit, and gat away from 
all the rest of the horses." — Btrrel's Diary 
p. 18. 



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NoTB E. 

h'rnvi the wild Border's hnmbkil side —P. .'^01. 
Murray's ileuth took place shortly after an 
expeditio!! to the Borders; which is thuscoin- 
niemoraled by the author of Ins Eleg:y :— 
"So havins stablischt all Miiii? in this sort, 
To Lidiiisdaill agaiie lie did resort, 
Throw Kwisdail, Eskdail. and alt the daills 

rode he. 
And also lay three nights inCannabie, 
Whair iia prince lay thir hundred yeiris be- 
fore. 
Nae ihief durst stir, they did him feir sa 

sair; 
And. that they suld iia mair thair thift 

allH-e, 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of ihanie in 

pledge. 
Syne warilit thame. whilk maid the rest keep 

ordoiir ; 
Than invcht the rasch-bus keep ky on the 
Border." 

Scottish Poems, \Qlh century, p 232. 



Note F. 

With hacktnit bent.— P. 



501. 



Hnckhut bent — Gim rock'd. The carbine, 
with which the Retjeiit was shot, is preserved 
at Hamilton Palace. It is a brass piece, of a 
middling leiisfth. very small in the bore. and. 
what, 18 rather extraordinary, appears to have 
been rifled or indented in the barrel. It had a 
matchlock, for which a modern firelock has 
been nijudiciously substituted. 



Note G. 

The wild Macfartanen' pLaided clan.—V. .'iOl. 

This clan of Lennox Highlanders were at- 
tached to the Resent Murray. Hollinslied. 
speakins of the battle of Langside, says, "In 
this butayle the valiancie of an Heiland gen- 
tleman, named Macfarlane. stood the Kegent',-; 
|>art in great sleede; for. in the hottest bruiite 
of the tiglile, he came U|i with two hundred 
of his friendes and countrymen, and s.i man- 
fully gave in upon the tlankes of the Queen's 
peoi)le, that he was a great cause of the dis- 
oriiering of them. This Macfarlane had been 
lately before, as I have heard, condemned to 
die, for .some outrage by him committed, and 
obiayning pardon through suyte of the Coun- 
tess of Alurray. he recompensed Ihalclemencie 
by this piece of service now at tliis batayle." 
Calderwood's accou.it is less favourable to the 



.Macfarlaiies. He states that " Macfarlane, 
wi!h his Highlandmen. fled from the win? 
where they were .«et. The Lord Lindsay, who 
.stood nearest to them in the Regent'.s battle, 
said. • lyftl them go! I shall filL their place 
beLter :' and so. stepping forward, with a con - 
pany of fresh men. charged the enemy, whose 
spears were now spent, with long weapons, so 
tiiai they were driven back by force, being be- 
fore almost overthrown by the avaunt-gnarj 
.Old harquebusiers, and so were turned to 
f[\s.\\r.'''—Calderioood's MS apud Krilh. p 480. 
Melville mentions the flight of the vanguard, 
but state.s it to have been commanded by 
.Morton, and composed chiefly of commoners 
of the barony of Renfrew. 



Note H. 

Glencairn and stout Parkhead wrre mah. 

P. 501. 

The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adhe- 

eiit of the Regent. George Douglas (if Park- 

lead was a natural brother of the Earl of 

Miuton, whose horse was killed by the same 



503 ^. 



ball by which Murray fell. 



Note I. 

haggard Lindesay's iron eye. 

That saw fair Mary weep in vain —P. C-iOX. 
Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the iiio.st 
ferocious and brutal of the Regent's faciioii, 
and, as such, was employed to extort Mary's 
signature to the deed of resignation presented 
to her in Lochleveii castle. He discharged 
his commission with Uie most savage rigour; 
and it is even said, that when the wee|)ing 
captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes 
f>om the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with 
the grasp of his iron glove. 



Note K. 

So close the minions crowded nwh — P f)01. 

Not only had the Regent notice of the in- 
tended attempt upon his life, but even of the 
very house from which it was threatened. 
V\ ith that infatuation at which men wondei, 
after such events have happened, he deemed 
it would be a sufficient precaution to ride 
brisivly past the dangerous spot. But even 
this was prevented by the crowd: so that 
Ijothwellhaugh had time to take a deliberate 
aini—Spottiswoode, p. 233. Buchanan. 




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The Gray Brother. 



A FRAGMENT. 



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Tlie imperfect, state of this nallail, winch 
v\aswriileii several years agci, is rot a circiim- 
Slaiice atiecteil for the purpose o' givins it that 
peciihar iinerest which is often found to arise 
I'roiii uiixratitied curiosity. On the contrary, 
it was tlie Editor's intention to liaVe completed 
the tale, if he had found himself able to suc- 
ceed to his own salisfaciion. YieldiniSf to the 
opinion of persons, whose judRineiit. if not 
biassed by the partiality of friendship, is en- 
titled to deference, he has preferred inserting 
these verses as a fragment, to his latention of 
entirely suppressing them. 

The tradition, upon which the fale is found- 
ed, regards a house upon the harony of Uil- 
niertdn, near Lasswa<le, in M.,1- Lothian. This 
building, now called Gilmenon Grange, was 
originally named Buriidale, from the followiiifr 
tragic adventure. The barony of Gilmerlon 
belonged, of vore. to a gentleman named He- 
ron, who haii one beautiful daughter. This 
young ladv was seduced by the Abbot of New- 
battle, a richly endowed atibey, upon the banks 
(if the South Esk. now a seat of the Marquis 
of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge 
(if this circumstance, and learned also, that 
the lovers carried on their guiljy intercourse 
by the connivance of the lady's nurse, wlio 
lived at this house of Gilmei-ton Graisse, or 
Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody 
Vengeance, undeterred by the stipposed sanc- 
tity of the clerical character, or by the stronger 
claims of natural affection. Choosmg, there- 
fore, a dark and windy night, when the objects 
of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen in- 
terview, he set tire to a stack of dried thorns, 
and other combustibles, which he had caused 
to be piled against the house, and reduced to 
a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all 
Its inmates. 1 

The scene with which the biillad opens, was 
suggested by the following curious passage, 
extracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, 
one of the wandering and persecuted teachers 
of the sect of Cameromans. during the reign 
of Charles II and his successor. James. This 
person was supposed by his followers, and. 
perhaps, really believed himself, to be pos- 
sessed of supernatural gifts; for the wild 
scenes which they frequented, and the con- 
stant dangers which were incurred through 
their proscription, deepened upon their minds 
the gloom of superstition, so general in that 
age. 

•'About the same time he [Peden] came to 
Andrew Normand's house, in the parish of 
Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach 
et night in his barn. After he came in, he 

1 Tliis tradllion Wan lommunicateil lo me hy John (.Ilrrk, 
E.-<q. of VM'xn, author of an Eisaj/ upon Naval Tactics, who 
w:il be remembeivil by poxlcrity, as having taught the (ir- 



lialted a little, leaning upon a Ohair-hack. with 
his lace covered ; when he lifted up his head, 
he said. • Ihey are m this house that 1 have 
not one word of salvation unto;' he halted a 
little again, saying. ' I'his is strange, that the 
devil will not go out. that we may begin our 
work !' Then there was a woman went out, 
ill-looked iipcm almost all her life, and to her 
dying hour, for a witch, with many presump- 
tions of the same. It escaped me, in the for- 
mer passages, what John Mutrhead (whom I 
have often mentioned) told me. that when he 
came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at 
family-Worship, and giving simie notes upon 
the Scripture read, when a very ill-looking 
man came, and sat down within the door, at 
the back of the kaUan. [partition of the cot- 
tage :] immediately he halted and said, ' There 
is some unhappy body just now come into this 
house. I charge him to go out, and not stop 
my mouth !' 'this person went out, and lin 
insisted [went on.] yet he saw Inm neither 
come in nor go i\nX.''— The Lift nnd Frujihccies 
of Mr. ALfXnnder Peden, late Minister of tlie 
Gospel at New Glenluce, in Galloway, part a. 
§26 

A friendly correspondent remarks, " that the 
incapacity of proceeding in the performance 
(It a religious duty, when a contar.unated per- 
son is present, is of much higher antiquity 
than the era of the Reverend Mr. Aiexaiidei 
Peden"— F/f/e Hyuiui Fabulas. cap. 26. '•Me- 
dea Cnrint.ho exiil. Athnins. ad jEi/eum PiimJio- 
nis filium devemt in hospttiitm, eique nuiisit. 

" Pnsteii sncerdos Dwnm Mnienm exa- 

gil.are capit, regiquc neynbat sncra caste tncne 
posse, eo quod in ea rimtale essel mulier venijica 
el scelerata; tunc exulatur." 



2ri)c ^wi) 33i*otl)ct:. 

The Pope he was saying the high, high mass. 

All (m Saint Peter's day. 
With the power to him given, by the samts 
in heaven. 

To wasli men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, 

And the people kneel'd around. 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 

As he kiss'd the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng, 

Was still, both limb and tongue. 
While, through vaulted roof and aisles aloof. 

The holy accents rung. 

nius of Britain lo concentrate her thumlers. and 10 launch 



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505 



At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear, 

AniJ falter'd m the soiiiul— 
Anil, wlieii he would the chalice rear, 

He dropp'd it to the ground. 

"The breath of one of evil deed 

Pollutes our sacied day; 
He has no portion in our creed, 

No part in what I say. 

" A heinff. whom no blessed word 

To ghostly peace can brine; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd, 

RkcoiIs each holy thin?. 

" Cp, up, unhappy ! haste, arise! 

My adjuration fear! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice, 

Nor lon?,'er tarry here !" — 

Amid them all a pilsrim kneel'd, 

In eown of sackcloth grey ; 
Far journeying from his native field, 

He first saw Itonie that day. 

For forty days and ni?hts so drear, 

1 ween he had not spoke, 
And. save with bread and water clear. 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock. 

.Sf!em'd none more bent to pray ; 
But. when the Holy Father spoke. 

He rose and went his way. 

Again unto his native land 

His wearv course he drew. 
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand. 

And Pentlaiid's mountains blue. 

His nnblest feet his native seat, 

'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain: 
Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 

And lords to meet the pilerim came, 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all 'mid Scot land's chiefs of fame. 

Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country, still. 

In battle he had stood. 
Av. even when on the banks of Till 

Her noblest pour'd their blood. 

Sweet are the paths. O passing sweet! 

Bv Eske's fair streams that run. 
O'er airy steep. Ihroush copsewood deep, 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove. 

And vield the muse the day ; 
There Beauty, led by timid L»ive, 

May shun the tell-tale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free.i 
'I'o Auchendinny's hazel elade.2 

And haunted VVoodhouselee.3 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,< 

And Koslin's rocky glen. 5 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,8 

And classic Hawihornden T "> 



Yet never a path, from day to day. 

The pilarim's foo'steps range, 
Save liui the solitary way 

To Burndale's ruin'd grange. 

A woful place was that, I ween. 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For nodding to the fall was each crumblme 
wall. 

And the roof was scathed with fire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve. 

While, on Caniethy's head. 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streak'd the grey with red ; 

And the C(mvent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbattle's oaks among. 
And minsled with the solemn knell 

Our Ladye's evening song : 

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell. 

Came slowly down the wind. 
And on the pilgrim's e;ir they fell. 

And his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was. 

Nor ever raised his eye. 
Until he came to that dreary place. 

Which did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire. 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 
"Now, Christ thee save!'' said the Gray Bro- 
ther; 

"Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze. 

Nor answer again made he. 

" O come ye from east, or come ye from west. 

Or bring reliques from over the sea; 
Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the 
divine, 

Or St. John of Beverley !"— 

"I come not from the shrine of St James the 
divine. 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea; 
I bring but a cur.^e from our father, the Pope, 

Which for ever will cling to me."— 

"Now, woful pilgrim, say not so! 

But kneel thee down to me. 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin. 

That absolved thou mayst be." — 

" And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, 

That I should shrive to thee. 
When He, to whom are given the keys of earth 
and heaven. 

Has no power to pardon me '?" — 

"O I am sent from a distant clime. 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a fouL foul crime. 

Done here 'twixt night and day," 

The pilgrim kneel'd him tm the sand. 

And thus began his saye— 
When on Ins neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye. 



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Notes 1 to 7. 

HCENERY OF THE ESK. 

P. 505 

1 The barony of Pennyrnik, the property of 
Sir George Clerk, Bart.,' is held hv a siiigiilar 
tenure ; the proprietor bein? bound 'o sit nnor; 
a large rocky fragment called the Buckstane. 
and wind three blasts of a liorn, when tiie 
King sliall come to hunt on the Boronsh Miiir. 
near Edinburgh. Hence th» family have adopt 
ed as their crest a demi- forester proper, wind- 
ing a horn, with the motto. Frfe far n BlnsL 
The beautiful mansion-house of Pennycuik is 
much admired, both on accoont of the archi- 
tecture and sorroundins scenery. 

2 Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, he- 
low Peiinycoik. the present residence of the 
ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq.. author of the 
Man ofFeelim, <ff.— Edition 1803 

3 "Haunted Woodhouselee."— For the tra- 
ditions connected with this ruinous mansion, 
see Ballad of Cadyow Castle, Note, p ^m. 

4 Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Ho- 
nourable Lord Melville, to whom it gives the 
title of Viscount, is delightfully situated upon 
the Eske. near Lasswade 

5 The ruins of Koslin Castle, the baronial 
residence of the ancient faniilv of St. Clair. 
The Gothic chapel, which is still in beautifnl 
preservation, with the romantic and woody 
ilell in which they are situated, belong to the 



Kisht Honourable the Ear! af fio.sslyn. the re 
presenlative of the former Lords of Ro.s'.in. 

6 The villaee and castle of Tialkelth heionsr- 
ed of old to the famous Earl of Morton, but is 
now the residence of ihe noble family of Bur- 
cleurh. The park e.ttends along the Eske. 
ivhich is there joined by its sister stream of 
the same name. 

' Hawthi>rnden, the residence of the poet 
Drummond. A house of more motlern dale i.<f 
enclosed, as il were, by tiie roins of the an- 
cient cnstle, and overhangs a tremendius pre- 
cipice upon the banks of the Eske, perforated 
by winding caves, which in former times were 
a refuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. 
Here Drummond received Ben Jonson. who 
journeyed from London on foot in order lo 
visit him. The beauty of this striking scene 
has been much injured of late vears by the 
indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller 
now looks in vain for the leafy bower, 
" Where Jonson sat in Drummond's socisfl 
shade." 

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from rO 
source till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no 
stream in Scotland can boast such a varied 
succession of the most interesting objects, as 
well as of the most romantic and beautiful 
scenery. 1803. . . . The beantifu I scenery of 
Hawthoriiden has, since the above no'e was 
written, recovered all its proper i,'r?)Mmenl of 
wood. 1831. 



War-Song 

OF THE 

ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS. 



" Nenniiis. Is not peace the end of arms ? 
" Caratach. Not where the cause implies a 
general conquest. 
Had we a difference with some petty isle. 
Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our land- 
marks. 
The taking in of some rebellious lord, 
Or making head against a slight commotion. 
After a day of blood, peace might be argued : 
But where we grapple for the land we live on. 
The liberty we hold more dear than life, 
The gods we worship, and, next these, onr ho- 
nours, 
And, with those, swords that know no end of 

battle— 
Those men, beside themselves allow no neigh- 
bour, 



\ 



V 



Those minds, that, where the day is, claini in- 
heritance. 

And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their 
harvest. 

And, where they march, but measure out more 
ground 

To add to Rome 

It must not be— No .' as they are oar foes. 

Let's use the peace of hononr — that's fair 
dealing; 

But in our hands oar swords. The hardy Ro- 
man, 

That thinks to graft himself into my stock. 

Must first begin his kindred under ground. 

And be allied in ashes." 

BoJidura 



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CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



The followiMS W'Hr-Sons; was written during 
the appreheiisimi of ;ui invasion 'I'he corps 
of VdliiiitHers to which it was iiddressed, was 
MiSf'd Ml 1797. oonsistin? of jjentlenien, mount- 
ed and armed at their own ex(>ense. It still 
sntisiats, as the Risjht Troop of the Koyal Mid- 
Lfithian Light Cavairv. commanded by the 
Honourahle Lieiltenant-Coionel Oiindas.i The 
noble tirid ctinsiitiiMoiial measure of armins 
freemen in defence of their own rights, was 
nowhere more successful than m Edinbiirgh. 
which furnished a forfie of 3000 armed and 
disciplined volunteers, including a regiment 
of cavalry, from the city and county, and two 
corps of artillery, each capable of serving 
twelve guns. To such a force, above all otiiers, 
might, in similar circumstances, be applied the 
exhortation of ourancient Galgaciis : " Promdf 
ituri in aci-m, et majores iiestroa et posle/os 
comitate." 1812. 



OF THE 

ROYAL EDIXBUROFi LIGHT DRA- 
GOONS. 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 

The bugles sound the call; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
The voice of battle's on the breeZe, 

Arouse ye, one and all! 

From high Dunedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.^ 

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 
Dull Holland's tardy train ; 



1 Now Viscount MclTille.— 183J. 

9 The royal colours. 

3 The allusion is to thn massacre of the Swiss Guards, on 
the fatal lOih Aucu»1, 179) It in painful, but not useless, 
to remark, thai Ihe passive temper with which the Swiss 
f«gsrded the death of their braTeat countryiaeu, merci- 



Their ravish'd toys though Romans motirn , 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 
And, foaming, gnaw the Chain ; 

Oh! had ihev mark'd the avenging call* 

Their brethren's murder gave, 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patri(ft valour, desperate grown, 
Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too. bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple horn. 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
To hail a master in our isle. 

Or brook a victor's scorn 1 

No. though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood. 
The sun. that sees our falling day. 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 

And set that i.ight in blood. 

For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbribed, unboiight, our swords we draw 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath ol British gale 

Shall fan the tri-color. 
Or footstep of invader rude, 
With rapine foul, and red with blood, 

Pollute our happy shore,— 

Then farewell home ! and farewell friends! 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide. 
Where charging squadrons furious ride. 

To conquer or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle-call ; 
Combined by honour's sacred tie, 
Our word is Luws and Liberty I 

March forward one and all! 




lessly slauahterpd in discharge of their duly, encouraged 
und authorised Ihe progressive injustice, by which Ihe 
Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people 
upon the Continent, have, at lenglh, been converted into 
the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state de» 
graded la half enslaved. — 1813. 



END OF COMTRlBtJTIONS TO MINSTRELST OF THE SCOTTISH BORDE*. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ballads, 

TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, 

FROM THE GERMAN, &o. 



CSS/fllfcim auti ^tXtn, 



IMITATED FROM THE •• LENORE" OK BUROER. 

Tile aiithur ha»l resolved to omit, the foUow- 
tni version <if a well-known Poem, in any 
Ciillertion which he tnisht make of his poetical 
trifles. But the piihliahers havlns pleaded for 
it s ad tnissiiin, the Author has consented, thoiifth 
not lUiBware of the disadvantage at whicti this 
youthful essay (for it was written in 1795) must 
appear with those which have been eXeciited 
bv much more able hands, in particular that 
of Mr. 't'aylor of Norwich, and liiat of Mr. 
Spencer. 

The following Translation was written lonff 
before the Author saw any other, and origi- 
nated in the following circumstances :— A lady 
of high rank in the literary world read this 
romantic tale, as translated by Mr. Tavlor, in 
the hou.«!e of the celebrated Professor Dugald 
Stewart of Edinburgh. The Author was not 
present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time ; 
nut a gentleman who had the pleasure of 
hearing the ballad, afterwards told him the 
Btory, and repeated the remarkable chorus— 

" Tramp ! tramp ! across the land they speede, 
Splash ! .«piash4 across the sea; 
Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace! 
Dost fear to ride with me ?'' 

In attempting a translation, then intended 
only to circulate among friends, the present 
Author did not hesitate to make use of this 
impressive stanZa; for which freedom he has 
since obtained the forgiveness of the ingenious 
gentleman to whom it properly belonsrs. 



I. 

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 
And eyed the dawning red : 

"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long I 
O art thou false or dead ?" — 

11. 
With gallant Fred'rick's princely power 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a wr)rd from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 



in. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 
At length a truce was made, 

And every kni?ht return'd to dry 
The tears his love had shed. 

IV. 

Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each plume, 

The badge of victory. 



And old and young, and sire and son, 
To meet them crowd the way, 

With shouts, and mirth, and melody, 
The debt of love to pay. 

VI. 

Full many a maid her true-love met, 

And sobb'd in his embrace. 
And flutt'ring Joy in tears and smiles 

Array'd full many a face, 

VIl. 

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the h(»st in vain ; 
For none could tell her William's late. 

If faithless, or if slain. 

vni. 

The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 
And in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 

IX. 

"O rise, my child," her mother said, 

•' Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 
A perjured lover's fleeting heart 

No tears recall again." — 



"O mother, what is gone, is gone, 

Wtiat's lost for ever lorn : 
Death, death alone can comfort me ; 

O had I ne'er been born ! 

XI. 
"O break, my heart,— break at once 

Drink my iife-blood. Despair ! 
No joy remains on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no share." — 



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509 



xn. 



" enter not in judsmenf . Lord !" 

The pious mother pravs; 
" Impute not snilt to thy frail child ! 

She knows not what slie says. 

XIII. 
" O say thy pater noster, child ! 

O turn to God and srace ! 
His will, that turn'd thy hiiss to bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss."— 

XIV. 
"O mother, mother, what is bliss? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
My VVilliam's love wa.s heaven on earth, 

"Without it earth is hell. 

XV. 

" Why should I prav to ruthless Heaven. 

Sinre my loved Wjlham's slain? 
I only pray'd for William's sake. 

And all my prayers were vain."— 

XVI. 
" O take the sacrament, mv child. 

And check these tears that flow, 
By resienafion's humble prayer, 

O hallow'd be thy woe !" — 

XVII. 
"No sacrament can quench this fire. 

Or slake this scorching pain : 
No sacrament can bid the dead 

Arise and live ag:ain 

XVTH. 
" break, my heart.— O break at once ! 

Be thou my sod. Despair! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, 

And vain each fruitless prayer." — 

XIX. 
"0 enter not in judgment. Lord, 

With thy frail childof clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue has spoke ; 

Impute it not, I pray I 

XX. 

" Forbear, my child, this desperate woe. 

And turn to God and srnce ; 
Well can devotion's heavenly fflow 

Convert thy bale to bliss." — 

XXL 
"O mother, rrother. what is bliss? 

O mother, what is bale? 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with him what were hell ?"— 

XXIL 
Wild she arraiams the eternal doom. 

Upbraids each sacred power. 
Till, spent, she soiisht her silent room. 

All in the lonely tower. 

XXIll. 
She heat her breast, she wrun? her hands, 

Till sun and day were o'er. 
And throivs:h the slimmerinar lattice shone 

The twinkling of the star! 



^ 



43^ 



XXIV. 

Then, crash ! the heavy drawhridse fell 

That o'er the moat was hung; 
And. clatter! clatter! on its boards 
The hoof of courser rung. 
XXV. 
The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 
A heavy footstep sounded. 
XXVL 
And hark ! and hark ! a knock— Tap ! tap I 

A rustling stifled noise;— 
Door-latch and tinklin? stanles ring;— 
At length a whispering voice. 
XXVIL 
" Awake, awake, arise, mv love ! 

How, Helen, dost thou fare ? 
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st ? laugh'st thou, or 
weep'st ? 
Hast thought on me. my fair?"— 
XXVIIl. 
" My love ! my love !— so late by night ! — 

I waked. I wept for thee : 
Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; 
Where, William, couldst thou be?"— 
XXIX. 
" We saddle late— from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
And to its bourne we both return 
Before the matin-bell." — 
XXX. 
"O rest this night within mv arms, 

And warm thee in their fold ! 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the 
wind : — 
My love is deadly cold "— 

XXXL 

' Let the wind howl throosh hawthorn bush! 

This nisht we must away; 
The steed is wisht. the spur is bright; 

I cannot stay till day. 

XXXII. 
"Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st le- 
hind 
Upon my black barb steed : 
O'er stfick and stile, a hundred miles, 
We haste to bridal bed."— 

XXXIII. 
'•To-niffht— to-niffht a hundred miles! — 

O dearest William, stay ! 
The bell strikes twelve-^dark, dismal hour! 

O wait, my love, till day !" — 

XXXIV. 

" Look here, look here — the moon shnies 
clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride: 
.Mount and away ! for ere the day 

We reach our briilal bed. 

XXXV. 

"The black barb snorts, the bridle rings; 

Ha.ste. busk, and bonne, and seat thee! 
The feast is made, the chamber spread, 

The bridal guests await thee."— 



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Th( 



xxxvr. 

Stronff love prevail'd : She husks, she bounes, 

Stie rni)nrii,s the barb behind. 
Ami round tier d»rlintc VViHiain's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 

XXXVII. 

And, hurry! hurry! off they rode, 

As fast as fast might he ; 
Spiiin'd from the courser's thundering heels 

'I'he flashing pebbles flee. 

XXXVIII. 
Ami on the right, and on the left, 

Ere they coiild snatch a view. 
Fast, last each mountain, mead, and plain, 

And cot, and castle, flew. 

X.\XIX. 

"Sit fast — dost fear? — The moon shines 
clear- 
Fleet goes tny barb— keep hold ! 

Fear'st thou ?"— "O no!" she faintly said; 
*• But why so stern and cold I 

XL. 
" What yonder riiiss? what yonder sings! 

Wliy shrieks I he owlet grey?" — 
"'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, 

The body to the clay. 

XLI. 
" With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, 

Ve may inter the dead : 
To-nishi I ride, with my young brid*^ 

To deck our bridal bed. 

XLII. 
"Come with thy choir, thou coflin'd guest, 

To swell our nuptial song! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! 

Come all, come all along !" — 

XLIII. 
Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And. hurry! hurry! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

XLIV. 
And. forward! forward ! on they go; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's labouring breath, 

As headlong on they speed. 

XLV. 
"O William, why this savage haste? 

And where thy bridal bed ?" — 
" 'Tis distant far. low. damp, and chill, 

And narrow, trustless maid." — 

XLV I. 
" No room for me ?"— " Enough for both ; — 

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course !" 
O'er thnnderine bridge, through boiling surge, 

He drove the furious horse. 

XLVII. 
Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode. 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, 

'I'he flashing pebbles flee. 



XLVIIl. 

Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower ! 

On right and left fled past how fast- 
Each ciiy, town, and tower ! 

XLIX. 
" Dost fear? dost fear ? The moon shines clear 

Dost fear to ride with me? — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride !" — 

"O WiUiam, let them be !— 



" See there, see there ! What yonder swings 
And creaks 'mid whistling rain ?" — 

" Gibbet and steel, lb' accursed wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 

LI. 
" Hollo! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." — 

LII. 
And. hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash ! 

The wasted form de.scends ; 
And fleet as wind through hazel bush 

The wild career attends. 

LIII. 
Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is red. the spur drops biood, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

LIV. 
How fled what moonshine faintly sliow'd! 

How fled what darkness hid I 
How fled the earth beneath their feet. 

The heaven above their head ! 

LV. 

'• Dost fear? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Does faithful Helen fear for them ?" — 

" leave in peace the dead !" — 

.LVI. 
" Barb ! Barb ' methinks I hear the co<k ; 

The sand will soon be run : 
Barb! Barb! I smell the morning air ; 

The race is wellnigh done." — 

Lvn. 

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode. 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scurge is red. the spur drops blood. 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

LVIII. 
"Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed. 

For, Helen, here's my home."— 

LIX. 
Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door. 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 



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BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN 



511 ^ . 



LX. 
With many a shriek and cry whiz round 

The buds of niidnisht, scared ; 
And rustliii? like auiuninal leaves 

Unhallowd gtiosts were heard. 

LXI. 
O'er many a tonih and romhstone pale 

He spiirr'd the fiery horse. 
Till sudden at un open a;iave 

He chenkd tlie wondrous course. 

LXII. 
The fallins: sauntlet quits the rein, 

Down drops the casque of steel. 
The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, 

The spur his gory heel. 

LXIII. 
The eyes desert the naked skull. 

The niould'ring flesh the hone, 
Till Helen's lily arms entwine 

A ghastly skeleton. 

LXIV. 
The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And. with a fearful hound. 
Dissolves at once in empty air. 

And leaves her on the ground. 

LXV. 
Half seen by fits, by fits half heard. 

Pule spectres flit along. 
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, 

And howl the funeral song; 

LXVl. 
" E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft. 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven !" 



2ri)e WS\X^ jB^uutsman. 

This is a translation, or rather an imitation, 
of the Wiljle Ja<jer of the German poet Bur- 
ger. The tradition upon which it is founded 
hears, that formerly a Wildarrave, or keeper 
<tf a royal forest, named Faulkenhuigr, was so 
much addicted to the pleasures of the chase, 
and otherwise so extremely profligate and 
cruel, that he not only followed this unhal- 
lowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other 
days consecrated to religious duty, but ac- 
companied it with the most unheard-of op- 
pression uptm the poor peasants, who were 
under liis vassalage. When this second Nim- 
rod died, the people adopted a superstition, 
founded probably on the many various un- 
couth sounds heard in the depth of a German 
forest, during the silence of tlie night. They 
conceived they still heard the cry of the Wild- 
grave's hounds; and the well-known cheer of 
the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' 
feet, and the rustling of the branches before 
the same, the pack, and the sportsmen, are 
also distinctly discriminated : but the phan- 
toms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a 
benighted Chassmr heard this infernal chase 



pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with 
which the Spectre Huntsman cheered his 
hounds, he could not refraia from crying, 
•' Gluck zu Falkenbiirijhr [Good sport to ye, 
Falkenburgh!] "Dost thou wish me good 
sport?" answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt 
share the game ;" and there was thrown at 
him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul 
carrion. The daring Chasseur lost two of his 
best horses soon after, atid never perfectly re- 
covered the personal effects of this ghostly 
greet ing. This tale, though told with some 
vanatiDtis. is universally believed all over 
Germany. 

The French h.id a similar tradition concern- 
ing an aerial hunter, who inlested the forest 
of Fontainbleau. He was, s<jmetimes visible; 
when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded 
with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account 
of him may he found in "Sully's Memoirs." 
who says he was called Le Grnrul Venrur. At 
one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, 
that the attendants, and. if I mistake not. 
Sully himself, came out into the court, sup- 
posing It was the sound of the king returnina: 
from the chase This phantoai is elsewhere 
called Saint Hubert. 

The superstition seems to have been very 
general, as appears fmm the following fine 
poetical description of this phantom chase, as 
it was heard m the wilds of Koss-shire. 

" Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of 
Ross, — 
So to the simple swain tradition tells,— 
Were wont with clans, and ready vassals 

thnmg'd. 
To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf. 
There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon, 
Begjimmg faint, but rising still more loud. 
And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds. 
And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far aiul 

keen : — 
Forthwith the hubbub multiplies; the gale 
Labours with wilder shrieks, and rifer din 
Of hot pursuit; the broken cry of deer 
Mangled by throttling dogs ; the shouts of 

men. 
And hoofs, thick beatine on the hollow hill. 
Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale 
Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's 

ears 
Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes 
The mountain's height, and all the ridges 

round. 
Yet not one trace of living wight discerns. 
Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he 

stands. 
To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear. 
To ghost, to witch, to fairv, or to fiend ; 
But w(niders,and no end of wimderina: finds." 
Albania — reprinted in ScoUish Bescriplive 
Poems, pp 167. 168. 



A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a 
Scottish capuchin, related to his being buried 
on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries ■ f 
hounds and huntsmen After his sainted relies 
had been deposited there, the noise was never 
heard more The reader will find this, and 
other miracles, recorded in the life of Father 
Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest 
Italian. 



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THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 

[1796] 

The Wil(]?rave winds his buffle-horn, 
To horse, to horse ! hiilloo, halloo! 

His fiery courser simfTs the morn. 
And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

The eaeer pank. from couples freed. 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake : 
While answerms hound, and horn, and steed, 

The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallow'd day 
Had pamted yonder spire with gold. 

And, calling sinful man to pray. 
Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd : 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! 
When, spurring from opposing sides. 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 

Who was each Stranu-er. left and risht, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell; 

The right-hand steed was silver white. 
The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 

The right-hand Horseman, younc and fair, 
His smile was like ttie morn of May ; 

The left, from eye of tawny glare. 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, '■ Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! 

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely cliase, afford ?"' — 

"Cease thy loud bogle's changing knell," 
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; 

" And for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. 

"To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; 

To-day the Warning Spirit hear. 
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." — 

"Away, and sweep the glades along!" 
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies"; 

"To muttering monks leave matin song, 
And bells, and books, and mysteries." 

The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, 
And, launching forward with a bound, 

" Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? 

" Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend; 

Halloo, halloo! and, hark away !" 

The Wildgrave spnrr'd his courser light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; 

And on the left and on the right. 
Each Stranger Horseman foUow'd still. 

Dp springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain snow; 

And louder rung the WiUigrave's horn. 
•• Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho !" 

A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; 

He ijasps the thundering hoofs below ; — 
But, live who can, or die who may. 

Still, '• Forward, forward !" on they go. 



See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd ; 

See, prostrate at the WiUlgruve's feet, 
A husbandman with toil embrown'd: 

" O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poors pittance," was his cry. 
•' Earn'd by t he sweat those brows have pour'd, 

In scorching hour of fierce July."— 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The impetuous Earl no warning heeds. 
But furious holds the onward way. 

"Away, thou hound ! so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow !" — 

Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, 
" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" 

So said, so done : — A single bound 
Clears the poor labourer's humble pale; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man and horse, and hound and horn, 
Destructive sweep the field along; 

While, joying o'er the wasted coin. 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. 

Again uproused, the timorous prey 
Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill. 

Hard run. he feels his strength decay. 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appear'd; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er mo.ss and moor, and holt and hill, 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace; 

O'er mo.ss and moor, unwearied still. 
The furious Earl pursues the chase 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall ;— 
"O spare, thou iiolile Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's liitle all ; 
These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care !'* — 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds. 
But furious keeps the onward way. 

"Unmanner'd dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar whine. 

Though human spirits, of thy .sort. 
Were tenants of these carrion kine !"— 

Again he winds his bugle horn. 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" 
And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, 

He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman near ; 
The murderous cries the stag appal. — 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 

With blood besmear'd, and white with foam. 
While big the tears of anguish pour. 

He seeks, amid the forest's gloom. 
The humble hermit's hallow'd bower. 

But man and horse, and horn and hound, 

Fast rattling on his traces go; 
The sacred chapel rung around 

With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho !" 



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BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN 



513 



\ 



All mild. :uiiid tlie rout profane. 
The holy hermit ponr'd his pniyer; 

'• Fmhear with blood God's house to stain; 
Revere his altar, and forbear! 

"The me:inest brute has riirhts to plead, 
VVhicli. wron!?'d by cruelly, or pride. 

Draw venseance on the ruthless head : — 
Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." 

Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 

The Back.wild whooping, points tlie prey :- 
Alas! the Rarl no warniii? heeds. 

But frantic keeps the forward way. 

" Holy or not. or risht or wrons. 
Thy altar, and its riles, I spurn ; 

Not sainted martyrs' sacred song. 
Not God himself, shall make me turn '" 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
•■ Hark forward, forward. lioUa, ho!" — 

But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, 
The sta?, the hut, the hermit, go. 

And horse and man, and horn and hound, 
And clamour of the chase, was gone ; 

For hoofs, and howls, and husrie-sound, 
A deadly silence reign'd alone. 

Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn. 
In vain to call : for not a sound 

Could from his anxious lips be borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds; 

No distant bayins reach'd his ears : 
His courser, rooted to the ground. 

The quickenin? spur unmindful bears. 

Still dark and darker frown the shades. 
Dark as the darkness of the grave ; 

And not a sound the still invades. 
Save what a distant t(»rrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humbled head, 
.At length the solemn silence broke; 

And. from a cloud of swarthy red. 
The awful voice of thunder spoke. 

"Oppressor of creation fair! 

Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool! 
Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor ! 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

" Be chased for ever'through the wood ; 

For ever roam the affrighted wild ; 
And let thy fate nistruct the proud. 

God's meanest creature is his child." 

Twas hush'il :— One flash, of sombre glare. 
With yellow tinged the forests brown ; 

Upro.se the Wildgrave's bristling hair. 
And horror chill'd each nerve and hone. 

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing nil; 

A rising wind began to sing ; 
And louder, louder, louder still. 

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 

Earth heard the call ;— her entrails rend ; 

From yawning rifts, with many a yell, 
Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 

The misbegotten dogs of hell. 

W hat ghastly Huntsman next arose. 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

His eye like midnight lightning glows. 
His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 



The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, 
V\'ith many a shriek of helpless woe; 

Beliind him hound, and horse, and horn. 
And, " Hark away, and holla, ho!" 

With wild despair's reverted eye. 
Close, close behind, he marks the throng 

With bloody fangs and eager cry; 
In frantic fear he scours along. — 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, 
Till time itself shall have an end ; 

By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space, 
At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 

This is the horn, and hound, and horse, 
That oft the lated peasant hears; 

Appall'd. he signs the frequent cross. 
When the wild din invades his ears. 

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 
For human pride, for human woe. 

When, at his midnight mass, he hears 
The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho !" 



2r$e jfUz-JSimQ. 



[1801.] 



This ballad was written at the request of 
Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his "Tales of 
W'cuider." It is the third in a series of four 
ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. 
The story is, however, partly historical; for it 
is recorded, that, duritig the struggles of the 
'^atin Kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Tem- 
plar, called Saint-Alban. deserted to the Sara- 
cens, and defeated the Christians in many 
combats, till he was finally routed and slain, 
in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the 
walls of Jerusalem 



Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give 

an ear. 
Of love, and of war. and of wonder to hear. 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your 

glee. 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 
O see you that castle, so s'rong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's 

land, 
The shell in his hat, and the staflf in his 

hand ?— 

" Now palmer, grey palmer, tell unto me. 
What news bring you home from the Holy 

Countrie? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the 

land ?"— 

"0 well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 
For Gilead. and Nablous. and Uamah we have ; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount I ebanon. 
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians 
have won.'' 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 






A fair chain of sold 'mid her ringlets there 

huns; 
O'er tlie palmer's grey lon.ks the f;iir chain has 

she fluiis: 
" palmer, grey palmer, this cham he thy fee, 
for the news ihou iiast brought from the 

Holy CoutUrie. 

" And. palmer, ffood palmer, by Galilee's wave. 
O saw ye Count Albert, the eentle and brave ? 
When the Cre'^cent went back, and the Ked- 

cross rush'd on ? 
O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?'" — 

"0 lady, fair lady, the tree ereen it srows; 
O lady, fair lady.'the stream pure it flows; 
Yourcasile stands strong, and vour hopes soar 

oil high. 
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

'"The green boughs thev wither, the thunder- 
bolt falls. 

It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd 
walls; 

The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope 
is gcme ; 

Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon " 

O she's ta'eii a horse, should be fleet at her 

speed ; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at 

her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's 

land. 
To ransom Count Albert from Sold.uirie's 

hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert on fair 

Rosalie. 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, 

had he ; 
A heathenisli damsel his light heart had won, 
Tlie Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon 

" O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldsl 

thou he. 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to 

thee ; 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou 

take; 
And this shalt thou first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where hums ever- 
more 

The mystical flame which the Curd mans 
adore. 

Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou 
wake ; 

And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's 
sake. 

" And. last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and 

hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's 

land ; 
Fur my lord and my love then Count Albert 

I'll take. 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's 

sake." 

He has thrown by his helmet, and cross- 
bundled sword. 

Kenouncing his knighthood, denying his ( ord ; 

He has ta'en the green cafiaii. and turban 
put on. j 

For the love of the maiden of f.iir Lebanon. 



And in the dread cavern, deep deep undej 
ground, 

W'hich fifty steel gates and steel portals sur- 
round. 

He has watch'd until daybreak, but sight saw 
he none. 

Save the flame burning bright on its altar of 
stone. 

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed, 
Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they 

gazed ; 
They searched all his garments, and, under 

his weeds. 
They found, and took from him, his ro.sary 

beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep deep tjnder ground. 
He w;itch'<l the lone night, while the winds 

whistled round ; 
Far oflf was their murmur, it came not more 

nigh. 
The fl^me burn'd unmoved, and nought else 

did he spy. 

Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was 

the King. 
While many dark spells of their witchcrafl 

they sing; 
They search "d Albert's body, and, lo! on his 

breast 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father im- 

■press'd. 

The priests they erase it with care and with 

pain. 
And the recreant return 'd to the cavern 

a?ain ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : 
It was his good atigel, who bade him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, iiis heart flutter'd and 

beat. 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolv'd to 

ret reat ; 
But his heart it was harden'd, his purpose was 

gone, 
When he thought of the Maiden of fair 

Lebanon 

Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold 
scarce trode. 

When the winds from the four points of heaven 
were abroad. 

They made each steel portal to rattle and 
rins, 

And. home on the blast, came the dread Fire- 
King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he 
drew nigli. 

The fire on the altar blazed bickering and 
high : 

In volcanic explosions the mountains pro- 
claim 

The dreadful approach of the Monarch of 
Flame. 

Unmeasur'd in height, undistinguish'd in 

form. 
His breath it was lightning, his voice it was 

storm ; 
1 ween the stout heart of Count Albert was 

tame. 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of 

Flame. 



7 



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BALLADS FROxM THE GERMAN. 



515 



\ 



In his hand a broad falchion blue-giiniuier'd 

through sniokt^ 
And Mount Lebanon shook as I lie nionarth he 

spoke ; 
" With this brand stialt thsu conquer, thus 

l()!i^, and no more, 
Till thou tieud to the Cross, and the Virgin 

adore." 

The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon; 

and see ! 
The recreant receives the charni'd gift on his 

knee : 
The tnunders growl distant, and faint gleam 

th« fires. 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom 

retires. ^ 

Count Albert lias arm'd him the Paynim 
anion?. 

Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it 
wasstronsr; 

And the Ked cross wax'd faint, and the Cres 
cent came on. 

From the day he commanded on Afount Leba- 
non. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave. 
The sands of Saniaar drank the blood of the 

brave : 
Till the Kniehts of the Temple, and Knights 

\ii ^aint Jobn, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him 

came on. 

The war-cynihals clattered, the trumpets 

replied. 
The lances were couch'd. and they closed on 

each side ; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'er- 

threw. 
Till he pierc'd the thick tumult King Baldwin 

unto. 

Against the charm 'd blade which Count Albert 
did wield. 

The fence had been vain of (he King's Red- 
cross shield ; 

But a Page thrust him forward the monarch 
before. 

And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert 
stoop'd low 

Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddle- 
bow ; 

And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his 
head. — 

" Bonnf. Grace, Notre Dame!" he unwittingly 
said. 

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue 
was o'er. 

It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen 
more; 

But true men have said, that the lightning's 
red wing 

Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire- 
King. 

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gaunlletted 

hand ; 
He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the 

strand ; 



As liack from the stripling ilie broken casuue 

r.ird, 
Vou misht see the blue eves, and ringlets of 

gold. 

Short time had Count Albert in horror to 

stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood- 
clotted hair; 
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in 

flood. 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 
The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelities 

yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and crossletted 

shield ; 
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel 

dead. 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Napthali's 

head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain — 
Oh, who IS yon Paynim lies stretch'd 'mid the 

slain 1. 
And who is yon Paee lying cold at his knee ? — 
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie ! 

The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd 

bound. 
The Count he was left to the vulture and 

hound : 
Her soul to high mercy our Lady did brinsr; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harpina:, can tell. 
How the Red-cross it conquer'd, the Crescent 

It fell : 
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid 

their elee. 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



iFrcTjericfe anti ^Ifcc. 



[1801.] 



This tale is imitated, rather than translated, 
from a fragment introduced in Goethe's '• Clau- 
dina Von Villa Bella." where it is sung by a 
member of a gang of banditti, to engage the 
attention of the family, while his companions 
break into the castle. It owes any little merit 
it may po.ssess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to 
whom it was sent in an extremely rude state ; 
and who. after some material improvements, 
published it in his " Tales of Wonder." 



Frederick leaves the lana of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure. 

Careless casts the parting elance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed, 
keen to prove his untried blade. 

Hope's eay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn. 

Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
Monrn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and lionour flown. 



44 ' 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Sl( 
V Strai 

> Bu 



Mark hur l)ieasl's convulsive throbs 

>ee, the tear of anguish flows ! — 
Miriffhiis soon with hiirstiiia: sobs, 

Loud the langh of frenzy rose. 
Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd ; 

Seven long; days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brousht his aid. 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward rules; 

Marking, blithe, tlie morning's glance 
Mantlinp: o'er the nxmntain's sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound. 
As the tongue of yonder tower, 

Slowlv. to the hills around. 
Told the fourth, the fated hour? 

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair. 
Struck with strange mysterious fears. 

Desperate, as his terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long nights, 
Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, 
L'rge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night descends; 

Rivers swell, and ram-streams pour; 
While the deafening thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 
Where his head shall Frederick hide , 

Where, but in yon niin'd aisle. 
By the lightning's flash descried. 

To the portal, dank and low. 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound : 

Down a ruiii'd staircase slow. 
Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide !- 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide !" 

Often lost their quivering beam. 
Still the lights move slow before. 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 

'I'hnndering voices from within, 
Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; 

As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous close ! 

Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death removed ;— 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that Alice loved. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 
Four times on the still night broke ; 

Four times, at its deaden'd swell, 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthen'd clangours die. 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 



CoflSns for the seats extend ; 

All with black the hoard was spread 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since number'd with the dead! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 

All arose, with thundering .sound ; 
All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave. 

Wild their notes of welcome swell ;- 
" Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 

Peijur'd, bid the light farewell!" 



,^rjbe JSattle ot Sempacf). 



[1818.] 

These verses are a literal translation of an 
antneiit Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sem- 
pach, fought 9th July, 1386. being the victory 
by which the Swiss cantons established their 
independence; the author, Albert Tchiidi, 
denominated the Souter, from his profession 
of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, 
esteemed highly among hi>: countrymen, both 
for his powers as a Meister-Smtjer. or minstrel, 
and his courage as a soldier; so that he might 
share the praise conferred by Collins on ^Es- 
chylus, that 



The circumstance of their being written by 
a poet returning from the well-fought field he 
describes, and in which his country's fortune 
was secured, may confer onTchudi's verses 
an interest which they are not entitled to 
claim from their jioeiical merit But b.illad 
poetry, the more literally it is translated, the 
more it loses its siinplicity, without acquiring 
either grac^e or strength ; and. therefore, some 
of the faults of the verses must be imputed to 
the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as 
closely as possible to his original. 'Ilie 
various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, 
and disproportioned episodes, must be set 
down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of 
his age. 

The military antiquary will derive some 
amusement from the minute particulars which 
the martial poet has recorded. The mode in 
which the Austrian men-at-arms r(!Ceived the 
charge of the Swiss, was by forming a 
phalanx, which they defendeil with their long 
lances. The gallant Wmkelreid. who sacri- 
ficed his own life by rushing anmng the spears, 
clasping in his arms as many as lie could 
grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iion 
battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. 
When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy 
length of their weapons, and cumbrous weight 
of their defensive armour, rendered the .-Aus- 
trian men-at-arms a very unequal match for 
the light-armed mountaineers. The victories 
obtained by the Swiss over the German 
chivalry, hitherto deemed as formidable on 
foot as on horseback, led to important changes 
in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the 



y 



7 



^ 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN, 



peaks from their boots ere they could act 
upon foot, in ultusion to an inconvt^nieiit piece 
of foppery, often mentioned in Ihu middle 
ages Leopold III., Archduke of Austria, 
called "riie handsome nia«-at arms." was 
slain in the battle of Sempach, with the 
flower of his chivalry. 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 

' Twas when ainon^: our linden-irees 

The bees had housed in swarms, 
(And srey-hair'd peasants say that these 

Betoken foreign arms,) 
Then looked we down to Willisow, 

'I'lie land w.is all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 
The Austrian nobles made their vow, 

So hot their heart and bold. 
"On Swnzer carles we'll trample now, 

.And slay both young and old." 
With clarion loud, and banner proud. 

From Zurich on the lake. 
In martial pomp and fair array, 

Tlieir onward march they make. 
" Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 

Ye seek the mouniain strand. 
Nor wot ye what shall be your lot, 

In such a dangerous land. 
"I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins, 

Before ye farther go ; 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to woe." — 
"But where now shall we find a priest 

Our shrift that he may hear ?"— 
"The Switzer priest ' has ta'en the field. 

He deals a penance drear. 
" Right heavily upon your head 

He"ll lay his hand of steel; 
And with his trusty partizau 

Your absolution deal." — 
Twas on a Monday morning then. 

The Corn was steep'd in dew. 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 

When the host to Sempach drew. 
The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 

Together have they joined; 
The pith and core of manhood stern. 

Was none cast looks behind. 
It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 

And to the Duke he said, 
** Yon little band of brethren true 

Will meet us uiidismay'd."— 
"0 Hare-castle.2 ihou heart of hare !" 

Fierce Oxenstern replied — 
"Shalt see then how the name will fare," 

The taunted kmght replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright, 

And closiiiir ranks amain ; 
The peaks they hew'd from their boot points 

Misht well-nish load a wain 3 



1 All Ihe Swiss I li-rgy who were able to bear arniH fought 
ID this patrioiic wjr 

3 In Ihe original. HaiU(mstetn, or Hare-ttune. 

3 This seems lo allude to the ^ireposterous fashion, during 
the middle ages, of wearing bools wiih the poinis or peaks 
turned upwards, and no long. Ihat in aome rasex ihey were 
futened to the kuees of the wearer with small tUaius. 



And thus they to each other said, 

'• Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell. 

The peasants are so few." — 

The gallant Swiss Confederates there 

They pray'd lo God aloud. 
And he display'd his r.nnbow fair 

Against a swarthy cloud. 

Then heart and pulse throbb'd more anu 
more 

With courage firm and hisrh. 
And down the good Confederates bore 

On the Austrian chivalry. 
The Austrian Lion * 'gaii to growl. 

And toss his main and tail ; 
And hall, and shall, and crossbow holt, 

Went whistling forth like hail. 
Lance, pike, ami halbert, mingled there, 

'ihe game was nothing sweet; 
The bout;lis of many a sialely tree 

Lay shiver'd at tbeir feet. 
The Austrian men-at-arms stofid fast. 

So close their spears they laid ; 
It chafed the gallant Winkelieid, 

Who to Ins comrades said — 
"I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son ; 
I leave them to my country's care, — 

This field shall soon be won. 

'These nobles lay their spears right thick. 

And keep full firm array. 
Yet shall my cliarae their order break. 

And make my brethren way." 
He rush'd against the Austrian band, 

In desperate career, 
And.witti his body, breast, and hand. 

Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splinter'd on his crest, 

Six shiver'd in Ins side ; 
Still on the serried files he press 'd — 

He broke their ranks, and died. 
This patriot's self-devoted deed 

First tamed the I. ion's mood, 
And Ihe four forest cantons freed 

I'rom thraldom by Ins blood. 

Right where his charge had made a lane. 

His valiant comrades burst. 
With sword, and axe, and partisan. 

And hack, and stah, and thrust. 

The daunted Lion 'gaii to wtnne. 

And granted gri'iind amain. 
The Mountain Bull 3 he bent his brows. 

And gored his sides again. 
Then lost was banner, spear, and shield. 

At Sempach in the fliijht. 
The cloister vaults at Konis's-field 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 

It was the Archduke Leopold, 

So lordly would he ride. 
But he came against the Switzer churls, 

And they slew Inm in his pride. 



517 ^^ 



When ihey a 
the Austrian 
peaks, that th 


ight 
ey n 


ed to fishi upo 
emen found it 
night move wi 


1 fool, it would 
necescary to cut 
h the necessary 


eem that 
otf these 
activity. 


4 A puu on 


the Archduke's name, Leopold. 




5 A puu on Ihe 
IbcCaulonoI Uri 


Urus, or wild-bull, which giv« 


name to 



eto ^ 



^ 518 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



The heiler said unto the bull 

'• And sliall I nut cmnplain ' 
There ciiiie a foreisii iiohieiiian 

Tu milk lue on tlie plum. 

"One thrust of thine outrageous horn 

Has gaird the ktnjfhl so sore, 
I'hut to the cliurchyard he is borne, 

'i'o raiijje our glens no more " 
An Austrian noble left the stour, 

And last the flight gan take; 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At >empaoh on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher call'd. 

(His name was Hans Von Kot.) 
"For love, or meed, or charily, 

Keceive us in tliy boat !" 

Their anxious call the fisher Imard, 

And. slad the meed to win, 
His sliallop to the shore he sieer'd, 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row'd Ins way. 
The noble to his lollower sign'd 

He should the boalinan >iay. 

The fisher's back was lo them turn'd, 

The squire his daguer drew, 
Hans saw liis shadow in the lake, 

The boat he overthrew 

He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they strove. 

He stunn'd them with his oar. 
"Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 

You'll ne'er stab boalriian more. 
"'I'wo glided fishes in the lake 

'I Ins morning have I caught. 
Their silver scales may much avail, 

I'heir carrion flesh is nought." 
It was a messenger of woe 

Has sought the Austrian land : 
" Ah I gracious lady, evil news ! 

My lord lies on the strand. 

" At Sempach. on the battle-field. 

His bloody corpse lies tliere." — 
"Ah, gracious God !" the lady cried, 

•• What tidings of despair!'' 
Now vvould you know the minstrel wiglit 

VVjio sings of strife so stern, 
Albert the Souter is he higlit, 

A burger of Lucerne. 
A merry man was he, I wot, 

The night he made the lay, 
Returning from the bloody spot. 

Where God had judged the day. 



AN ANCIENT BALLAD. 
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 

[1S19.] 
he oriicinal of these verses occurs in a 
[)()|iular songs, entitled. 



collec.tion of Genu 

^amr«llung Deutscheii Volksiied 

18(J7, published by Messrs. Huschin 



Berlin, 
and Vuii 



der Hagei!. both, and more especially the last, 
distinguished for their acquaintance with the 
ancient popular poetry and legendary history 
of Germany. 

In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, 
it is stated lo have been e.vtracled from a 
manuscript Chronicle of Nicholaus Thomaiin, 
chaplain to fiaint Leonard in VVeiseiihnrn, 
which bears the date l.'iJS; and the song is 
stated by the author to have been geneiaily 
sung in the neighbourhood at that early permd". 
Thomann, as quoted by the German LJdilor, 
seems faithfully to have believed the event he 
narrates. He quotes lombsiones and obitii- 
I aries to prove the existence of the [lersoiiages 
of the ballad, and discovers thai there acMially 
died, on the IJth May, X.WX a Lady V..11 
Neuflfen, Countess of Marslelten, who was. by 
birth, of the hou>e of Moiinj;er. This lady 
be supposes lo have been Morimjer's dausiiler, 
mentioned in the ballad. He quotes the same 
authority for the death of Heickhold Von 
Neiiffen, in the same year. The editors, on 
the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of 
Profe.ssor Plinth of Lim, who, from ihe lan- 
guage of the ballad, ascnljiis its dale to the 
15ih century 

I'lie legend itself turns on an incident not 
peculiar to Germany, and which, perhaps, was 
not unlikely to happen 111 more msiances than 
one, when crusaders aliode long m the Holy 
Land, and their disconsolate dames received 
no tidings of their fate. A story, very similar 
in ciiTunisiances, but without the mii.iculoiis 
machinery of Saint Thomas, is told of one of 
the ancient Lordsof Haigh-hall, in Lancashire, 
the patrimonial inheritance of ihe late Count- 
ess of Balcarras; and the particulars are 
represented on stained glass upon a window 
in that ancient manor-house. 



THE NOBLE MORINGEll. 

1. 
O, will you hear a knightly tale of old 

Bohemian day. 
It was the noble .Moringer in wedlock bed he 

lay; 
He liaised and kissed his dearest dame, that 

was as sweet as May, 
And said. " Now-, lady of my heart, attend the 

words 1 say. 

II. 
'• 'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant 

shrine, 
And I must seek Saint '['homas-land, and leave 

the land that's mine: 
Here shall thou dwell the while in state, so 

thou wilt pledge thy fay. 
That thou for my return wilt wait seven 

twelveinonlhs and a day." 

111. 
Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore 

troubled in her cheer, 
" Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what 

order takest thou here ; 
And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold 

thy lordly sway. 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou 

art far away .'" 



T 



A 



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BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



519 ^^ 



IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of thai have 

iliou no care. 
There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds 

livnis? fair; 
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals 

and my stale. 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my 

lovely mate. 



" As Christian-man, I needs must keep the 

vow winch I have plialit. 
When I am far in foreign land, remember thy 

true knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for 

Viiiii were sorrow now. 
But grant thy Moringer Ins leave, since God 

hath heard his vow." 

VI. 
It was the noble Moringer from bed he made 

liim boune. 
And met him there his Chamberlain, with 

ewer and with gown ; 
He flnnff the m:iiitle on his back, 'twas furr'd 

with miniver. 
He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed 

his forehead fair. 

VII. 

'* .Now hear," he said, "Sir Chamberlain, true 

vassal art thou mine. 
And such the trust that I repose in that 

proved worth of thine. 
For seven years shalt ihou rule my towers. 

and lead my vas.sal train. 
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I 

return again."' 

VIII. 

The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and 

sturdily said he. 
" Abide, my lord, and rule your own. and lake 

this rede from me ; 
That woman's faith 's a brittle trust — Seven 

twelvemonths didst tliou say ? 
I'll pledse me for no lady's truth beyond the 

seventh fair day." 

IX. 

The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart 

was full of care, 
His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was 

Marstetteu's heir. 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou 

trusty squire to me, 
V\ ilt thou receive this weighty trust when 1 am 

o'er the sea? 



" To watch and ward my castle strong, and to 

protect my land. 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my 

vassal hand ; 
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till seven 

loiii; vears are gone. 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded 

by Saint John." 



XI. 

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, 
hot, and young. 

And readily he answer made with too presump- 
tuous tongue : 

" .My noble lord, cast care away, and on your 
journey wend. 

And trust this charge to me until your pilgrim- 
age have end. 

XIL 

" Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be 

truly tried. 
To guard your lands, and ward your towers, 

and with your vassals ride : 
And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous 

and so dear, 
I'll gage my head it knows no change, be 

absent thirty year." 

Xlll. 

The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he 

he ird him speak. 
And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and 

sorrow left his cheek ; 
k long adieu he bids to all — hoist topsails and 

away. 
And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven 

twelvemonths and a day. 

XIV. 

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard 

slept. 
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a 

boding vision crept ; 
And whisper'd in his ear a voice, '• 'Tis time. 

Sir Knight, to wake. 
Thy lady and thy heritage anolher master 

take. 

XV. 

•' Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds 

another rein. 
And stoop them to another's will thy gallant 

vassal train; 
And she, the I ady of thy love, so faithful once 

and fair. 
This night within thy fathers' hall she weds 

Marstetten's heir." 

XVI. 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears 

his beard, 
'•0 would that I had ne'er been born! what 

tidings have 1 heard ! 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less 

would be my rare. 
But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should 

wed my Lady fair. 

XVIL 

"0 good Saint 'I'homas. hear," he pray'd, 

" my patron Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay 

my vow ! 
.My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure 

of name. 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endure 

the shame " 



iv 



V 



A 



7 



520 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



K 



xvin. 

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who 

heard his pilgrim's prayer. 
And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'er- 

power'd his care ; 
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd 

heside a nil. 
High on the riijht a castle stood, low on the 

left a mill. 

XIX. 

The Moringer he started up as one from spell 

iinhonnd. 
And ilizzv with surprise and joy gazed wildly 

all around : 
'• I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill. 

the stream I know. 
Now blessed he my patron Saint, who cheer'd 

his pilgnm's woe !" 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the 

mill he drew. 
So alter'd was liis goodly form that none their 

master knew ; 
The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, 

for charity, 
Tell a poor palmer in your land wliet tidings 

may there be I" 

XXI. 

The miller answer'd him again, " He knew of 

little news. 
Save that the I.ady of the land did a new 

bridegroom choose ; 
Her husband died in distant land, such is the 

constant word. 
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a 

worthy Lord. 

XXII. 

Of him I held the little mill which wins me 

living free, 
God rest the Baron m his grave, he still was 

kind to me 1 
And when Saint Martm's tide comes round, 

and millers take their toll. 
The priest tliat prays for Moringer shall have 

both cope and stole." 

XXIII. 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill 

began. 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and 

weary man ; 
"Now help me, every saint in heaven that 

can compassion take, 
'lo gain the entrance of my hall this woful 

match to break. 

XXIV. 

His very knock it sounded sad, his call was 

sad and slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and hand, were 

heavy all with woe ; 
\nd to the warder thus he spoke ; " Friend, to 

thy Lady say, 
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves 

harbour for a day. 



XXV. 

" I've wander'd many a weary step, my 

strength is wellnigh done. 
And if she turn me fnmi her gate I'll see no 

morrow's sun ; 
I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pil- 

erim's bed and dole. 
And for the sake of Moringer's, her once- loved 

husband's soul." 

XXVI. 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his 
(lame before. 

"A piltfrim. worn and Iravel-toil'd. stands at 
the castle door; 

And pravs, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for 
harbour and for dole, 

And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble hus- 
band's soul." 

XXVIl. 

The Lady's sentle heart was moved, " Do up 
the sate." she said. 

"And bid the wanderer welcome be to ban- 
quet and to bed ; 

And since he names my husband's name, so 
that he lists to stay. 

These towers shall he his harbourage a 
twelvemonth and a day." 

XXVIII. 

It was the stalwart warder.then undid the pr>r- 

tal broad. 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er the thresh- 

hold strode; 
"And have thou thanks, kind lieaveH," he 

said. •' though from a man of sin, 
That the true lord stands here once more his 

castle-gale within " 

XXIX. 

Then up the halls paced Moringer. his step 

was sad and slow ; 
It sat full heavy on his heart, none seeni'd 

their Lord to know; 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with 

woe and wrong, 
Short spare he sat. but ne'er to him seem'd 

little space so long. 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and 

C(mie was evening hour. 
The time was nigh when new-made brides 

retire to nuptial bower; 
" Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, " hath 

been both firm and long. 
No guest lo harbour in our halls till he shall 

chant a song." 

XXXL 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as 

he sat by the bride. 
"My merry minstrel folk," quoth he. "lay 

shalin and harp aside; 
Our pilgrim suest must sing a lay, the castle's 

rule to hold. 
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment 

and wi h gold " — 



y- 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN, 



521 > 



XXXII. 

"Chill flows the Iny of frozen age," 'twas thus 

the pilsrim suns. 
" Nor gulden meed nor garment gay, unlocks 

his heavy tonsue; 
Once did I sii, thou bridegroom gay, at board 

as rich as tliine, 
And by my side as fair a bride with all her 

charms was mine. 

XXXIII. 

"But time traced furrows on my face, and I 

srew siiver-tiair'd. 
For iiK'ks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she 

left this brow and beard ; 
Oiire rich, but now a palmer poor. I tread life's 

latest sta?e. 
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of 

frozen age." 

XXXIV. 

It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that 

hears. 
And tor the ased pilsjrim's grief her eye was 

diiiiin'd witli tears; 
She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden 

beaker take. 
And bear it to llie palmer poor to quatf it for 

her sake. 

XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid 

the wine 
A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so 

fine : 
Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you 

but the sootli, 
Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged 

his bridal truth. 

XXXVI. 
Then to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one 

kindly deed. 
And should my belter days return, full rich 

shall be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup asain to yonder 

bride so say. 
And crave of her the courtesy to pledge the 

palmer grey." 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the 

boon denied. 
The golden cup he took again, and bore it to 

the bride; 
" Lady." he said, "your reverend guest sends 

this, and bids me pray. 
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the 

palmer grey." 

XXXVIII. 

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she 

views It close and near. 
Then miahi you hear her shriek aloud, "The 

Moringer is here !" 
Then might you see her start from seat, while 

tears in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies 

best can tell. 

44 • 



XXXIX. 

But loud she ntter'd thanks to Heaven, and 

everv saintly power, 
That luid return'd the Mormger before the 

midnight hour; 
And loud she u'ter'd vow on vow, that never 

was there bride. 
That had like her preserved her troth, or 

been so sorely tried. 

XL. 

Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to 

constant matrons due. 
Who keep the troth that they have plight, so 

ste(lfa.>itly and true; 
For count the term howe'er you will, so that 

voii count aright. 
Seven twelve-months and a day are out when 

bells toll twelve to-night." 

XLI. 

It was Marsteiten then rose up, his falchion 

there he drew. 
He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his 

weapon threw ; 
•' My oath and knightly faith are broke," these 

were the words lie said, 
" Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and 

take thy vassal's head." 

XLII. 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud 

did say, 
" He gathers wisdom that haih roam'd seven 

twelve- months and a day ; 
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame 

speaks her sweet and fair, 
1 give her for the bride you lose, and name her 

for my heir. 

XLIII. 

"The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, 

the old bridegroom the old. 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so 

punctually were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped 

my castle gate. 
For had I come to-morrow tide, 1 came a day 

too lale." 



FROM THE GERM.XN OF GOETHE. 

(77)C Erl-KiiiQ is n (joblm that limm/.i the BInrk 
Forest tti Tkximiijni. — To br rtad by a candle 
particularly Iojiq in the smtff ) 

O. who rides bv night thro' the woodland so 

wild? 
It is the fond father embracing his child ; 
And close the boy nestles within his li>v<-d 

arm. 
To hold himself fast, and to keep himself 

warm. 
" O father, see yonder ! see yonder !" he savs ; 
"My hoy, upon what doest thou fearfully 

§faze ?"— 



/. 



. ^ 522 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



"O, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his 

shroud ''— 
" No. my son, it is but a dark wreath of the 

cloud." 

( The. Erl-King speaks ) 
" O come and go with me, thou loveliest child ; 
By many a gay sport shall thy time be be- 
guiled ; 
My mother keeps fur thee full many a fair 

toy. 
And many a fine flower shall slie pluok for 

my boy."' 
"O father, my father, and did you not hear 
The lirl-King whisper so low in my earT"— 
'• Be still, my heart's darling— my child, be at 

ease; 
It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the 

trees." 

Erl-Kiny. 
"0 wilt thou go wiih me, thou loveliest boy? 
Rly daughter shall tend thee with care aiid 

with joy ; 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and 

thro' wild. 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my 

chdd." 



"0 father, my father, and saw you not 

plain. 
The Erl- King's pale daughter glide pa.st thro. 

the rain?"— 
"O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it ful' 

soon ; 
It was the grey willow that danced to th^ 

moon." 

Erl-King. 

" O come and go with me, no longer delay. 
Or el.se. silly child, I will drag thee away."— 
'O father! O father! now, now keep voir 

hold. 
The Erl- King has seized me, his grasp is so 

cold !" 

Sore trembled the father; he spurr'd thro, 

the wild. 
Claspin? close to his bosom his shudilenn? 

child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and n 

dread. 
But. clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was 

dead .'" 

END OF BALL.\.DS FROM THE GF,R.M\.N. 



Lyrical and 3Iiscellaneous Pieces, 

IN TIIIC 

ORDER OF -THEIR COMPOSITION OR PUBLICATION. 



SJubenfle %\\\tu, 

FROM VIRGIL. 



1782.— JilTAT. 11. 



^ Enii 



" Scott s autobiography tells us tnat his 
translations in verse from Horace and \ irsil 
were often approved by Dr. Adams. [Kector 
of the High ^chool. Edinburgh ] One of these 
little pieces, written in a weak boyish scrawl, 
within pencilled marks still visible, had been 
carefully preserved by his mother; it was 
found folded up in a cover, inscribed bv the 
old ladv — •' My Wallrr's first lines. 1782."— 
Lockhart, Ltfe o/ Scott, vol. i , p. 129. 

In awful ruins i^tna thunders nigli. 

And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 

Black clouds of smoke, which still as they 
aspire. 

From their dark sides there bursts the glow- 
ing fire; 

At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd, 

I'hat lick the stars, and in the smoke are 
lost : 

Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions 
torn. 

Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne 



With loud explosions to the starry skies. 
|I'he stones made liquid as the huge ina.ss flies. 
Then back again with greater weight recoils, 
While JEtna thundering from the bottom 
boils. 



©n a S:!)unTjer Storm. 



1783.— ^T. 12. 



"In Scott's Introduction to the Lay. he 
alludes to an original effusion of these ' school- 
boy days.' prompted by a thunder-storm, which 
he says 'was much approved of. until a 
malevolent critic sprung up in the sh;ipe of an 
apothecary's hlue-buskined wife,' &c.. &c. 
These lines, and another short piece ' On the 
Setting .Sun,' were lately found wrapped np in 
a cover, inscribed bv Dr. Adams, ' Walter 
Scott, July, 1783."" 

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll. 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole. 
Yet 'tis thy voice, my God. that bids tiiem fly. 
Thy arm directs those lightnings through the 

skv. 
'I'liPii let the good thy mighty name revere. 
And harden'd sinners thy just vengeance feat. 



7^ 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELL 



ANEOUS PIECES. 523 > 



©11 tl)C ^cttfnfl Sun. 

1783. 



Thnsp pvenins clniids, that settin? ray, 
Anl lipa'iteiHis tints, serve to display 

Their great freMhir's |.i.ii>e; 
Then let the short Iivpil tiiMiffcallM man, 
Whose life's oomjirised within a span, 

To hini his lioiiiage raise. 

We often praise the evenin? clouds. 

And tints so pay and bold. 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Wliu tinged these clouds with gold. 



STDe Ufolet. 



1797. 



It appears from the I ife of Scott, vol i., p. 
333. that these lines, first published in the 
English Minstrelsy. 1810, were written in 1797, 
on occasion of the Poet's disappointment in 
love. 

The violet in her green -wood bower. 
Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle 

A^y boast itself the fairest flower 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue. 

Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; 

I've seen an eye of lovelier blue. 
More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining. 

The summer sun that dew shall dry. 
Ere yet the day be past iis morrow : 

Nor longer in my false love's eye 
Kemained the tear of parting sorrow. 



FLOWERS FROM A ROM.^^X WALL. 



Written in 1797. on an excursion from Gills- 
land, in Cumberland. See Life, vol. i., p 3e5 

Take these flowers which, pnriile waving, 

On tne rum'd ramoarterew. 
Where, the sons of freedom braving. 

Koine's imperial standards flew. 

Warriors from the breach of danger 

Pluck no longer laurels there; 
They but yield the passing stranger 

Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 



s 



FRAGMENTS. 
(1.) aSotttoell €:astle. 

1799. 



The following frngment of a ballad written 
at Bothwell Castle, in the aiitiimn ot 1799. wns 
first printed in the Life of Sir Walter Scott, 
vol. ii, p. 28. 

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers 

Are mellowing in the noon ; 
When sighs round Pembroke's ruin'd towers 

The sultry breath of June ; 

When Clv'de, despite his sheltering wood, 

Must leave his channel dry ; 
And vainly o'er the limpid flood 

The angler guides his fly ; 

If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 

A wanderer thou hast been. 
Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 

In Blaiityre's bowers of green, 

Full where the copsewood opens wild 

Thy pilgrim step haih staid. 
Where Bothwell's towers, in ruin piled, 

O'erlook the verdant glade ; 

And many a tale of love and fear 

Hath mingled with the .scene— 
Of Bothwell's banks that bloom'd so dear, 

And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 

O, if with rugged minstrel lays 

Unsated be thy ear. 
And thou of deeds of other days 

Another tale wilt hear — 

Then all beneath the spreading beach, 

Flung careless on the lea. 
The Gothic muse the tale shall teach 

Of Bothwell's sisters three. 

Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont head. 

He blew his bugle round, 
Till the wild bullin Cadyow wood 

Has started at the sound. 

St. George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung, 

Was waving far and wide, 
And from the lofty turret flung 

Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 

And rising at the bugle blast 

That mark'd the .'^cottish foe. 
Old England's yeomen niiister'd fast. 

And bent the Norman bow. 

Tall in the midst Sir Avimer rose. 

Proud Pembroke's Earl was he— '' 

While" . .... 



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/ 



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/ 



^ 624 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



(2.) W^ S|)ei)l)erti's ^Tale. 



" Another imperfect ballad, in which he had 
meiitii to blend together two legends familiar 
to every reader of Scottish history and ro- 
mance, has been found in the same portfolio, 
and the handwriting proves it to be of the 
same early dale."— Lockhart, vol. ii , p. 30. 



And ne'er but once, my son. he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod, 
In persecution's iron days, 

When tlie land was left by God. 

From Bewlie bo?, with slaughter red, 

A wanderer hither drew. 
And oft he stopt and turn'd his head, 

As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For tramplins round by Cheviot edsre 

Were heard the troopers keen. 
And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge 

The death-shot flash 'd between. 

The moonbeams throush the misty shower 

On yon dark cavern fell ; 
Through the cloudy night the snow gleam'd 
white. 

Which sunbeam ne'er could quell. 

"Yon cavern dark is rough and rude. 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men of 
blood, 

That hunt my life below ! 

" Von spell-boiind den. as the aged tell. 

Was liewn by demon's hands; 
But I had loiird i melle with the fiends of 
hell. 

Than with Clavers and his band." 

He heard the deep-mouth'd bloodhound bark. 

He heard the horses neish. 
He plunsed him in the cavern dark, 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 

Came the cry of faulline hound. 
And I he mutter'd oath of baulked wrath 

Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw him on the flinted floor. 

And held Ins breath for fear; 
He rose and bitter cursed his foes, 

As tlie sounds dieii on his ear. 

"O bare thine arm, thou battling Lord, 

For Scotland's wandfrrins band ; 
Dash from the oppressor's srasp the sword, 

And sweep him from the land ! 

"Forset not thou thy people's groans 

From dark Dunnotter's tower, 
Mix'd with the seafowl's shrilly moans, 

Aiul Ocean's bursting roar! 



K 



1 Lourd ; i. e. liefer— rather. 



" O, in fell Clavers' hour of pride, 

Even in his mightiest day. 
As bold he strides through conquest's tide, 

O stretch him on the clay ! 

" His widow and his little ones, 

O may their tower of trust 
Remove its strong foundation stones 

And crush them in the dust!" — 

"Sweet prayers to me," a voice replied, 
" 'I'hrice welcome, guest of mine !" 

And glimmering on the cavern side, 
A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man, in amice brown. 

Stood by the wanderer's side. 
By powerful charm, a dead man's arm 

The torch's light supplied. 

From each stiff finger, stretch 'd upright, 

Arose a ghastly flame. 
That waved not in the blast of night 

Which through the cavern came. 

O. deadly blue was that taper's hue, 

That flamed the cavern o'er, 
But more deadly blue was the ghastly hue 

Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like lead. 

As heavy, pale, and (told— 
" Vengeance be thine, thou guest of mine. 

If thy heart be firm and bold. 

" But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know. 
The mountain erne thy heart shall tear, 

Thy nerves the hooded crow.'" 

The wanderer raised him undismay'd : 
" My soul, by dangers steel 'd. ^ 

Is stubborn as my border blade. 
Which never knew to yield. 

■' And if thy power can speed the hour 

Of vengeance on my foes. 
Theirs be the fate, from bridge and gate, 

To feed the hooded crows. " 

The Brownie look'd him in the face. 

And his colour fled with speed — 
" 1 fear me," quoth he, " uiieath it will be 

To match thy word and deed. 

" In ancient days when English bands 

Sore ravaged Scotland fair. 
The sword and shield of Scottish land 

Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 
" A warlock loved the warrior well. 

Sir Michael Scott by name. 
And he sought for his sake a spell to make. 

Should the Southern foemen tame. 
" ' look thou,' he said, ' from Cessford head, 

As the July sun suiks low, 
And when glimmering white on Cheviot's 
height 

Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow. 
The spell IS complete which shall bring to thy 
feet 

The haughty Saxon foe.* 
" For many a year wrought the wizard here, 

In Cheviot's bosom low. 
Till the spell was complete, and in July's heat 

Appear'd December's snow ; 
But Cessford's Halbert never came 

J'he wondrous cause to know. 



y 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 525 



^ 



" For years before in Bowden aisle 

The warrior's bones h;id lain, 
And after short wliiie. hy female guile, 

Sir Michael Scott was slam. 

" But me and my brethren in this cell 

His niiffhty charms retain.— 
And he that can quell the powerful spell 

Shall o'er broad Scotland reign." 

He led him throu?h an iron door 

And Uf) a winding stair, 
And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze 

On tiie sight which open'd there. 

, 'Ihroush the gloomy night flash'd ruddy 
' lisht,— 

A thousand torches glow ; 
The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky, 
O'er stalls in double row. 

In every stall of that endleys hall, 

Stood a steed in barbing brisht; 
At the foot of each steed, all arm'd save the 
head. 

Lay stretch'd a stalwart knight. 

In each mail'd hand wa.s a naked brand ; 

As they lay on the black bull's hide, 
Each visase stern did upwards turn. 

With eyeballs fix'd and wide. 

A launcegay strong, full twelve ells long. 

By every warrior hung; 
At each pommel there, for battle yare, 

A Jedwood axe was slung. 

The casque hung near each cavalier; 

The plumes waved mournfully 
At every trend which the wanderer made 

Through the hall of gramarye. 

The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam 

That glared the warriors on, 
Reflected lieht from armour hiisht. 

In noontide splendour shone. 

And onward seen in lustre sheen, 

Still lengthening on the sight. 
Through the boundless hall stood steeds in 
stall. 

And by each lay a sable knight. 

Still as the dead lay each horseman dread, 
And moved nor limb nor tongue ; 

Each steed stood stiff as an earthfasl cliff. 
Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 



I " The reader may be interented by comparing witli this 
ballad the author's pro^e version of part of its legend, a 
given in one of the last works of his pen. He .says, in th 
Letters on Demonolngy and Witchcraft, 1830 : — " Thomas 
of Ercildowne, during his retirement, has been supposed, 
from time to time, to he levying forces to t.nke the field in 
some cri-is of his country's fate. The story has often 
been told of a daring horse-joctcy having sold a black 
horse to a man of venerable and antique appearance, who 
appointed the remarkable hillock upon Eildon hills, called 
the Lucken-hare, as the place where, at twelve o'clock at 
night, he should receive the price. He came, his money 
was paid in ancient coin, and he was invited hy his cus- 
tomer to view his residence. The trader in horses followed 
his guide in the deepest astonishment Ihroutih several long 
ranges of stalls, in each of which a hurse stood motionless, 
while an armed warrior lay equally still at the charger's 
feet- • All these men,' said the wizard in a whisper, ' will 
■waken at the battle of Shehffmuir.' At the extremity 



No soiindrs through all the spacious hall 

The deadly still divide, 
Save where echoes from the vaulted roof 

To the wanderer's step replied. 

At length before his wondering eyes. 

On an iron column borne, 
Of jintique shape, and giant size, 

Appeur'd a sword and horn. 

Now choose thee here," quoth his 

leader. 
"Thy venturous fortune try: 
Thy woe and vvpmI. ihv hoot and bale. 
In yon brand and bugle lie." 

To the fatal brand he mounted his hand, 
But his soul did quiver and quail ; 

The life-blood did start to his shuddering 
heart. 
And left him wan and pale. 

The brand he forsook, and the horn he 
took 

To 'say a gentle sound ; 
But so wild a blast from the bugle brast 

That the Cheviot rock'd around. 

From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas, 

The awful bugle rung ; 
On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal. 

To arms the warders sprung. 

With clank and clang the cavern rang. 
The steeds did stamp ami neigh ; 

And loud was the yell as each warrior 
fell 
Sterte up with hoop and cry. 

* Woe, woe." they cried, " thou caitiff cowardi 

That ever thou wert born ! 
Why drew ye not the knightly sword 

Before ye blew the horn ?" 

The morning on the mountain shone, 

And on the bloody ground, 
Hurl'd from the cave with shiver'd bone, 

The mangled wretch was found. 

And still beneath the cavern dread. 

Among the glidders grey. 
A shapeless stone with lichens spread 

Marks where the wanderer lay." i 



of this extraordinary depot hung a sword and a horn, 
which the prophet pointed out to the horst^-dealer as con- 
taining the means of dissolving the spell. The man in 
confusion took the horn and attempted to wind it. Tht 
horses instantly started in their stalls, stamped, and shook 
their bridles, the men arose and clashed their armour, and 
the mortal, terrified at the tumult he had excited, dropped 
the horn from his hand. A voice like that of a giant, 
louder even than the tumult around, prooouDced these 
words :— 

'Wo 



That did i 



•thel 



n.Ihe 



A whirlwind expelled the horse-dealer from the ca' 
entrance to which he could never aeain find. A moral 
might be perhaps extracted from this legend, namf^lv. that 
it is better to be armed against danger before bidding 
defiance. 



V 



Jr 



7 



Z. 



^ 



526 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



(3.) €l)cbfot. 



1799. 



Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 
And pensive mark the lingering snoyif 

In all his sr,r>urs aliide. 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
h\ many a sightless, soundless rill, 

Feed sparkhng Bowmont's tide. 
Fair shmes the stream by bank and lea, 
As wimplms to the eastern sea 

she seeks Till's sullen bed. 
Indenting deep the fatal plain. 
Where Scoi land's noblest, brave In vain, 

Around their monarch bled. 
And westward hills on hills you see, 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of foam. 
Park and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot roll'd, 

Earth's mountain billows come. 



(4.) ©;e Befbet's (Ml^ctitifnfl. 

1802. 

In "The Reiver's Wedding." the Poet had 
evidently designed to blend together two tra- 
ditional stories concerning his own fore- 
fathers, the Scots of Harden, wlunh are 
detailed in the first chapters nf his Life. The 
biographer adds; — '• 1 know not for what 
reason. Loch wood, the ancient fortress of the 
Johtistoncs in Annandale, has been substituted 
for the real locality of his ancestor's drum- 
head Wedding Contract."— /,?/e, vol. ii., p. 94. 
O will ye hear a mirthful bourd ? 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 
" Ca' out the live," quo' the village herd, 

As he stood on the knowe, 
'* Ca' this arie's nine and that ane's ten, 

And bauld Lord William's cow.''— 
" Ah ! by my sooth," quoth William then, 

•• And stands it that way now. 
When knave and churl have nine and ten, 

That the Lord has but his cow ] 
" I swear by the light of the Michaelmas 
moon. 

And the might of Mary high, 
And by the edge of my braidsword brown, 

Tliey shall soon say Harden's kye." 
He took a bugle frae his side. 

With names carved o'er and o'er — 
Full many a chief of meickle pride 

That iKirder bugle bore — i 



1 This celebrated liorn 



t^ 



chief of the Harden family, Lord Polwarth. 



the possession of the 



He blew a note baith sharp and hie. 
Till rock and water rang around— 

Three-score of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 

The Michaelmas moon had enter'd then. 

And ere she Wan the full. 
Ye might see by her light in Harden glen 

A bow o' kye and a bassen'd hull. 

And loud and loud in Harden tower 
The quaigh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; 

For the English beef was brought in bower, 
And the English ale flovv'd merrilie. 

And mony a guest from Teviotside 

And Yarrow's Braes was there ; 
Was never a lord in Scotland wide 

That made more dainty fare. 

They ate, they laiigh'd, they sang and quaff'd, 

Till nought on board was seen. 
When knight and .squire were boune to dine, 

But a spur of silver sheen. 

Lord William has ta'en his berry brown 
steed— 

A sore shent man was he ; 
" Wait ye. my giiesis. a little .ipeed— 

Weel feasted ye shall be" 

He rode him down by Falsehope burn, 

His Cousin dear to see. 
With him to take a ridins turn— 

Wat-draw-the-sword was he. 

And when he CJtme to t^alsehope glen. 

Beneath the tryst ing tree. 
On the smooth green was carved plain, 

"To l.ochwood bound are we."^ 
" O if they be sane to dark Lochwood 

To drive the Warden's gear. 
Betwixt our names. I ween, there's feud ; 

I'll go and have my share : i 

" For little reck I for .Johnstone's feud. 

The v\'arilen though he he." 
So Lord \^'illiam Is awav to dark Dochwood, 

With riders barely three. 

The Warilen's daughters in Lochwood sate, 

Were all both fair and gay. 
All save the Lady Marsaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 

The sister. Jean, had a full fair skin. 

And Grace was bauld and braw ; 
But the leal-fast heart her breast within 

It weel was worth them a'. 
Her father 's pranked her sisters twa 

With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Marsaret maun seek Uundrennan's wa' — 

She ne'er can be a bride. 

On spear and casque by sallants gent 

Her sisters' scarfs were borne. 
But never at tilt or tournament 

Were Margaret's colours worn. 

Her sisters rode to Thirlsfane bower, 

But she was left at hame 
To wander rouml the gloomy tower. 

And sigh young Harden's name. 



of appointment, which tradition 
rendezvous of the neighbouring 
the leader Was cut in tht ;urf, ai 
letters announced to his follower 



taken."— Introduction to the Minttrelsy, p. 186. 



t to have been the 
ors. The name of 
arrangement of the 
me which he had 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 527 



"Of all the knislifs, the kni?lit most fair, 

From Yarrow to the I'yiie," 
Soft siuh'd tlie maiil. "is Harden's heir, 

But neer ran he he mine ; 
"Of all the maids, the foulest maid 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
Ah !" si^hins sad. thai lady said, 

"Can ne'er youns Hardens be." — 
She looked up the hriery ^len, 

Aud up the nios.sy hrae. 
And she saw a (H)re of her father's men 

Yclad in the Johnstone prrey. 
O fast and fast they downwards sped 

The moss and l)riers among. 
And in the midst the tPHjpers led 

A shackled kuisrhi aU)ns. 



STlje 33.itti's ^Jncantatfon, 

WRITTEN UNDER THE THRE.^T OF INVASION 
IN THE AUTtJMN OF 180-4. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear. 
It 18 all of black pine and the dark oak- 
tree ; 
And the midnislit wind, to the mountain deer, 

Is whistlina: tiie fore.sl hiliaby : 
The moon looks through the drifting storm. 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form, 
For the waves roll whitening to the land, 
And dnsli against the shelvy strand. 
'I'here is a voice among the trees. 

That mingles with the groaning oak — 
That minxles with the stormy breeze. 
And the lake-waves dashing against tlie 
roCK ;— 
There is a voice within the wood. 
The voice of the bard in titt'ul mood ; 
His song was louder than the blast, 
As the bard of Glenmore through the forest 
past. 
•• Wake ye from your sleep of death. 
Minstrels and bards of other diys ! 
For the midnight wind is on the heath. 

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze : 
The Spectre wiih Ins Bloody Hand,' 
Is wandering through the wild woodland ; 
'I'he owl and the raven are mute for dread, 
And the time is meet to awake the dead ! 
" Souls of the mighty, wake and say. 
To what high strain your harps were 
strung. 
When Lorhlin plotish'd her billowy wav, 

And on your shores her Norseiiien flung.' 
Her .Norsemen tram'd to spoil and blood, 
Skill'd to [irepare the Raven's food. 
All, by your harpiiigs, doom'd to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncariy.2 
" Mute are ye all ? No murmurs strange 

Upon the midnight breeze sail by ; 
Nor through the pines, with whistling 

change. 
Mimic the harp's wild harmony I 
Mule are ye now ] — Ye ne'er were mute, 
V\ hen .Murder with his bloody foot. 
And Rapine with his iron hand. 
Were hovering near yon mountain strand. 

bauDted by a ipiril called 



" O yet awake the strain to tell, 

By every deed in song enroli'd. 
For every chief who fought or fell, 

For Albion's weal in battle bold : — 
From Coilgach.a first who roll'd his car 
Through the deep ranks (jf Roman war, 
To him, of veteran memory dear. 
Who vicior died on Aboukir. 

" By all their swords, by all their scars, 

By all their names, a mighty spell ! 
By all their wounds, by all their wars, 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping Koine, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither come !" 
The wind is hiish'd. and still the lake — 

Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears, 
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake, 

At the dread voice of other years — 
" When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, 
And blades round warriors' heads were 

flung, 
The foremost of the band were we. 
And hymii'd the joys of Liberty !" 



N; 



?4ellbell2ii. 



1805. 

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman 
of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, 
perished by losing his way on the monniain 
Helivellyn His remains vvere not discovered 
till three months afterwards, when ihey were 
found guarded by a faithful lerner-bitch, his 
constant attendant during frequent solitary 
rambles through the wilds of Cumberland 
and Westmoreland. 



1 climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hell 
vellyn, 
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd 
misty and wide ; 

All was si. II, save by fits, when the eagle was 
yelling. 
And starting around me the echoes re- 
plied. 

On the right. Striden-edge round the Red-tarn 
was bending, 

And Catchedicam its left verge was de- 
fending. 

One huge nameless rock in the front was 
ascending. 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the 
wanderer had died. 

Dark green was the spot "mid the brown 
mounlain-heather. 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd 
in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to 
weather. 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenanl- 
less clay. 

a Where the Noiwegian invader of Scotland i 
bloody defeats. 
3 The Oalgacue of Tacita». 



V 



^ 628 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



JNor yet quite deserted, though lonely ex- 
tended, 

For, fHithful in death, his mute favourite 
attended, 

The much-loved remains of her master de- 
fended. 
And chHsed the hill-fox and the raven 
away. 

How long: didst thou think that his silence 

was slumber? 
When the wmd waved his garment, liow 

oft didst thou start? 
How many long days and long weeks didst 

thou number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy 

heart ? 
And, ol). was it meet, that — no requeim read 

o'er him — 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore 

him, 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretcti'd 

before him, — 
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should 

depart? 
When a Prince to the fate of tlie Peasant has 

yielded. 
The tapestrv waves dark round the dim- 
lighted hall ; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is 

shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the 

torches are gleamin?; 
In the proudly-arch 'd chapel the banners are 

beaming. 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is 

streaming. 
Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 
But meeter for thee, sentle lover of nature, 
To lay down thy head like the meek moun- 
tain lamb. 
When, vvilder'd, he drops from some cliff 

huge in stature. 
And draws his last sob by the side of his 

dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desert 

lake lying, 
Thy obsequies suns by the grey plover flying, 
With one faittiful friend but to witness thy 

dyin?. 
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



1806. 

k\T—Daffydz Gantjwen. 
The Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on 
his death-bed, demanded liis harp, and played 
the air to which tliese verses are adapted ; 
requesting that it might be performed at his 
funeral. 



r. 

Dinas Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is 

nigh. 
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes 

shall die : 



No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall 

rave. 
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing 

wave. 

II. 
In spring and in autumn thy elories of shade 
Unhonour'd shall flourish, uiihonour'd shall 

fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the 

tongue, 
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture 

that sung. 

III. 
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their 

pride. 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's 

side ; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their 

name ? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their 
fame ? 

IV. 
And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair. 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the 

dark hair: 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their 

eye. 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon 

shall die ? 



Then adieu, silver 'I'eivi ! I quit thy loved 

scene. 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have 

been; 
With I.ewarch, and Meilor. and Merlin the 

Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

VI. 
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy 

shades, 
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy 

maids! 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness 

can tell. 
Farewell, my loved Harp! my last treasure, 

farewell ! 



2ri)e Gorman l^orse^Sljor. 



1S06. 



Air— TSe War-Song of the Men of Glamorgaiu 

The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous coun- 
try, and possessing only an inferior breed of 
horses, were usually unable to encounter the 
shock of the Anglo-Norman caviiliy. Occa- 
sionally, however, they were successful in 
repelling the invaders; and the foll<iw:ng 
verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of 
Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of 
Neville. Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers 
of Monmouthshire. Kyniny is a stream which 
divides the counties of iMoumouth and Gla- 



7 



^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 520 



rr ir?;in : Caerpliili, the scene of ttie siuipused 
li.ittle. IS a vale upon its bMiiks, digiiifieil l)y 
llie ruins of a very anoieiit castle. 



I. 
Red plows tlie forge in Stri^iiil's bounds, 
Add lianiiners din. and anvil sounds, 
Ami armourers, with iron toil. 
Harh inanv a steed for battle'.s broil. 
I'.ul fall the hand which bends the steel 
Around the conrser's thunderins heel, 
'I hit' e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground! 

II. 
From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of mom, 
\\ as heard af cr i he bugle-horn ; 
And fiirtli, ill bunded pimp and pride, 
Miiui Clare and riery Neville ride. 
They swore, their banners broad should 

ffleain, 
Fn crimson li?ht, on Rymny's stream : 
Tney vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel 
'1 he .Norman charger s spurning heel. 

III. 
And sooth I hey swore— i he sun arose, 
And KyiiKiy's wave with crimson slows; 
For Clare "s red banner, floatins wide, 
h'oll'd down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
And sooth they vow'd— the trampled green 
Sliow'd where hot Neville's charge had been : 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A .Norman horseman's curdling blood! 

IV. 
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 
'Ihat arni'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil; 
Their orphans Ion? the art may rue. 
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 
.No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; 
Nor trace be there, in early spring. 
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 



2ri)c iftt.-ifU of (Toi'O, 



O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Torr>. 
And weak were the whispers that waved 
the dark wnod. 
All as a fair maiden, hewilder'd in sorrow, 
Sorelv sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the 
flood 
"O saint.s, from the mansions of bliss lowly 
bending; 
Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's 
cry. 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die !" 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the 
battle. 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail. 
Till the shout, and the groan, and i he conflict's 
dread rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading 
the gale. 



Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so 
d I eary ; 
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Lues ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so 
wp:iry. 
Cleft was h s helmet, and woe was his mien. 

• save thee, fair maid, for our armies are 
flyin-! 
O save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is 
low ' 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is 
lying. 
And fast through the woodland approaches 
the foe " 
Scarce could he falter the lidinss of sorrow. 
And scarce could she hear them benunib'd 
with despair: 
And when the sun sank on the sweet lake of 
Toro, 
For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair. 



STtie iSalmer. 



1806. 

"O open the door, some pity to show. 
Keen blows the northern vvind ! 

The glen is while with the drifted snow, 
And the path is hard to tind. 

" No outlaw seeks your castle gate. 
From chasing the Kind's deer. 

Though even an outlaw's wretched state 
Might claim compassion here. 

" k weary Palmer, worn and weak, 

I wander for my siii ; 
O open, for Our Lady's sake ! 

A pilgrim's blessing win ! 

■^ I'll give you pardons from the Pope, 
And reliques from o'er the sea; 

Or if for these you will not ope. 
Vet open for charity. 

"The hare is crouchins: in her form. 

The hart beside the hind ; 
An aged inaa. amid the storm. 

No shelter can I find. 

" Vou hear the Ett nek's sullen roar. 

Dark, deep, and strong is he. 
And I must ford the Ettnck o'er. 

Unless you pity me. 

•'The iron gate is bolted hard, 

At which 1 knock in vain; 
The owner's heart is closer barr'd. 

Who hears me thus complaiu. 
'• Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant. 

When old and frail you be. 
You never may the shelter want. 

That's now denied to me." 
The Ranger on his couch lay warm. 

And heard him ple;id in vain ; 
But oft amid Decembers storm. 

Hi;'ll hear that voice again : 
For lo. when through the vapours dank 

Morn shone on Etirick fair. 
A corpse amid the alders rank. 

The Palmer welter'd there. 



45 



21 



^ 



530 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



2ri)e maftr of ^Meftipatl). 



1S06. 

There is a tradition in Tweeddale. that, 
when Neidpalh castle, near Peebles, was in- 
habited by the Earls of March, a mutual pas- 
sion subsisted between a d;iughter of that 
iiivble family, and a son of the I aird of Tushie- 
law. in Ettrick forest. As the alliance was 
thought unsuitable by her parents, the young 
man went abroad. During: his absence, the 
lady fell into a consun)ption; and at length, as 
• he only means of saving her life, her failier 
consented that her lover should be recalled. 
On the day when he was expected to pass 
through Peebles, on the road to 'I'usliielaw, 
tlie young lady, though much exluuisted. 
caused herself to be carried to the balcony of 
a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, 
that she might see him as he rode past. Her 
anxiety and eagerness gave .such force to her 
organs, that she is said to have distinguished 
his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. 
But 'I'ushielaw, unprepared for the change in 
her appearance, and not expecting to see her 
in that place, rode on without recognizing 
her, or even slackening his pace. 'I he lady 
was unable to support the shock ; and, after a 
short struggle, died in the arms of her at- 
tendants, 'i'here is an incident similar to this 
traditional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur 
d'Epine.*' 



X 



lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing; 
And love, in life's extremity. 

Can lend an hour of cheertng. 
r>i,sease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning, 
'I'liough now she sits on Neid path's tower, 

To watch her love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright. 

Her form decay'd by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at night. 

You saw the taper shining; 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek were flying; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew. 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear. 

Seem'd in her frame residing; 
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear. 

She heard her lover's riding; 
Ere scarce a distant form was ken'd. 

She knew, and waved to greet him ; 
And o'er the battlement did bend. 

As on the wing to meet him. 

He came— lie pass'd— an heedless gaze 

As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase. 

Lost in his courser's prancing— 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken. 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan. 

Which told her heart was broken. 



5!2^antrerfnfl StS^flUc. 



AH joy was bereft me the day that you left 
me, 
And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide 
sea ; 
O weary betide it! 1 wander'd besidt; .t. 
And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. 

Far o'er the wave hast tlion follow d thy for- 
tune. 
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of 
Spain ; 
Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting. 
Now 1 hae gotten my Willie again. 

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they 

were wailing. 
I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee. 
And thought o' the bark where my V\ illie was 

sailing. 
And wish'd that the tempest conld a' blaw on 

me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her moor- 
ing. 
Now that my wanderer's in safety at liame. 
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring. 
That e'er o'er Inch- Keith drove the dark 
ocean faem. 

When the lights they did blaze, and the gnns 
they did rattle. 
And blithe was each heart for the great 
victory. 
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle. 
And thy glory itself was scarce ccnnfon to 
me. 

But now Shalt thou tell, while 1 eagerly 
listen. 
Of each bold adventure, and every brave 
scar ; 
And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they 
may glisten ; 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the 
war, 

And oh, how we doaht when there's distance 
'tween lovers. 
When there's naething to speak to the heart 
thro' the ee ; 
ilow often the kindest and warmest prove 
rovers. 
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like 
the sea. 
Till, at times— conld I help it?— 1 pined and I 
ponder'd. 
If love could change notes like the bird on 
the tree — 
Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wan- 
der'd. 
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to 
me. 
Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through 
channel. 
Hardships and danger despising for fame. 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and 
hanie ' 



y 



/- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 531 



Enoiiffh, now thy story in annals of glory 
Has humbled I lie pride of France, Holland, 
and ^^)aln; 
No more shalt thou §rrieve me, no more shalt 
Ihou leave me. 
I never will part with my Willie again. 



JUcctltij to Horn iHclbillc. 



1S06. 

A i r— Carrickfergus. 
"The impeachment of Lord ^felville was 
amons the first nieasnirfS of the new (Whiff) 
Gi'Vernnient ; and [)ersonal atfec;ion and sra- 
tiMiile srraned as well as heightened the zeal 
with which Scott watched the issue of this, in 
his eyes, vindictive proceeding; but, though 
the ex-iiiinister's nltjniate acquittal was. as to 
all the charges involvins his personal honour, 
complete, it must now be allowetl that the in- 
vestigation hronaht out many circumstances 
by no means credi' able to his discretion: and 
the rejoiciiias of his friends ouaht not, there- 
fore, to hav« been scornfully jubilant. Such 
they were, however — at least in tidinhurgh ; 
and Scott t(K)k Ins share in them by inditins a 
Song, winch was sung iiy James Ballaniyne, 
and received with clamorous applau.ses. at a 
public dinner siven in honour of the event, on 
the 2Tth of June, 1806."— /ii/e, vol. ii , p. 322. 

Since here we are set in array round the table. 
Five hundred good fellows well met in a 
hall. 
Come listen, brave boys, and I'll sing as I'm 
able 
How innocence triumph'd and pride got a 
fall. 
But push round the claret — 
Come, stewards, don't spare it— 
With rapture you'll drink to the toast that I 
give; 

Here, boys, 
Otf with it merrily— 
Melville for ever, and long may he live ! 

What were the Whigs doing, when boldly 
pursuiii?, 
Pitt banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a 
string; 
Why, they swore on their honour, for Arthur 

O'Connor, 
And fought hard for Despard against country 
and king 

Well, then, we knew, boys, 
Pitt and -Melville were true boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the friends of 
Reform. 
All! woe! 

Weep to his memory ; 
Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm ! 

And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first 
were raising. 
And we scarcely could think the house safe 
o'er our heads? 
When villains and coxcombs, French politics 
praisinsr, 
Drove peace from our tables and sleep from 
our beds ? 



Our hearts thev grew bolder 
\\ hen, musket on shoulder. 

Stepp'd forth our old Statesmen example to 
give. 
Come, boys, never fear, 
Drink the Blue greiiailier— 

Here's to old Harry, and long may he live ! 

They would turn us adrift, though rely, sir. 
upon it — 
Our own faithful chronicles warrant us that 
The free mountaineer and his buniiy blue 
bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the re?ular's hat. 
We laiish at their taunting. 
For all we are wanting 
Ts licence our life for our country to give. 
Otf with It merrilv. 
Hcirse. foot, and artillery. 
Each loyal Volunteer, Icnig may he live! 

'Tis not us alone, boys— the Army ami Navv 
Have each got a slap 'mid their puhric 
pranks; 
Comwallis cashier'd. that watch'd winters to 
save ye. 
And the Cape call'd a bauble, unworthy of 
thanks. 
But vain is their taunt, 
No s ildier shall want 
The thanks that his country to valour can 
give: 
Come, bovs. 
Drink it otf merrily.— 
Sir David and Popham, and long may they 
live ! 

And then our revenue— Lonl knows how they 
view'il it, 
While each petty statesman talk'd lofty and 
hig; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbreatl 
had biew'd it. 
And tlie pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. 
In vain is their vauni.mz. 
Too surely there's wanting 
What judgment, experience, and steadiness 
give: 

Come, boys. 
Drink about merrily, — 
Health to sage Melville, and hnig may he live ! 

Our King, too — our Princess — 1 dare not say 
more, sir,— 
May Providence watch them with merry and 
mishtl 
While there's one Scottish hand that can wag 
a claymore, sir. 
They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up 
ifor their risht. 
Be damn'd lie that dare not, — 
For my part. I'll spare not 
To beauty afflicted a trioute to give : 
Fill It up steadily. 
Drink it otf -eadily — 
Here's to the Princess, and long may she live ! 

And since we must not set Auld Reekie in 
glory. 
And make her brown visile as light as her 
heart ; i 



^: 



1 The Magiatrales of Eilinbar,'h hart rrjecled an aprli< 
lion for illumniation of ihe town, on the arrival of Ihe 
news of Ijord Mtlville'8 acquittal. 



S: 



/ 



7 



H 



582 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Till each man illuinitie his own upper story 
Wor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to 
part. 
In Grenville and Spencer, 
And some few good men, sir, 
High talents we honour, slight difference for- 
give; 
But the Brewer we'll hoax, 
Tallyho to the Fox. 
And drink Melville for ever, ns long as we 
live !"— 



?l?untina Sona. 



1808. 

Waken, lords and Indies gay, 

On the mountain dawns the day, 

All the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk, and horse, and liuntins:-spear ! 

Hiinnds are in their coufiles yellins. 

Hawks are whistlins, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, menily, mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

The mi.st has left the niounrain grey, 

Sprinslets in tlie dawn are steaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 

And forestei^s have busy been. 

To track the buck in thicket green; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
To ttie green-wood h:tste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of .size; 
We can show the marks he made. 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay. " 

Louder, louder chant the lay. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee. 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; 

Think of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



Croe aUesolbc. 



IN IMITATION OF .\N OLD ENGLISH POEM. 



1808. 



\ 



My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I loved, and was beloved again, 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For. as her love was quickly got, 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I'll biisk in flame so hot. 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er 

My fancy .«hall beguile. 
By flattering word, or feisned tear. 

By gesture, look or smile : 



No more I'll call the shaft fair shot, 

'I'lll It has fairly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — 

I'll rather freeze alone. 

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy. 

In cheek, or chin, or brow. 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, 

That IS but lightly won ; 
I'll steel my breast to beauty's art. 

And learn to live alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out, 

'I'he diamond's ray abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about. 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine. 

And glow'd a diamond stone, 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I'll darkling dwell alone. 

No waking dream shall tinge my thought 

With dyes so bright and vain. 
No .^ilken net, so slishtly wrought. 

Shall tangle me again : 
No more I'll pay so dear for wit, 

I'll live upon mine own. 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — 

I'll rather dwell alone. 

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,— 

"Thy loving labour's lost; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, 

I'o be so strangely crost ; 
The widow'd turtles mateless die. 

The phoeni.K is but one ; 
They seek no loves — no more will I— 

I'll rather dwell alone." 



iSpttaj)!), 



DESIGNED FOK A MONUMENT 

IN LITCHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAl/- 

PLACE OP THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. 

Amid these aisles, where once his precepts 

show'd 
The Heavenward pathway which in life he 

trod. 

This simple tablet marks a Father's bier. 
And those he loved in life, in death are near; 
For him, for them, a Daughter hade it rise. 
Memorial of domestic chanties. 
Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble 

spread, 

In female grace the willow droops her head ; 
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung. 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung; 
W hat poet's voice is smother'd here in dust 

Till waked to join the ch(>rus of the just. 

l.o! one brief line an answer sad siipplies. 
Honoured, beloved, and mourn'd, here Seward 

lies. 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship 

say.— 
Go seek her genius in her li'-iug lay. 



'^ 



v- 



7^ 



^ 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 533 



\ 



^^vcloflue 



TO MISS BAILLIE'S PI,.VV OF THE FAJIILT 
LEGEND.l 



18U9. 



Tis sweet to hear expirin? Summer's sisjli, 
'1 liriHii^ii forests tinged with russet, wail and 

die; 
'1 is sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant (nusio. dyin? on the ear; 
15ut far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, 
We ii'^t ilie legends of our native land, 
I iiik'il as they come wiih every tender tie, 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon. 
VV'ake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 
Whether on India's hiirning coasts he toil. 
Or till Acadia s 2 wjnter-fetter'd soil. 
He hears with throbbing heart and moislen'd 

eyes. 
And. as he hears, what dear illusions rise! 
It opens on his soul his native deli. 
The woods wild waving, and the water's 

swell ; 
'Iraditiiin's theme, the tower that threats the 

plain. 
The mossy cairn that hide* the hero slain: 
The cot. beneath whose simple porch were 

told. 
By srey-haii'd patriarch, the tales of old. 
The infant group, that hush'd their sports the 

while. 
And the dear maid who li.sten'd vvitli a smile 
'I he wanderer, whi;e the vision warms his 

liraiu. 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 



Are such keen feelings to the crowd con- 
fined. 
And sleep they in the Poet's sifted mind ? 
Oh no! For .She, within whose migluy page 
L'ach tyrant Passion siiows Ins woe anil rage. 
Has feit the wizard mllueiice they mstiire. 
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — wlioe'er has raised 

the sail 
By .Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's 

tale. 
The [ilaided boatman, resting fm his oar, 
Points to the fatal rock amid the mar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to- 
night 
Our humble stase shall offer to your sight ; 
Proudly preferr'd mat first our efforts give 
Scenes gltiwing from her \w.\\ to breathe and 

live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
'1 he filial token of a Daughter's love. 



1 Misa Baillie*8 Family Le^^ntt was produced wifli 
•iderable »ucci-»n oa ibe Edinburgh siage in ihe wirji 
1S09 10. Thin prologue wan opoktn on Ihat occaiiii 
Ih.- Auihor-K friiiid, Mr. Daniel Terry. 

9 Acadia, or Nova Siolia. 



(iLte 33oac1)cr. 

WRITTEN IN IMITATION OP CRABBE, AND 
PUBLISHED IN THE EDINBURGH ANNUAL 
REGISTER OF 1809. 

Welcome, grave Stranger, to our green re- 
treats. 
Where health with exercise and freedom 

meets ! 
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosophic 

plan 
By nature's limits metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls. 
Now gives full value for true Indian shawls : 
O'er courts, o'er customhouse, his shoe who 

flings, 
Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. 
Like Ins, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for inan- 

knid : 
Thme eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees. 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the 

cheese ; 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of 

awe. 
Our bnckskinn'd justices expound the law, 
Wire-draw ihe acts that fix for wires the 

pain. 
And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; 
And thv vindictive arm would fain have broke 
The last light letter of the f, ndal y.ike. 
To give the denizens of wood and wild. 
Nature's free race, to each her free-born 

child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair 

London's race, 
Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter 

chase. 
And loiigM to send them forth jis free as when 
Poiir'd o'er Cliantilly the Parisian train. 
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined. 
And scarce the field-pieces were left beliiiu; ! 
A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dis- 

may'd. 
On every covey fired a bold briarade; 
La Dimce Hummiile appr ived the sport. 
For great the alarm indeed, vet small the 

hurt: 
Shouts patriotic solemnized the d.iy. 
And Seine re-echoed. Vine la Liberie ! 
Hut mad Cilnytn. meek Monsuur asain. 
Willi some few added links resumes his 

Cham. 
Then, sinf;e such scenes to France no more 

are known. 
Come, view with me a hero of thine own I 
One. whose free actions vindicate the cause 
Uf silvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak 

o'ertops 
Wide-waving seas of h rch and hazel copse, 
leaving between deseried isles of land, 
Where stunied heath is patch'd with ruddy 

sand ; 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen. 
Or strasgling hollies spread a bn^^liter green. 
Here, litile worn, and windiii;; dark and 

steep. 
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dmgU 

deep : 



/. 



7 



X 



534 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Follow— htit heedful, Ciiutious of a trip,— 
In eaitlily uiire phiUisnijIiy may slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er lliat swampy stream, 
lill, guidfd liy the charcoars smothering 

sienm. 
We reach the (r.ul yet barricaded door 
Of hovt-1 form'd for poorest of the poor; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke 

receives, 
The walls are wattles, and the covering 

leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, 
Hise in the progress of one ni^ht and day, 
(Though placed where still the Conqueror's 

hests o'erawe. 
And his son's siirrup shines the had?e of law,) 
The hiiildnr claims the unenvialtle boon. 
To tenant dwelling, framed as sliaht and soon 
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native 

frore 
On the lileak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.! 



Approach, and through the unlatticed window 

pee|)— 
Nay, shrink not hack, tlie inmate is asleep; 
Sunk 'inid von sordid blankets, till the sun 
Sloop Id the west, the plunderer's toils are 

done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate 

hMlul, 

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand ; 
Wiule round the hut are in disorder laid 
'i'lie tools and booty of Ins lawless trade; 
For lorce or fraud, resistance or escape. 
The crow, ihe saw, the bludgeon, and the 

crape. 
His piifer'd powder in yon nook he hoards. 
And the tilch'd lead the church's roof affords — 
(Hence shall the rector's con£rres:alion fret. 
That while his sermon's dry his walls are 

wet ) 
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net are 

there. 
Due-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of 

hare. 
Cordage for toils, and wirins fm- the snare. 
Barter'd for eauie fioni chase or warren won. 
Yon cask holds inooiilighl,*-^ run when moon 



To wait the associate higgler's evening cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest: 
What scenes perturb'd are acting in hi 

breast ! 
His sable brow is wet and wrune with pain. 
And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; 
For short and scant the breath each effort 

draws. 
And 'twixteach effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable sackcloth 

stretch'd. 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion 

twitch'd. 
While the tonsue falters, as to utterance loth 
Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, 

and oath 



fith 



Though, stupified by toil, and drugg'd 

gin. V 

The body sleep, the restless fuest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless 

trade. 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay'd.— 

" Was that wild start of terror and despair. 
Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder'd 

air. 
Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, 
For grouse or partridge massacred in 

March V — 
No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe, 
There is no wicket in the gate of law ! 
He. that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal, must undo each bar: 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the 

barrier wide. 
That ruffian, whom true men avoid and 

dread. 
Whom bruisers, jioacliers, smugglers, call 

Black Ned. 
Was Eldward Mansell once; — the lightest 

heart. 
That ever play'd on holiday his part ! 
The leader he in every Christmas game. 
The harvest-feast grew blither when he came, 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did 

glance. 
When Edward named the tune and led the 

dance. 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and 

strong. 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ; 
And if he loved a gun. his father swoie, 
••'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be 

o'er. 
Himself had done the same some thirty years 

before." 

But he whose humours spurn law's awful 

yoke. 
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds 

are broke. 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
I he clown, who robs tlie warren, or excise. 
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread, 
Even with the wre'ch by whom his fellow 

bled. 
Then, as in plagues the foul contagion pa.ss. 
I eaveningand festering the corrupted mass.— 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives 

draw, 
I'heir hope impniiilv. their fear the law: 
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the 

same. 
Till the revenue hanlk'd, or piifer'd game. 
Flesh the young cul[>rit. and example leads 
To darker villany, and direr deeds. 

Wild hovvl'd the wind the forest glades 

along. 
And olt the owl renew'd her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound. 
Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight 

round 



^ vmiii 

^^ cour 



1 Such is the law in the New Forest. Hampatiirr, lending 
grratly to increaNe the various settkmems of Ihirveg, 
Bmiigglers. and det-r-Klpali-rs. who infent it. In the forest 
CQUrta tilt! presiding judge wears as a badge of office an 



antique slirnip, said lo have been that of 
See Mr. W.lliam Rose's spirited poem, 
Bed King." 

3 A cant term for smuggled spirits. 



rUiruK 



■/ 



7 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



Wlien o'er the swamp he cast his blighting 

hn.k. 
From the sreen marshes of the stagnant 

brook 
The bittern's sullen shout the sednes shook ! 
'I'lie wiuiing inuon, with storin-presa^in^ 

eleaiii. 
Now Brave and now withheld her doubtful 

beam ; 
'1 he old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them 

hiirh, 
Bellowiii? and eroanins to the troubled sky— 
'Twas then, that, couch'd amid the brush- 
wood sere, 
lu Malwood-walk young Mansell watch'd the 

deer: 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the 

spot. 
Stou' were their hearts, and stubborn was 

their strife, 
O'erpower'd at length the Outlaw drew his 

knife. 
Next morn a corpse was found upon tlie fell— 
Tlie rest liis waking agony may tell ! 



560112. 

Oh. say not, my love, with that mortified air. 
That your sprins-time of pleasure is flown. 

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair. 
For those raptures that still are thine own. 

Though .\pril his temples may wreathe with 
the vine. 
Its tendrils in infancy cirl'd, 
'Tis the ardour of August matures us the 
wine. 
Whose life-blood enlivens the world. 

Though thy form, that was fashion'd as light 
as a fay's. 
Has assumed a proportion more round. 
And thy ulance, tliat was bright as a falcon's 
at gaze. 
Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again. 
Thy steps still with ecsiasy move; 

Enousfli, that those dear solier glances retain 
For me the kind language of love. 



€^I)c 33ol"D 23iMfl[ooii 



THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 



1 With his flyins guns this gallant gay, 
I And boasted corps d'armee — 
O he fear'd not our dragoons, wiih their long 
I swords, boldly riding, 

Whack, fal de ral, &.c. 

I To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat 
i down, 

1 Just a fricasse to pick while his soldiers 
I sack'd the town. 

When, 'twas peste ! morbleu ! mon Gen- 
I eral, 

i Hear the Enarlish bugle-call ! 
And behold the light dragoons, with their long 

swords, boldly riding, 
I Whack, fal de ral, &;c. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery and 

all, 
And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled 
I tlirough the wall :2 

They took no time to seek the door, 
I But, best foot set before — 
O they ran from our dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, <kc. 

Those valiant men of France they had scarcely 

fled a mile. 
When on their flank there sous'd at once the 
British rank and file : 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then 
Ne'er minded one to ten. 
But came on like light dragoons, with their 
long swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Three hundred British lads they made three 

thousand reel. 
Their hearts were made of English oak, their 
swords of Sheffield steel. 
Their horses were in yorkshire bred. 
And Beresford them led; 
So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, &,c. 

Then here's a health to Wellington, to 

Beresford. to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I close 
my song : 
The eagles that to fight he brings 
Should serve his men with wings. 
When they meet the bold dragoons, with their 
long swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, &;c. 



tje if^n.^sacre of Gllcncoe. 




'Twas a Marfechal of France, and he fain 

would honour gain. 
And he long'd to take a passing glance at 

Portugal from Spain; 



1 This song wan written xhortly after Itie bailie of BaUa- 
ioB. (.ipril, iBJ-i,) for a Yeomanry Cavalry dimier. 



181-1. 



'• In the beginning of the year 1692. an action 
of unexampled barharitv disgraced the govern- 
ment of King William I'll, in Scotland. In the 
August preceding, a proclamation had been 
issued, offering an indemnity to such insur- 
gents as should take the oaths to the K ing and 
Queen, on or before the last day of Deceiu- 



3 In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor, the French 
pulled down a part of the rampart, and marched 
the glaciB. 



T 



A 






SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



N. 



her; and tl>e chiefs of such tribes as had been 
in arms for James, soon after took advant;ige 
of the proclamation. But Macdonald of Gien- 
coe was prevented by accident, rather than 
by desiern, from tenderins his submis^sion with- 
in the limited time. In the end of December 
he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the 
garrison in Fort-William, to take the oath of 
allesiance to the government ; and the latter 
having furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin 
Campbell, sheriff of the county of Argyll, 
directed him to repair immediately to Inveiary. 
to make his submission in a legal manner 
before that magistrate. But the way to Inve- 
rary lay through almost impassable mountains, 
the season was extremely rigorous, and the 
whole country was covered with a deep snow. 
So eager, however, was Macdonald to take 
the oaths before the limited time should ex- 
pire, that, though the road lay within half a 
mile of his own house, he stopped not to visit 
liis family, and. after various obstructions, 
arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed. 
and the sheriff hesitated to receive his suh- 
niission ; but Macdonald prevailed bv his im- 
portuiiites. and even tears, in inducing that 
functionary to administer to him the oath of 
allegiance, and to certify the cause of his 
delay. At this time Sir .lohn Dalrymple, 
afterwards Earl of .*<tair, being m attendance 
upon William as Secretary of State for Scot- 
land, took advantage of Macdonald 's neglect- 
ing to take the oath within the time proscribed. 
and procured from the king a warrant of 
military execution against that chief and his 
whole clan. This was done at the in.stigafion 
of the Earl of Breadalliane. whose lands the 
Glencoe tnen had plundered, and whose 
treachery to government in neg'-tiating wiiii 
the Highland clans. Macdonald himself had 
exposed. The King was accordingly [lersu-.ided 
that Glencoe was the main olistacle to I he 
pacification of the H'ghlaiids ; and the fact of 
the unfortunate chief's submission hftviugbeen 
concealed, the sanguinary orders f(»r proceed- 
ing to military execution against his dun were 
in consequence obtained. The warnint was 
both signed and countersigned bv the King's 
own hand, and the Secretary urged the officers 
who commanded in the Highlands to execute 
their orders with the utmost rigour. Camp- 
bell of Gler.lyon, a captain in Arsyle's regi- 
ment, and two subalterns, were ordered to 
repair to Glencoe on the first of F'ebruary with 
a hundred :nid twenty men. Cam[)bell. being 
uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was received 
by the father with all manner of friendship 
and hospitalitv The men were lodged at free 
qnartpis in the houses of his tenants, atid 
received ihe kindest entertainment Till the 
loth of the month the troops lived in the ut- 
most harmony and f imiliarity with the people ; 
and on the very night of Ihe massacre the 
officers passed the evening at cards in Mac- 
donald's house. In the night, Lieutenant 
T-indsay. with a party of soldiers, called in a 
friendly manner at his door, and was instantly 
ailmiited Macdonald. while in the act of 
rising to receive his guest, w;is shot dead 
through the back witli two bullets. His wife 
h:iil already dressed; hut she was stripped 
naked by the soldiers, who lore the rings off 
her fingers with their teeth. The slaugliter 
now became general, and neither age nor 



infirmity was spared. Some women, in defend- 
ing their children, were killed : hoys implor- 
ing mercy, were shot dead by officers on whose 
knees they hung In one place nine persons, 
as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were 
hulchered bv the soldiers. In Inverriggnri, 
Campbell's own quarters, nine men were first 
boimd by the soldiers, and then shot at inter- 
vals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were 
massacred by the troops; and several who 
fied to the mountains perished liy famine and 
the inclemency of the season. Those who 
escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous 
night. I ieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had 
received the charge of the execution from 
Dalrymple, was on his march with four 
hundred men, to guard all the passes from the 
valley of Glencoe ; but he was obliged to stop 
by the severity of the weather, which proved 
the safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day 
he entered l he valley, laid the houses in ashes, 
and carried away the cattle and spoil, whicli 
were divided among the officers and soldier?^." 
— /lr/?cZe "Britain ;" Enryc. Britatmica — Ntu> 
Edition. 

"O tell me. Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and wee, 
Far down the desert of Glencoe. 

Where none may list their melody 1 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly. 
Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
Or to the eagle, that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ?" — 

" No. not. to these, for they have rest.— 
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest. 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest. 

Abode of lone se(!urity. 
But those for whom I pour the lay. 
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain grev. 
Not this deep dell, that shrHiids from dav. 

Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. 

" Their flag was fml'd. and mute their drum, 
The very household dogs were dumb, 
Unwont'to bay at guests that cinne 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blitliest notes the piper plied, 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The (Lame her distaff flung aside. 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 

"The hand that mingled in the meal, 
At midnight drew the felon steel. 
And gave the host's kind breast to feel 

Meed for his hospitality ! 
The friendly hearth which warm'd thai hand, 
At midnight arm'd it with the brand. 
I'hat hade destruction's flames expand 

Their red and fearful blazonry. 

"Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, 

Nor infancy's uiipiiied plain. 

More than the warrior's groan, could gain 

Kespue from ruthless butchery I 
The winter wind that whistled shrill. 
The snows that night that cloaked the hill. 
Though wild and pilile.ss. had still 

Far more than Southern clemer.cy. 

" Long have my harp's best notes been gone, 
Few are its strings, and faint their tone, 
'I'hey can but sound in desert lone 
Their grey-hair'd master's misery. 



'S 



y^ 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 53 



N; 



Were earh ffrey hair a niinslrel stnn?, 

Each clKirtl should imprecations tliiia:, 

Till startled Scoliaiid loud should nns 

• Reveiigre lor blood and treachery ! 



iFor a' tf)at an' a' tijat.i 

A NEW SONG TO AX OLD TUNE, 
1814, 

Thnno;li right he aft put down by strength, 

As rnony a dav we saw that. 
The true and leilfu' cause at length 

>h:ill hear the sne for a' that. 
For a' that an" a' that, 

(Juris, guillotines, and a' that. 
The Fleur-de-lis. that lost her risht, 

Is queen again for a' that ! 
We'll twine her in a friendly knot 

With Enalaiid s Rose, and a' that; 
The ,*=hainr()ck shall not be forsot, 

For VVelliiiKton made braw iliat. 
The Thistle, though her leaf be rude, 

Vet faith we'll no niisca' that, 
She shelter'd in her solitude 

The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that. 
The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine, 

(For Bluchers sake, hurra that,) 
The Spanish Olive, too. shall join. 

And bloom in peace for a' tliat. 
Stoul Russia's Hemp, so surely twined 

Around our wrealli we'll dmw that, 
And he thai would the cord uiibinil, 

Miall have it for his gra-vat! 
Or. if to choke sae puir a sot. 

Your pity scorn to thraw that. 
The Devil's elbow he his lot. 

Where he may sit and claw that. 
In spite of slight, in sp le of might, 

III spite of brags, an a' that. 
The lads that battled for the right, 

Have won the day, an' a' that ! 
'I'here's ae bit spot I had ft)rgot, 

America they ca' that ! 
A coward plot her rats had got 

Their father's flag to gnaw that : 
Now see it fly lop gallant high, 

Atl.-intic winds shall blaw that, 
And Yankee loon, beware your croun. 

There's kames in hand to claw that! 
For on the land, or on the sea, 

Where'er the breezes blaw that. 
The British Flag shall bear the grie, 

And win the day for a' that ! 



Soufl, 



1814. 



0, dread was the time, and more dreadful the 



When the brave on Marengo lay slaugliter'd 
in vain. 



hi! :it the firsi mceling of Ihe Pitt Club of ScoUasd, 
t'linlinl ii the Svota MagLizine for July, 18)4. 



And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by 
her foemen, 
Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her 
reisn! 
Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his 
brave spirit 
To take for Ins country the safety of shame ; 
O, then in her triumph remember his merit. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Round the husbandman's head, while he traces 
the furrow. 
The mists of the winter may mingle with 
rain. 
He may plough it with labour, and sow it in 
sorrow. 
And sigh while he fears he has sow'd it in 
vain ; 
He may die ere his children shall reap in their 
gladness, 
But the blithe harvest-home shall remember 
his claim ; 
And their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with 
sadness. 
While they hallow the goblet that flows to 
his name. 

Though anxious and timeless his life was ex- 
pended. 
In tolls for our country preserved by his 
care. 
Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations 
ascended. 
To light the long darknes.s of doubt and de- 
spair; 
The storms he endured in our Britain's De- 
cember, 
The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'er- 
came. 
In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain re- 
member. 
And hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in 
affliction. 
Is deaf to the tale of our victories won. 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affec- 
tion, 
Tlie shout of his people ap[)l;inding his Son ; 
By his firmness unmoved in success and dis- 
aster. 
By his long reign of virtue, remember his 
claim ! 
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his 
Master, 
Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to 
his name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the 
sad measure, 
The ritesof our grief and our gratitude paid. 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright 
treasure. 
The wisdom that plaiin'd, and the zeal that 
obey'd ; 
Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like his 
glory, 
Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and 
Graeme ; 
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at 
their story. 
And hallow the goblet that tlows to their 
fame. 



21 



V 



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^ 538 



-ii 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



Jpljatus 2Loquttur.i 

Far in the bosom of the deep. 

O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep; 

A ruddy gem oj changeful hght, 

Bound on the dusky brow of night, 

The seaman bids my lustre hail, 

And scorns to strike his timorous sail. 



5linrs,2 

ADURKSSCD TO RANALD MACDONALD, ESQ. OF 
STAFFA. 3 



ISU. 



Staffa, sprung from high Macilonald, 
Woithy branch of old Clan Ranald ! 
Staffa ! king of all kind fellows! 
Well befall thy hills and valleys. 
Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows — 
Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder, 
Echoing the Aihmtic tluinder; 
Mountains whicti the eiey mist covers. 
Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, 
Pausing while his (Hiiions quiver. 
Stretch'd to quit our liuid lor ever! 
Each kind intluenoe reis;ii above thee ! 
V\ sirmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa 
Beats not, than in heart of ^tali'a ! 



acttrt" m TJcisc 



ON THE VOYAOE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS 
OK NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

"Of the letters wliich Scott wrote to his 
friends during those happy six weeks. 1 have 
recovered only tine, and it is. thanks to the 
leisure of tlie yacht, in verse. The strong 
and easy heroics of the first section prove, I 
think, that Mr Canning did not err when he 
told him that if he chose he might emulate 
even Drydeus command of that n<tlile measure; 
and the dancing anapaests of the second, 
show that he could witli equal facility have 
rivalled the gay graces of Cotton, An^tey, or 
IXuwvi." —Lockharl, Lift, vol iv , p. 372. 



TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 

&1-. &c. Jtc. 



Health to the chieftain fiom his clansman 
true! 
From her true minstrel, health to fair Buc- 
cleuch ! 



Health from the isles, where dewy Morning 

weaves 
Her chaplet with the lints that Twilight 

leaves ; 
Where late the sun scarce vanish'd from the 

sight. 
And his bright pathway graced the short- lived 

night. 
Though darker now as autumn's shades 

extend. 
The north winds whistle and the mists 

ascend ! 
Health from the land where eddying whirl- 
winds toss 
The storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape of .Noss ! 
On outstrelcird cords the giddy ensine slides. 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer 

guides. 
And he that lists such desperate feat to try. 
Mav. like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt earth and 

"sl<y. 
And leel the mid-air gales around him blow. 
And see the billows rage five hundred feet 

bulow. 
Here, by each stormy peak and desert 

shore, 
The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar. 
Practised alike his venturous course to keep. 
Through the white breakers or the pathless 

deep, 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean 

leaves. 
What comfort greets him, and what hut re- 
ceives? 
Lady ! the worst your presence ere has 

cheer'd 
(When want and sorrow fled as you ap- 

pear'd ) 
Were to a Zetlander as the hish dome 
Of proud Drnnilanris to my humble home. 
Here rise no groves, and here no gardens 

blow. 
Here even the hardy heath scares dares to 

grow ; 
But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm 

array'd. 
Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, 
Willi many a cavern seain'd, the dreary 

haunt 
Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent 

cry 
As of lament, the eulls and aannets fliy. 
And from their sable base. wi;h sullen sound, 
In sheets of whitening loam the waves 

rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of envy ?nin 
From those whose land has known oppres- 
sion's chain ; 
For here the industrious Dutchman comes 

once more 
To moor his fishins ciaft by Biessey's shore ; 



1 '• Oil ihfSOth of July. 1814, Mr. Hamilton. IVIr Erskine. 2 These lines were 
anil Mr. Duff, Commis.-iioneis, along with Mr. (now Sir) Sound of Ulva Inn, in the month of August, I&14. 
Wilier S<oli. and the writer. vi.sited the Lighlhou.se: ■ 
C'ommls^i(lners lieini; then nn one of their vovases of In- ! 3 .Afiprwards Sir Reginald Macdonald Stewart Selon, of 
Fpe.lion, noticed in the Iiitr™lu<tion. They breakfasted in \ Staffa, Allanlon, and Touch, Baronet. He died ICIh .A(nil 
the Library, when Sir Waller, at the entreaty of the | J838, in his 61st year. The reader will find a «arm Mibuti. 
pariy. upon inscribing his name in the Album, added Ihese j to Staffa's character as a Highland landlord, in S. oiiN 
inleiesiina lines "—S(cufnion's Account of the Bell-Hock article on Sir John Carr's Caledonian Sketches.— ,Misc^i- 
Livhtliuuse. 1824 Scoti's Diary of the Voyage is now lancout Froie Works, \ol. xix. 
d ill the 4lh volume of his L(/e. 



y^ 



7 



z. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 539 



^1 

39 \ 



Greets every fdriiier mate and brother tar. 
Marvels hnw Lerwick 'scaped the rase of war, 
'J ells many a tale of Ga.lin outrage done, 
Ari.l ends by blessing God and VVellnifrtou. 
Here uio the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, 
riaii.s a brief hour of riot, not of resi ; 
{'roves e.cii w:ld fiolic that in wine has birth. 
And wakes the land vvitli brawls and boisterous 

mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
1 he caitive Norseman sits in silent woe. 
And eyt;s ihe tlass of Britain as they flow. 
Hani faie of war, which bade her terrors 

His ue.-tiiied course, and seize so mean a 

prt-y : 
K li^irk with planks so warp'd and seams so 

riven. 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of 

heaven : 
fVnsive he sirs, and questions oft if none 
<'an list Ins spt-ecli. and iiiRlerstand his moan ; 
III vain— no Islesinan now can nse the t<ingoK 
Ol till! bold Noi-se, from wliom their lineage 

spi oils. 
iNot thus of old the .\'orsemen hither came, 
V\ on bv Ihe luve of danger or of fame ; 
Oil every stonnbeat cape a shapeless lower 
'IVlls of their wars, their conquests, and their 

power; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latam land. 
W as fiercer sfrite than for tins barren strand ; 
A r..ce severe— the is'e and ocean loid.s 
Loved for its own delisrlit the strife of swords; 
Willi scornful laugh Ibe niorral pans defied. 
And blest their gods that they in battle died. 

Such were the sires of Zetland's siinjile 

race. 
And .-till the eye may faint resemblance trace 
In the lilu<^ eve. tall i(nin. proportion fair, 
The limbs a'iiletic. and the long light hair— 
(!-ucli was I lie mien, as .'^cald and Minsiiel 

sinss. 
Of fair-hair'd Harold, first of Norway's 

Kings;) 
But I heir high deeds lo scale these crags 

confined. 
'I'heir only warfare is with waves and wind. 

Why should I talk of Mouse's castled 

coast .' 
Why of Ihe honors of the Sumhurgh Rost ? 
May not these bald disjointed lines suffice, 
Penii'd while mv comrades whirl the ratllins 

dice- 
While down the cabin sUylight lessening 

slmie 
The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and 

wine ? 
Imagined, while down Moiisa's desert bay 
Our well-triniin'd vessel urged her nimble 

wav. 
V\ liile to the freshening breeze she lean'd her 

side. 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide? 

Such are the lays that Zetland isles supply ; 
Drencn'd with the drizzlv spray and dropping 
sky. 

V^'earv and wet, a sea-sick minsirel I. 

W Scott. 



POSTSCRIPTUM. 

KiiEwall, Orkney, Aug 13,1814. 

In respect that your Grace has commission "d 

a Kraken, 
You will please be inform'd that they seldom 

are taken ; 
It is January two years, the Zetland folks 

say. 
Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway 

bay ; 
I He lay m the offiii? a fortnight or more. 
But the devil a Zeilander piii. from the shore. 
Though bold in the seas of the Noilli to 

assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus 

and whale. 
If your Grace thinks I'm wriiing the thing 

that is not, 
You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. 

Scott— 
(He's not from our clan, though his merits 

deserve it, 
But springs. I'm inform'd, from the Scotts of 

Scotsi arvet : 1 1 
He qiiesii(m'd the folks vvlio beheld it with 

eyes. 
But they differ'd confoundedly as to its size. 
For in.stance. the modest and ditiiderit swore 
That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, and no 

more— 
Tho.«e of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more 

high. 
Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and 

sky- 
But all of the hulk hail a steady opinion 
i That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's 
! doiiiiiiioii — 
I And [ think, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly 

woulil wish, 
I To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish. 
I Had your order related to night-caps or hose. 
Or mittens of v/orsted. there's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pieased but to fancy a 

whale? 
And direct me to send it— by sea or by mail ? 
The season, I'm told, is nigh over, hut still 
I could get you one fit for the lake at 

B.)whill. 
Indeed, as to whales, there's no need to be 

thrifty, 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and 

fifty. 
Pursued by seven Orkney men's boats and no 

more. 
Betwixt TrufTiieGs and LafFness were drawn 

on the shore ! 
You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; 
1 own that I did not, but easily might— 
For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, m the loop of the 

bay. 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the 

spoil. 
And flinching, (so term it) the blubber to boil ; 
( Ve spirits of lavender, drown the reflection 
That awakes at the thought of this odorous 

dissection.) 
To see this huge marvel full fain would we go. 
But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. 

their arnorial bearings are 



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^ 



We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I 

must stare 
When I think that in verse I have once call'd 

it fair ; 
'Tis a base little borough, bolli dirty and 

mean — 
Tliere's nolliing to hear, and there's nought to 

be seen, 
Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate 

haransued, 
And a palace that's built liy an earl that was 

hans'd. 
But, farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are 

goins. 
The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are 

blowing; 
Our commodore calls all his band to their 

places. 
And 'tis time to release you — good night to 

your Graces ! 



WtvBtB irom S^^aberleg. 



" The foHowinsr song, wliirh has neen since 
borrowed by the woisiiififnl author of the 
famous 'History of Frvar Bacon.' lias been 
with difficulty deciplieied. It seems to li;ive 
been sung on occasion of carrying home the 
bride." 

(1.)— BRIDAL SONG. 

To the tune of " / have been a Fiddk-T 4 c. 

And (lid ye not hear of a mirtti iiefell 
The morrow after a wediiiii? dav. 

And carrying a bride at borne to dwell ? 
And away to Tewin, away. avv;iy. 

Tlie quiniain was set, and the garlands were 
made, 

'Tis pity old customs shoi;!<l ever decay ; 
And woe he to him that was horsed on a jade, 

For lie carried no credit away, away. 

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; 

We set them a-cocklioise, and made them 
play 
The winning of Rullen. and Upsey-frees, 

And away ;o Tewin, away, away ! 

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish 
That would go to the plough tliat day ; 

But on his fore-horse Ins wench he carries, 
And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap. 
The maidens did make the chamber full 
gay; 

The servants did give me a fuddling cup, 
And I did carry 't away, away. 

The smith of the town his liquor so took, 
That he was persuaded that the ground 
look'd blue; 

And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 
Such smiths us he there's but a few. 



A posset was made, and the women did sip. 

And simpering said, they coulii eat no more 
Full manv a maiden was laid on the lip. — 

I'll say no more, but give o'er, (give o'er.) 
Ajrpendix to the General Frefac 



(2.)— WAVERLEY. 

"On receiving intelligence of his commis- 
sion as captain of a troop of horse in Colonel 
Gardiner's regiment, his tutor, Mr. Pembroke, 
picked np aliout Edward's room some frag- 
ments of irregular verse, which he appeared 
to have composed under the influence of the 
agitating feelings occasioned by this sudden 
page being turned up to him in the book of 
life." 

Late, when the autumn evening fell 
On Mirk wood-Mere's romantic dell. 
The lake return'd. in chasten'd gleam, 
The purple cloud, the golden beam : 
h'ellected in the crystal pool, 
Headland and hank lay fair and cool ; 
The weather-tinted rock and tower. 
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror g:ive, 
As if there lay beneath the wave, 
Secure from t'niuble, toil, and care. 
A world than earthly world more fair. 

But distant winds began to wake. 
And roused the' Genius of the Lake ! 
He heard the groaning of the oak. 
And doun'd at once his sable cloak. 
As warrior, at the battle cry. 
Invests him with bis panoply : 
Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd. 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'er furrow'd brow and hlacken'd cheek, 
And bade his surge in thunder speak. 
In wild and broken eddies whirl'd, 
Flitted that fond ideal world ; 
And, to the shore in tumult tost, 
The reabiis in fairy bliss were lo.st. 

Yet, with a stern delight and strange, 
I saw the spirit-stirring change 
As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, 
Upon the ruiii'd tower 1 stood, 
And felt my heart more strongly bound, 
Responsive to the lofty sound, 
V\'hile, joving in the mighty roar, 
I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more. 

So, on the idle dreams of voiith 
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth. 
Bids each fair vision pass away, • 
Like landscape on the lake that lay. 
As fair, as flitting, and as fiail. 
As that which fled the autumn gale— 
For ever dead to fancy's eye 
Be each gay form that glided by. 
While dreams of love and lady's charms 
Give place to honour and to arms ! 

Chap. V. 



(3.)— DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. 

" He (Daft Davie Gellatlcy) sung with great 
earnestness, and not without some taste, a 
fragment of an old Scotch ditty :" 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 541 



Fiilse love, and hast thou play'd me this 

In summer amon? the flowers ] 
I will repay thee hack aijaiii 

In winter amonir the showers. 
Unless a^ain. agam, my love, 

Unless you turn again ; 
As you with other maidens rove, 

I'll smile on other men. 

"This is a eenuine ancient frasment, with 
some alteration in the la.st two lines." 

" The question'd party replied, — and, 

like the witch of I'halaba, 'still his speech 
was sonp.'" 

The Knieht's to the mountain 

His t)U2le to wind; 
The lady's to ereeiiwood 

Her garland to bind. 
The bower of Burd Ellen 

Has muss on the floor. 
That the step of Lord William 

Be silent and sure. 



Chap. ix. 



(4.) — SCENE 



IN LUCKIE MACLE.\RY'S TAVERN. 

" In the middle of this din. the Baron re- 
peatedly implored silence ; and when at length 
the instinct of polite discipline so far prevailed, 
that for H moment he obtained ii, he hastened 
to beseech their attention • unto a military 
anette, which was a particular favourite of 
the Marechal Due de Berwick;' then, imiiat- 
ing. as well as he could, the manner and tone 
of a French musqnetaire, he immediately com- 
menced," 

Mon coeur volage. dit-elle. 

N'est pas pour vous. garcon, 
Est pour un homme de guerre, 
yiii a barbe au menton. 

I. on, Lon, Laridon. 
Qui porte chnpeaii a plume, 

Soulier a rouse talon, 
Qui joue de la flute. 
Aussi de violon. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 
" Balmawhiipple could hold no longer, hut 
broke m with what he called a d— d gnod 
song composed by Gibhy Gaethrowit, the 
Piper of ('iipar; and, without wasting more 
time, struck up—" 

It's up Glembarchan's braes 1 gaed, 
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, 
And inony a weary cast I made. 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. 

If up a bonny black-cock should spring. 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in Ins wing. 
And strap hiin on to my lunzie string, 
Kight seldom would 1 fail. 

Chap. xi. 



(5.)—'^ HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY." 

"The stamping of horses was now heard in 
the court, and Davie Gellalley's voice singing 
to the two large deer greyhounds," 



Hie away, hie away. 
Over bank and over brae, 
\^ here the copse wood Is the greenest. 
Where the fountains glisten sheei\est. 
Where the lady-fern grows strongest, 
Where the morning dew lies longest. 
Where the black-cock sweetest sips it. 
Where the fairy latest trips it : 
Hie to haunts right seldom seen. 
Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, 
Over bank and over brae, 
Hie away, hie away. 

Chaf). xii. 



(6.)— ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR. 

"The view of the old tower, or fortalice. 
introduced some family anecdotes and tales 
of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron told 
with great enthusiasm. The projecting peak 
of an impending crag, which rose near it, had 
acquired the name of St Swij bin's Chair. It 
was the scene of a peculiar 'superstition, of 
which Mr. Rubrick mentioned some curious 
particulars, which reminded Waverley of a 
rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear; and 
Rose was called upon to sing a litile legend, 
in which they had been interwoven by some 
village poet, 

Who, noteless as the race from which he 
sprung. 

Saved others' names, hut left his own un- 
sung. 

"The sweetness of her voice, and the sim- 
ple beauty of her music, gave all the advan- 
tage which the minstrel could have desired, 
and which his poetry so much wanted." 

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you houne ye to 

rest. 
Ever beware that your couch be hless'd 
."^isiii It with cro.ss. and sain it vviih head, 
Smg the Ave, and say the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will 

ride. 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on hv her side. 
Whether the wind smg lowly or louil. 
Sailing through moonshine or swaih'd in the 

cloud. 

The Lady she safe in St Swiihin's Chair. 
The dew of the night has dariip'd her hair; 
Her cheek was pale— but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her 
eye. 

She mutter'd the spell of Swithin hold. 
When his naked foot traced the niiduiglit 

wold. 
When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the 

night. 
And bade her descend, and her promise plight. 

He that dare sit on St. Swit bin's Chair, 
When the .\ight-Hag wmgs the troubled air, 
Questions ihree when tie speaks the spell. 
He may ask, and she must tell. 

The Baron has been with King Robert his 

liege. 
These three long years in battle and siege ; 



)41 ^^ 



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Mews are there none of liis weal or his woe, 
And lain the l.ady liis liile wouliJ know. 

She shudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks;— 
Is it the rnoody owl that shrieks? 
Or is that sound, betwixt hiufrhter and 

scream. 
The voice of the Demon who iiaunts the 

stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk silenr and low. 
And the roanns torrent had ceased to flow ; 
I'he calm was more dreadful than raging 

storm. 
When the cold prey mist brought the ghastly 

form 1 
* * * * * 

Chap. xiii. 



(7.)— DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. 

"The next day Edward arose betimes, and 
in a morning walk around the house and its 
vicinity, came suddenly upon a small court iii 
front of the dog-kennel, where his friend 
Davie was employed about his four-footed 
charae. One quick s lance of his eye recog- 
nized Waverley. when, instantly turning his 
back, as if he had not observed him, he began 
to sing part of an old ballad." 

"Young men will love thee more fair and more 
fast ; 
Heard ye so merry the Utile bird shig ? 
Old men's love the lonsest will last, 

A7id the throslk-cock's head is under h>^ 
wuui. 

The yoiniK man's wratii is like light straw on 
fire; 
Heard ye so merry the lillle bird sing 1 
But like red hot steel is the old man's ire. 
And the throslk-cuck' s head ts under his 
wing. 

The young man will brawl at the evening 
boiiid ; 
Heard ye so merry the little bird sinq 1 
But the old man will draw at the dawning the 
sword, 
And the throstle-cock's head is under his 
wing. 

[The song has allusion to the Baron of 
Braidwardine's personal encounter with Bal- 
niawhapple early next morning, after the 
evening quarrel betwixt the latter and Wa- 
verley.] 

Chap. xiv. 



(8.)— JANET GELLATLEY'S ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

"This anecdote led into a long discussion of," 

All those idle thoughts and phantasies, 
Devices, dreams, opinions unsound. 

Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies. 
.^nd all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and 
lies. 



(9.)— FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG. 



Flora had exchanged the measured and 
monot(mous recitative of the bard for a lofty 
d uncommon Highland air, which had been 
a battle-song in former ases. A few irregular 
strains introduced a prelude of a wild and 
peculiar tone, which harmonized well with 
the distant water-fall, and the soft sish of the 
evening breeze in the rustling leaves of an. 
aspen which overhung the seat of the fair 
harpress. The following verses convey but 
little idea of the feelings with which, so sung 
and acf.onifianied, they were heard by V\ aver- 
ley :" 

There is mist on the mountain, and night on 

the vale, 
l!ut more dark is the sleep of the sons of the 

Gael. 
A stranger commanded — it siink on the land. 
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every 

hand ! 

The dirk and the tarset lie sordid with dust. 
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with 

rust: 
On the hill or the glen if a ?un should appear. 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our bards should 

rehearse. 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their 

verse! 
Be mute every string, and be hush'd everv 

tone. 
That shall bid us remember the fame thai is 

flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber 

are past. 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at 

last; 
Glenaladale's peaks are Illumed with the rays. 
And the streams of Glenfiiinan leap bright in 

the blaze. 

O hiffh-miiided Minavl — the exiled — the 

dear !- 
In the blush of the dawning the Standard 

nprtar! 
Wide, wide to the winds of the north let it fly. 
Like the sun's latest flash when iheienipest is 

niuh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning 

shall break. 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to 

wake? 
That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' 

eye. 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish 

or die. 

O sprung from the Kings who m Islav kept 
state. 

Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald. Glengarv, and 
Sleat! 

Combine like three streams from one moun- 
tain of snow. 

And resistless in union rush down on the foe ! 

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel. 
Flare tliv iar?e on thv shoulder and burnish 
thy si eel! 



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:\ 



Ri)U?h Keppooh, give bre;Uh to ttiy bugle's 

hold siWf-ll. 
7 ill f;ir Coiyarrick resound to the knell ! 

Stern son of Lord Kennetli, hisli chief of 

KnitMii, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in tlie 

gaie ! 
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and 

free. 
Kenieniber Glenlivet, Harlaw, and Dundee ! 

Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring 

ha.s given 
Such lieroes to earth, and such martyrs to 

heaven. 
I'nite with the race nf renown'd Rorri More. 
'I'o launch the long galley, and stre.tcli to the 

oar! 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief 

shall display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey ! 
How the race of wroiig"d Alpine and mmdei'd 

Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on 

the foe ! 

Ve sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild 

boar. 
Resume the pure faith (if the great Calluni- 

More ! 
Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the 

Lake. 
For lionoiir, for freedom, for vengeance 

awake! 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, 
Brave sous of the mountain, the frith, and the 

lake! 
"lis the bugle— but not for the chase is the 

call ; 
'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to 

the hall. 

'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or 

death. 
When ilie banners are blazing on mountain 

and heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the 

To the march and the niuster, the line and 
the charge. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in 

May the blood through his veins flow like 

cuneiits of file I 
Burst the base foreign voke as your sires did 

of yore ! 
Or <lie. like your sires, and endure it no 

more ! 

" A.s Flora concluded her sotig, Fergus stood 
before them, and immediately commenced 
With a theatrical air," 

O Lady of the Desert, hail I 
Tiiat lovest the harping of the Gael, 
Through fair and fertile regions borne. 
Where never yet grew grass or corn 

" But English poetry will never succeed 
under the inlluence of a Higlilijnd Helic:m — 
AUons, courage"— 



O vous. qui buvez a tasse pleine, 

A ceite heureuse Amiaine, 
Ou on ne voit sur le rivage 

Que quelques vilains troupeaux, 
Suivis de nymphes de village. 

Qui les eacortent sans sabots 

Chap. xxii. 



(10.)— LINES ON CAPTAIN WOGAN. 

"The letter from the Chief contained Flora's 
lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose 
enterprising character is so well drawn by 
Clarendon He had originally engaged in the 
I service of the Parliament, but had abjured 
that party upon the execution of Charles I ; 
and upon hearing that the royal standard was 
set up by the Earl of Glencairii and General 
Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took 
leave of Charles II.. who was then at Paris, 
passed into England, assembled a body of 
cavaliers in the neighbourhood of London, 
and traversed the kingdom, which had been 
so long under domination of the usurper, by 
marches conducted with such skill, de.xteritv, 
and spirit, that he .safely united his handful 
of horsemen with the body of Highlanders 
then in arms After several' months of desul- 
tory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and 
courage gained him the highest reputation, he 
had the misfortune to be wounded in a 
dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance 
being within reach, he terminated his short 
but glorious career." 
The Verses were inscribed, 

TO AN OAK TREE. 

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF , JN THE HIGH- 
LANDS OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO MARK THE 
GRAVE OF CAPTAIN WOGaN, KILLED IN 1649. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith. 

Full proudly may thy branches wave, 
Where loyalty lies low in death, 

And valour fills a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb! 

Repine not if our clime deny. 
Above thine lionoui'd sod to bloom, 

The flowrets of a milder sky. 

These owe their birth to genial May; 

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine. 
Before the winter siorm decay — 

And can their worth be type of thine? 

No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing, 
Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart. 

And. while Despair the scene was closing. 
Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. 

'Twas then thou soiight'st on Aibyn's hill, 
(When England's sons the strife resign'd,) 

A rugged race resisting still. 
And unsubdued though unrefined. 

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, 
No holy knell thy requiem rung; 

Thy mourners were the plaidcd Gael. 
Thy dirue the clamorous lul.i.ich sung. 



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Yet who, in Fortune's siimiiier-shine 
'lo waste life's longest term away, 

Would cliauRe that glorious dawn of thine, 
Though dar]ien"d ere its noontide day? 

Be tliine the Tree whose dauntless houghs 
Brave summer's drought and winter's 
gloom I 
I\ome bound witii oak her patriot's brows, 
As All)yn shadows Wogan's tomh. 

Chap. xxix. 



(11.)— "FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME." 

"' Who are dead V said Waverley, forgettiii; 
the mr.apacity of Davie to hold any coinieded 
discourse. 

'• Baron — and Baillie — and Sanders Sander 
son— and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet — A 
dead and gane— dead and gane,{said Davie)- 
Bni follow, follow me. 
While glow-wiirtns light the lea, 
I'll show ye where the dead should be — 
Each in his shroud, 
Whde winds pipe loud. 
And the red moon peeps dim through the 
cloud. 

Follow, follow me; 
Brave should he be 
1'hat treads by the night the dead man's 
lea." 

Chap. Ixiii. 



EU Slutftor of J!!5^aberlei). 

["I am not able to give the exact date of the 
following reply to one of John Ballantvne's 
expostulations on the subject of the secret."— 
Life. vol. iv., p. 179.] 
"No, John. I will not own the book — 

I won't, you Piccaroon. 
When next I try St. Gruhbv's brook. 
The A. of Wa— shall bail the hook — 

And flat-fish bite as soon. 
As if before them they had got 
The worn-out wriggler 

Walter Scott." 



jF.iiftoclI tc ifHicitcnm, 

HIGH CHIEF OF KIXT.\IL. 
FROM THE G.\ELIC. 



N 



1S15.— ^T. 44. 



The original verses are arranged toabeauti- 
ful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted 
to the double pull ufion the oars of a gallev. 
and which is therefore distinct from the ordi- 
nary jorrams. or boat-songs. They were (Com- 
posed by the Family Bard upon the departure 
of the fJarl of Sea'forth, who was obliged to 
take refue-e in ^pain, after an unsuccessful 
eflTdit of iiisurreoiion in favour of the Stuart 
family, in tiie year 1718. 



Farewell to .Mackenneth, great Earl of the 
North, 

The I.oid of Loclicarron, Glenshiel, an Sea- 
fort h ; 

To the Chieftain this morning his course wlio 
began. 

Launching forth on the billows his bark like a 
swan. 

For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail. 

Farewell to Mackenzie. High Chief of Kintail ! 

O swift, he the galley, and hardy her crew. 
.May her captain be skilful, her niariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unweary by toil. 
Though the whirlwind should rise, and the 

ocean should boil : 
On the brave vessel's guunel I drank her 

bonail.i 
And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kiniail! 

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland 

gale! 
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on 

his sail ; 
Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must 

know. 
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe : 
Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet 

eale, 
Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail! 

Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure tiie seas and to .study the skies : 
May he hoist all his canvass from streamer to 

deck. 
But O ! crowd it higher when wafting him 

back — 
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad 

vale. 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail ! 



IMITATION OF TIIE PRECEDING 

SONG.'* 

So Sling the old Bard, in the grief of his heart. 

When he saw his loved Lord from his people 

depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, O Alhvn. are 

heanl 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the 

bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern 



As thev mour 
Kintail. 



for Mackenzie, last Chief of 



From the far Southland Border a Minstrel 

came forth. 
And he waited the hour that some Bard of the 

north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient should 

cast. 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the 

blast ; 



1 Boiiail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for n feast 
partiiig with a friend. 

2 These verses were written shortly after the death of 
Lord Seaforth, the last male representative nf his illii.slri- 
ous house. He was a nobleman of extraordinary taleriti, 

10 must have made for himself a lasting repnialion, had 
t his political exertions been eherked by the pumful 
tural infirm ties alluded tn in the fourth stanza.— See 
L\fe of Scott, vol. v., pp. 18, 19. 



^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 545 



45 > 



15iit no bard was there left in the land of the 

CJael. 
'I'o lairieiil for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kin 



Anil shnlr rho'i then sleop, did the Minstrel 

fxrUvnx 
Lke the s<in of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ? 
\n. son of PitZ'rer.ild : in accents of woe. 
The son;,' ihon hast loved o'er thy coffin shall 

rlow. 
And leach thy wild mountains to join in the 

wnil. 
That latnents for Mackenzie, last chief of 

Kintail. 

[u vain, the bright ciwirse of thy talents to 

wron?. 
F;ite deadt'ii'd thine ear and imprison'd thy 

tonsne ; 
for hnirlitt-r o'er all her ohstruftions arose 
T .e slow of the renins they could no' o|.pose : 
^ n I who in the land of the axon or Gael. 
Misiit match With .Mackenzie High Chief of 

Kmtail. 

Thy sons rose around thee in li^ht and in 

love. 
All a I'aiher could hope, all a friend could 

approve; 
VVIiai 'vails it the t:ile of thy sorrows to tell.— 
In the spiiu'-'-time of vouth and of promise 

Ihevfell! 
Ol" the line of Pifzsprald remains not a male. 
To hear the proud name of the Cnief of Kiii- 

tail. 

And thou, gentle Uame. who must bear, lothy 
grief. 

For thy clan and thv country the cares of a 
Chief, 

Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have 
lefi. 

Of thy husband, and father, and brethren 
bereft. 

To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail. 

That salutes thee the heir of the line of Kin- 
tail, i 



2X-air=.^ona of 3itiz^\nn, 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAX. 
FRO.M THE GAELIC. 

1815. 



This song appears to be imperfect, or, at 
least, like many of the early Gaelic poems, 
makes a rapid transition from one subject to 
another; from the situalion. namely, of one 
of the daughters of the clan, who opens the 
song by lamenting the absence of her lover, 
lo an eulogiiim over the military slories of 
the Chiefiain. The translator has endea- 
voured to imitate the abrupt style of the 
original. 



A weary month has wander'd o'er 
Since last we parted on the shore: 
I leaven ! that I saw thee. Love, once more, 

Safe on the shore again ! — 
' Twas valiant Fachlan gave the word : 
I.achlan. of many a galley lord : 
He callM his kindred bands on board. 

And launch'd them on the main. 

Clan-Gillian 2 is to ocean gone, 
Clan-Gil ian. fierce in foray known ; 
Rejoicing in the glory won 

111 many a bloody broil : 
Kor wide is'heani tlie thundering fray. 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay. 
When from the twilight glens away, 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. 

Woe to the hills that shall rebound 

Our baiinerd b.ig-pifies' maddening sound; 

Clan-Gillian's on^et echoing round, 

Shall shake their inmost cell. 
Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze. 
\^ here I achlan's silken stre 'mer plays ! 
The fools iniilit face the ligh'ning's blaze 

As wisely and as well ! 



Snfiit ClouTi. 

[Paris. 5lh Si-ptemhtr, 181.5.] 

Soft spread the southern summer night 

I ler veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combineil to light. 

The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sigh'd, 

I. ike breath of lover true. 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roll was heard afar, 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-niglit to Hulan and Hassar, 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 

With broken urns witlidrew. 
And silenced was that proud cascade. 

The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We sate upon its steps of stone. 

Nor could its silence rue, 
V\ hen waked, to miisx of our own. 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear ea(;h lovely note 

Fall light as summer dew. 
While through the moonless air they float, 

Prolong'd from fair Saml Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 

His waters never knew, 
Though music's self was wont to meet 

With Princes at Saint Cloud 

Nor then, with more delighted ear. 

The circle round her drew. 
Than ours, when gather'd round to hear 

Our songstress i at Saint Cloud. 



1 The Honourable Lady Hood, daagliler of the last Lord 1 These lines i 
.iforth. widow of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, now Mrs. Saint Cloud ' 
wart Mackenzie of Si-aforth ami Olaaserton.— 1833. | tera, one of 

i I e. The '^lan of Maclean, literally Ihe race of tiilliaa. < text. 



the late Lady Alvanley and h 
1 was the songstress alluded 



V 



z 



f 546 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Few happy hours poor mortals pass,- 
Then give those hours their ihie. 

And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenmgs at; Saint Cloud. 



CTjje 33ancc of Dcatl). 



1815. 



Night and mnrninf, were at meetm? 

Over Waterloo ; 
Cocks had suns: their earliest greeting; 

Faint and low they crew, 
For no paly beam yet shone 
On the heights of Mount Saint John; 
Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day : 
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, 
Mark'd it a predestined hour. 
Hroad and frequent through the night 
Flash'd the sheets of levin-light; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Show'd the dreary bivouac 

Where the soldier lay. 
Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain. 
Wishing dawn of nmrn again. 

Though death should come with day. 

11. 
'Tis at such a tide and hour. 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power. 
And ghastly forms through mist and shower 

Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
Drinks whispere strange of fate and fear 
Presaging death and ruin near 

Amcmg the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array. 
"Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay; 
Grey Allan, who. for many a day. 

Had follow'd stout and stern, 
Where, through battle's rout and reel. 
Storm of shot ami hedge of steel. 
Led the grandsim of Lochiel, 

Valiant Fassiefern. 
Through steel and shot he leads no more. 
Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore- 
But long his native lake's wild shore, 
And Sunart nmgh. and high Ardgower, 

And Morven long shall tell. 
And proud Bennevis hear wiih awe. 
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra 

Of conquest as he fell.i 

III. 
'f/one on the outskirts of the host, 
The weary sentinel held post, 
And heard, through darkness far aloof. 
The frequent clang of courser's hoof. 
Where held the cloak'd patrol their course. 
And spiirr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse; 
But there are .sounds in Allan's ear. 
Patrol nor sentinel may hear. 
And sights before his eye aghast 
Invisible to them have pass'd. 



N 



J See note, ante, p. 424 



When down the destined plain, 
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 
Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, 
Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance. 

And doom'd the future slam. — 
Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, 
When Scotland's James his march prepared 

For Flodden's fatal plain ; 2 
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword. 
As Choosers of the Slain, adored 

The yet unchristen'd Dane. 
All indistinct and phantom band, 
'J'hey wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand, 

With gestures wild and dread ; 
The Seer, who vvatch'd them ride the storm. 
Saw through their faint and shadowy form 

The lightning's flash more red ; 
And still their ghastly roundelay 
Was of the coming battle fray 

And of the destined dead. 

IV. 

SONG. 

'■ Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance. 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Our airy feet. 
So light and fleet, 

They do not bend the rye 
That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, 
And swells again in eddying wave. 

As each wild gust blows by ; 
But still the corn, 
At dawn of morn, 

Our fatal steps that bore. 
At eve lies waste, 
A trampled paste 

Of blackening mud and gore. 



"Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance. 

And thunders rattle loud. 
And call the brave 
I'o bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Wheel the wild dance ! 
Brave sons of France, 

For you our ring makes room ; 
Make space full wide 
For martial pride. 

For banner, spear, and plume. 
Approach, draw near. 
Proud cuirassier ! 

Room for the men of steel ! 
Through crest and plate 
The broadsword's weight 

Both head and heart shall feel. 

vr. 

" W^heel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance, 

.And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the brave 
To bloody grave. 

To sleep without a shroud. 



a See aiile, Marmion, ciinto v., utaiizaH 24, 25, 36, and 
Apprndix, Mote 4 A., p. 14U 



-/■ 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



^^ 



547 



\- 



^^olls of the spear ! 
You teel us near 

III many a s:h;istly dream ; 
Willi f.iiK-.y's eye 
Our liirms you spy. 

Ami hear our fatal scream. 
V\ ith clearer siiht 
Ere falls tlie nig;ht, 

Just when to weal or woe 
Your (3jsemh(Kiieil souls take fli?ht 
On treiiililmg wing— each siartleil sprite 

Our choir of death shall know. 

VII. 
" Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud, 
And call the hrave 
'I'o bloody arave. 

To sieep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers. 
Redder rain shall soon be ours— 

See the east grows wan — 
Y'leld we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame 
Shall the welkin's thunders shame. 
Elemental rage is lame 

To the wrath of man." 

Vlll. 
At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe 
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw, 

The legend lieard him say ; 
But the >eer's gifted eye was dim, 
Deafentl his ear. and stark his limb, 

Ere closed that bloody dav— 
He slee|,s far from his Highland heath,— 
But ofien of the Dance of Death 

His comrades tell the tale, 
On picquet-post. when ebbs the night. 
And waning wa'ch-fires glow le.ss bright, 

And dawa is glimmering pale. 



3L%omc"iuce of Bunofs. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 



1815. 



The original of this little Romance makes 
part of a manuscript coilection of French 
Songs, probably compiled by some young offi- 
cer, which was found on the field of Waterloo, 
so much stained with clay and with blood, as 
sufficiently to indicate the fate of its late 
owner 'i'he song is popular in France, and 
IS rather a good specimen of the style of com- 
position to which It belongs. The iranslation 
IS strictly literal. 

It was Dunois. the young and brave, was bound 

for Palestine, 
But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's 

shrine : 
"And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was 

still the .Soldier's [)rayer, 
"That I may prove the bravest knight, and 

love the fairest fair. " 



His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it 

with his swurd. 
And follow'd to the Holy Land the banner of 

his Lord ; 
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry 

fill'd the air, 
"Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, beloved 

the fairest fair." 

They owed the conquest to his arm, and then 

his Liege-Lord said, 
" The heart that has for honour beat by bliss 

must be repaid. — 
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a 

wedded pair. 
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest 

of the fair." 

And then they bound the holy knot before 

Saint Mary's shrine. 
That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and 

hands combine ; 
And every lord and lady bright, that were iu 

chapel there. 
Cried. " Honoiird be the bravest knight, 

beloved the fairest fair !" 



2r|)e STroubaDour. 

FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. 
1815. 



Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 

A Troubadour that hated sorrow, 
Beneath his Lady's winilow came. 

And thus he sung hip last good-morrow: 
•' My arm it is my country's right, 

IVly lieart is in my true-love's bower ; 
Gaily for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadour." 

And while he march'd with helm on head 

And harp in hand, the descant rung. 
As. faithful to his favohrite maid. 

The minstrel-burden still he sung: 
" My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
Resolved for love and fame to fight, 

I come, a gallant Troubadour." 

Even when the battle-roar was deep. 

With dauntless heart he hewed his way, 
'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep. 

And still was heard his warnor-lay: 
'• My life it is my country's right. 

My heart is m my lady's bower; 
For love to die, for fame to fight. 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeiiian's glaive, 
But still reclining on his shield. 

Expiring sung the exulting stave :— 
" .My life It IS my country's right, 

.My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 



V 



A 



7 



/- 



N. 



548 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



i?rom ttjc i^rcnci). 

1S15. 



It chanced that Cupid on a season. 

By F:mcv ureed. resolved to wed. 
But' could not settle whether Keason 

Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then?— Upon my life, 
' I'was had example tor a deity — 

He takes nie Keason for a wife. 
And Folly for his hours of gaiety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason. 

He Itived them both in equal measure; 
Fidelitv was born of Reason. 

And Folly brouglit to bed of Pleasure. 



.^oiis, 



ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE 

ROUSE OF BUCCLELCH. AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL 

MATCH ON CAETERHAUGH. 1 



We forset each coiiten'ion of civil du-sensioii. 
And hail, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, 
and Car: 
And Elliot and Prin^le in pastime sliall 
miiiffie. 
As welcome in peace as their fathers iu 
war. 
Then up with the Banner, <tc. 

Then strip, lads, and to it. though sharp lie 
the weather. 
And if. by mischance, you should happen 
to fall. 
There are worse, things in life than a tumble 
on heather. 
And life is iiself but a game at foot-ball. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 



over, we'll drink a blithe 
ntness'd 



From the brown crest of Newark its sum- 
mons exteuding. 
Our signal is waving in smoke and in 
llame : 
And each forester blithe, from his mountain 
devcending. 
Bounds ligiu o'er the heather to join iu the 
game. 

CHORUS. 

Theix vp with the Banner, lei forest winds fan 
her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and 
more ; 
In ^pnrt wt'll attend her. in battle defend her. 
With hKtrt and with hand, like our fathers 
before. 

When the Southern invader spread waste and 
disonler. 
At the glance of her crescents he paused 
and wiitidrew. 
For around iliein were marshall'd the pride 
of the Border. 
1 he Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of 
Biicrleuch. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 

A Stripling's weak hand 2 to our revel has 
borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasp'd her. no spearmen 
surround ; 
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 
scorn her. 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on the 
ground. 
Tlien up with the Banner. <tc. 



I oil which this song was wriiten 
o. 1S15. aud was al-^ celebrated bv 
See Life of Scott, vol. i. pp. 1 \% 



And when it 
measure 
To each laird and each Lady that 
our fun, 

And to every blithe heart that look part in our 
pleasure. 
To tlie lads that have lost and the lads that 
have won. 

Then up with the Banner, <tc. 

May the Forest still flourish, bot.^i Borough 
and I. and- ward. 
From the hall of the Peer to the herd's 
ingle-nook ; 
And huzza ! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch 
and his standard. 
For the King and the Country, ihe Clan, 
and the Duke ! 

Then up trUh the Banner, let forest winds fan 
her. 
She .has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and 
more ; 
In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her. 
With heart ami with hand, like our fathers 
before. 



IThe foot-ball mate 
onk place on Decmbei 
he Eilrick Shepherd. 
.6. 12i 



HullabD of an J-nfant €\)icf. 

Air — " Cadul gu lo." 3 



1S15. 



^ 



I. 
O. hush thee, my bahie, thy sire was a 

knight. 
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; 
The woods and the glens, from the towers 

which we see. 
I'hey all are belonging, dear babie. to thee. 
O ho ro, i ri ri. cadul gu lo, 
O ho ro, i ri ri, 6lC. 

II. 
O, fear not the bugle, though louulv it blows. 
It calls but the warders that guard "thy repose ; 

2 The bearer of the sl-iudard was the Author's eldest 
8on. 

3 "Sleep on till day." These words, adapted tc a melndy 
somewhat differenl from the original. ar.*sung iu mjr frieud 
Mr. Terry's drama of '• Guy Mauurriiig.' 



T 



^ 



7 



z. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 549 



Their b -ws would he bended, iheir blades 

woul.i be red. 
Ere ihe step nf a f(ieni;iri draws rieur l(i lliv 

bed 

O ho ro, i ri ri, ia 

III. 
O. hush thee, my bahie, the time soon will 

come, 
When ihy sleep shall be broken by trumpet 

:)nd drum : 
Then hush thee, my darling, lake rest while 

you may, 
for strife ciunes with manhood, and waking 

with tiay. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, <tc. 



IBtxsts 
from ^ui) ittannerfits. 



(1.) SONGS OF MEG MERRILIES, 



NATITITY OF HARRY BERTRAM. 

Canny moment, lucky fit; 

Is the lady lighter yet? 

Be It lad. or he it lass, 

Sisn wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. 

Trefoil, vervain. John's-wort. dill, 
Hinders witches of Iheir will ; 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat, 
Saint C'olnie and her cat, 
Saint .Michael and his spear. 
Keep the house frae reif and wear. 

Chap iii. 



"TWIST YE, TWINE YE." 

Twist ye. twine ye ! even so. 
Mingle shades of joy and woe. 
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 
In the thread of human life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning, 
And the infant's life beginnins. 
Dimly seen thmush twilight bending, 
Lo. what varied shapes attending! 

Passions wild, and follies vain. 
Pleasures soon exchansed for pain ; 
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear, 
In the niasic dance appear. 

Now they wax. and now they dwindle, 
VViurling'wiih the whirling spindle. 
Twist ye. twine ye ! even so. 
Mingle human bliss and woe. 

Ibid 



N: 



THE DYING GIPSY SMUGGLER. 

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay. 
VVrestlin? thus witli earth and clay ? 
From the body pass away ; — 

Hark ! the mass is singing. 
From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
; Mary Mother be iliy speed, 
I Saints to help thee at thy need ; — 

Hark ! the knell is ringing. 
Fear not snow-drift driving fast, 
Sleet, or hail, or levin lilast; 
Soon the shroud shall laj) thee fast. 
And the sleep he on thee cast 

'Fhat shall ne'er know waking. 
Haste thee, haste thee, to he gone. 
Earth tlits fast, and time draws on, — 
Gasp thy gasp, and gro:iii thy groan. 
Day is near the breaking. 

" The songstress paused, and was answered 
by one or two deep and hollow groans, that 
I seemed to proceed from the very agony of the 
mortal strife. 'It will not be,''she muttered 
to herself 'He cannot pass away with that 
on liis mind ; it tethers him here. 
Heaven cannot abide it; 
Earth refuses to hide it. 
1 must open the door.' 
" She lifted the latch, saying, 

' Open locks, end strife. 
Come death, and pass life.'" 

Chap, xxvii. 



THE PROPHECY. 

The dark shall be light. 

And the wrong made right, 

When Bertram's right and Bertram's might 

Shall meet on Ellangowan's height. 

Chap. xli. 



(2.) SONGS OF DIRK HATTERAICK 
AND GLOS^-IN. 

"'And now 1 have hionght you some break- 
fast.' said Glossin, prmlucing some cold meat 
and a flsisk of spirits. The latter Hatteraick 
eageilv seized upon, and applied to his mouth : 
and, after a hearty draught, he exclaimed with 
great rapture. 'Das schmeckt ! — That is good 
—that warms the liver !'— Then broke into the 
fragment of a High-Dutch song:*' — 

Saiifen bier, und brante-wein, 

Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein; 

Ich hen liederlich, 

Du hist liederlich. 

Sind wir nicht liederlich leute a. 

"'Well said, my hearty Captain!' cried 



Glossin. endeavouring to catch the tone 
revelry," — 

Gin by pailfuls. wine in rivers. 

Dash the window-glass to shivers ! 

For three wild lads were we. brave boys. 

And three vvild lads were we ; 

Thou on the land, and I on the sand, 

An<l Jack on the gallows-tree I 

Chap, xsxiv 



1 



46 



T 



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A ^ 550 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



Cri)c Hctutn to eaistec. 

1816. 



Oncfi npiti,— but how changed since my wan- 

d'rings began— 
I have heard the deep voire of the F.agan and 

Bann, 
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the 

roar 
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. 
Ahis! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou 

burn? 
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures 

return ? 
Can 1 hve the dear hfe of delusion a^ain. 
Tliat flow'd when these echoes first nux'd with 

my strain ? 

It was then that around me, though poor and 

unknown. 
High spells of mysterious enchantment were 

thrown ; 
The streams were of silver, of diamond the 

dew, 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on 

fire 
At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of 

their lyre : 
To me 'twas not lesend. nor tale to the ear. 
Bnt a vision of noontide, distliiguish'd and 

clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call. 

And renew'd the wild pomp of tlie chase and 

the hall ; 
And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from 

on hi(?h. 
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is 

nigh.i 
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once 

more 
Could renew all the glories she boasted of 

yore. — 
Vet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst 

thou burn ? 
They were days of delusion, and cannot re- 
turn. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who 

stood by. 
And lisied my lay, while she turn'd from mine 

eye? 
Was she. too, a vision, just glancing to view. 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to 

dew? 
Oh! would it had been so, — Oh! would that 

her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through 

the sky. 
And her voice that was moulded to melody's 

thrill. 
Had been but a zephyr, that sigli'd and was 

still ! 



N 



\ In ancient Irish poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, 
la called the Sun-burs:, an epithet feebly rendered by the 
Siin-lKam of Maepherson. 



Oh I would it had been so, — not then this poor 

heart 
Had leara'd the sad lesson, to iove and to 

part; 
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. 
While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to 

share. 
Not then had I said, when life's summer was 

done. 
And the hours of her autumn were fast speed- 
ing on, 
"Take the fame and the riches ye brought in 

your tram. 
And restore me the dream of my spriiig-tide 

again." 



Socfe of ?l?fi?cl^ccin. 

Air — A Border Melody. 



1816. 



The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. 
The others were written for Mr. Campbell's 
Albyn's Anthology. 



I. 

" Why weep ye by the tide, ladie T 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my yoiinsest son, 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

^ae comely to be seen"— 
But aye she loot the fears down fa' 

for Jock of Hazeldean. 

II. 

" Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale : 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley-dale; 
His step is first in peaceful ha'. 

His sword in battle keen"— 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

HI. 

" A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair; 
Nor mettled hound, nor manaeed hawk. 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a', 

Shall ride our forest queen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

IV. 

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide. 

The tapers glimiiier'd fair; 
The priest and hridesroom wait the bride, 

And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 

The ladle was not seen ! 
She's o'er the Border, and awa' 

Wt' Jock of Hazeldean. 



7^ 




V 



THE LOVERS FLIGHT. 

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 

And darae and knight are there.— Pa^re 550, Verse iv. 



/: 



/- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 561 



561 ^^ 



^fbtocft of IDonnlTi Sbu. 

Air—" Frobnir of DonnUl D^iu " i 



This is a very ancient pibrorh bel«n?in? to 
Qrin-MKcD<inal(i. miil supposed tii refer to the 
expeilition of Donai.l Ballorli. who. in 1431. 
launched from the Isles with a considenible 
fi»rce. invaded l.ochahar. and at. Iiiverlochy 
defeated and put to Hight the Earls of Mar 
iind Cnithness. tnoii?h at the head of an army 
Mipenor to his own. 'I'lie words of the set, 
theuie, or melody, to which the pipe variations 
are applied, run thus in Gaelic : — 

Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piohaireachd 

Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd 

Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd 

Dhonuil ; 
Piob asus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Bbick, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The war-pipe and the pennon are on the 

gatherinir-plac-e at lnverlochy.3 



Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the ea?le plume, 

Blended with lieather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 

Forward f.ic.U man set I 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Xnell for the onset ! 



^Nora's Voto. 

Air — " Cha teid mis a chaoidh." 3 

WRITTEN FOn ALBYN'3 ANTHOIXKJY. 

1816. 



Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of D(muil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan-Conuil. 
Come away, come away. 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep slen. and 

From mountain so rocky. 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Iiiverlochy. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one, 
Come every si eel-blade, and 

Strong: hand thai bears one. 

Leave tinteiided the herd. 

'I'he flock without shelter; 
Leave the corpse iinmterr'd, 

The bride at the altar; 
Leave the deer, leave tlie steer. 

Leave nets anil barges : 
Come with your fiKlilin? ?ear, 

Broadswords and larges. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster, 
Chief, vassal, pasre and ^oom. 

Tenant and master. 



In the orisrinal Gaelic, the Lady makes pro- 
testations that she will not so with the Ked 
Earl's sim. until the swan should build in the 
cliff, and the easle in the lake — until (»ne 
mi.uniain should chanse places with another, 
and so forth: It is bat fair to add, tliaf there 
is no authority for supposing that she altered 
her mind — except the vehemence of her 
protestation. 

I. 
Hear what Highland Nora said.— 
•• The Earlie's s<m I will not wed, 
Should all the race of nature die, 
And none be kft hut he and 1. 
For all the gold, for all the pear. 
And all the lands both far and near, 
That ever valour lost or won, 
I would not wed the Earlie's son."— 

II. 
•• A maiden's vows." old Calium spoke, 
" Are lightly made and lishtly broke ; 
The heather on the mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae; 
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. 
May blithely wed the Earlie's son." — 

in. 

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear 

breast 
I May barter for the eagle's nest; 
: 'I'he Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, 

Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn; 
i Our kilted clans, when blood is high, 
' Before their foes may turn and fly; 
I But I. were all these marvels done. 

Would never wed the Earlie's son." 

IV. 
Still in the water-lily's shade 
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; 
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever. 
Still downward foams the Awe's tierce rirrr. 
To shun the clash of foeman's steel. 
No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel ; 
But Nora's heart is lost and won. 
—She's wedded to the Earlie's son ! 



"The pibrorli of Donald the Black." This song was I 2 Compare this with the gathering-song iu Ihe 
Itlen for Campt>ell'» Albyu's Anthology, 1816. , of the Lady of the Lake, ante. 

' 3 " I will neTer go with him." 



•T 



A 



' hhl 



X. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



Air—" ThaiiC a Giicjnl/ir.h" i 

WRITTEN FOR ALBYN'S ANTHOLOGY 



These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet 
lively gal heriiiu-i line, used l)v the MacGre?ors. 
'I'lie' severe treattiieiit of this Clan, their out- 
la wrv, and the proscription of their very nan 
the Ba " " 



are alluded to in I 



iUad.2 



anai! : 

. or oth 

"^ dnmai 

^ Lomoi 



The moon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the 

hrae. 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by 

i hen satlier. eatlier. gatlier Grigralach ! 
Gal her. gather, gather, &c. 

Our sig-nal for fi?ht, that from nionarchs we 

drew. 
Must he heard but by night in our vengeful 
hahio! 
Then hnloo. Grigalach ! haloo, Griga- 

lach ! 
Haloo, haloo, haloo. Grigalach, <kc. 

Glen Orrhy's proud mountains. Coalchuirn and 

her towers. 
Glenstriie and Glenlvon no lotijjer are ours: 

We're landless, landless, landless, Grig- 

alach ! 
Landless, landless, landless, &c. 
But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord. 
MaoGregor has still boih his heart aud his 
sword ! 
Then courage, courage, courage, Griga 

lach ! 
Courage, courage, cour.ige, Ac. 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with 

beaeles. 

Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to 
the eagles ! 
Then venseance, vengeance, vengeance 

Grisralach ! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. 

While there 's leaves in the forest, and foam 

on the river, 
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for 
ever ! 
Come then, Grigalach. come then, Grig 

alach. 
Come I hen. come then, come then, &c. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed 

shall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall 

steer, 

1 " The Mai-Gregor i« come " 

2 For the history of the clan, see Introduction to 
Roy, Wavfrley Novels. 

a •• R.-b Roy Mac-Gregor's own designation wa« of In 

he appears In have acquired a right of tome kind 
or other to the property or postetsion of Craig-Roystoi 
domain of rock and forest, lying on the east side of Loch 
Lomond, where thai beauliful lake stretches into the dusky 



And the rocks of Craig-Royslon 3 like icicles 

melt. 
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance 

uiifelt ! 
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach I 
Gather, gather, gather, &c. 



Verses, 



COMPOSED FOR THF, OCCASION, ADAPTED TO 
HAYDN'S AIR, 

" God save the Emperor Francis," 

AND SUNG BY A SK.LECT BAND AFTER THE 

DINNER GIVEN BY THE LORD PROVOST OF 

EDINBURGH TO THE 

GRAND-DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, 

AND HIS SUITE. 19TH DECEMBER, 1816. 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar. 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 
First in Europe's handed war; 
For the tealnis he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown, 
Thou, of every good the Giver, 
Grant him king to bless his own! 
Bless him. 'niiJ his land's disaster. 
For her rights who battled brave. 
Of the land of foemen master. 
Bless him who their wrongs forgave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor (tver Europe's foes. 
Late and long supreme director. 
Grant in peace liis reign may close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious stranger ! 
Welcome to our mountain strand ; 
Mutual interests, hopes, and danger, 
I ink us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force, or false beguiling, 
Shall that union ne'er divide. 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling, 
And in battle side by side.* 



Jfvovx the ^ntfquarg. 



1816. 



(1.) — TIME. 
" The window of a turret, which projected 
at an angle with the wall, and thus came to 
he very near Lovel's apartment, was half 
open, and from that quarter he heard again 
the same music which had probably broken 
short his dream. With its visionary character 
it had lost much of its charms — it was now 
nothing more than an air on the harpsichord, 
tolerably well performed — such is the caprice 

' — Introduction to Rob Riry, 



4 Mr , afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Pro. 
vost of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain \h>: 
Grand-Duke, now Emperor of Russia, was a personal 
friend of Sir Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their 
heading, are uow given from the uew-spapers of ltl6. 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 553 



fif imagination as affect ins the fine arts. A 
female voice sun?, with some tasie and preat 
simpliciiy, something between a song and a 
liynin, in words to the following effect :" — 

" Why sit'st thou by that riiinM hall. 
Thou aged carle so siern and grey! 

Di'si thou lis former pride recal. 
Or ponder how it pass'd away!"— 

"Know'st thou not meT" the Deep Voice 
cried ; 

" So long enjoy'd, so oft misused — 
Al'cinate, in tliy fickle pride. 

Oesired, neglected, and accuse<l I 

'• Before my breath, like blazing flax. 

Man and his marvels pass away ! 
And changing empires wane and wax, 

Are founded, flourish, and decay. 

" Redeem mine hours — the space is brief- 
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, 

And measureless thy joy or grief, 

V\ hen Time and thou shalt part for ever!" 
Chav X. 



(2.) — EPITAPH ON JON 0' YE GIR- 
NELL. 

'• Beneath an <tld oak-tree, upon a hillock, 
lay a moss-grown stone, and, in memory of 
the df parted worthy, it bore an inscription, of 
whicti. as Mr. Oldhuck aflirmed, (though many 
doubled.) the departed characters could be 
distinctly traced to the following effect :" — 

Heir lyeth Jon o' ye Girnell, 
Erth has ye nit and lieiien ye kirnell. 
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennisclokit. 
Ilka gild maiinis lieith wi' l)airiiis wasstokit. 
He deled a boll o' hear in firfottis fj've. 
Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure 
mennis wyvis. 

Chap. xi. 



(3.) — ELSPKTirS BALLAD. 

"As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the 
hut. he was surprised to hear the shrill tre- 
mulous voice of Elspeth chanting furth an old 
ballad in a wild and doleful recitative :■" — 

The heiring loves the merry moon-light, 

The mackerel loves the wind. 
But the oyster loves the dredging sang. 

For they come of a gentle kind. 

Now hand your tongue, baith wife and carle. 

And listen great and sma'. 
And I will sing of Glenalhm's Earl 

That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach's cried on Beiinachie, 

And doun the Don ;iiid a'. 
And hieland and lawl-.md mav mfiurnfu' be 

For the sair field of Harlaw 

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, 
They hae bridled a hundred black. 

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, 
And a good knight upon his back. 



They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A nnle but barely fen. 
When Donald came blanking down the brae 

Wi' twenty thousand men. 

Their tartans they were waving wide 
I heir glaives were glancing clear. 

The pibrochs rung frae side to side, 
Would deafen ye to hear. 

The great Earl in his stirrups stood, 

That Highland host lo see : 
" Now here a knight that's stout and good 

May prove a jeopardie : 

" What would'st thou do. my squire so gay, 

That rides beside my reyne.— 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, 

^nd I were Koland Cheyne? 

"To turn the rem were sin and shame. 
To fight were wond'rous peril, — 

What would ye do now. Koland Cheyne, 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl!" — 

" Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, 

And ye were Koland Ctieyiie. 
The spear should be in my horse's side, 

And the bridl« upon his mane. 

"If they hae twenty thousand blades. 

Aim] we twice ten times ten. 
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids. 

And we are mail-clad men. 

" My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, 
As through the moorland fern, — 

Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude 
Grow cauki for Highland kerne." 



He turn'd him right and round again, 

Said, S^corn na at my mither; 
I jght loves I may get niony a ane. 

But iiiinnie ne'er aiiiiher. 

Chav. Xi 



MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY. 

"The scraps of poetry which have been in 
most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters 
in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either 
from reading or from memory, but. in the 
general case, are pure invention. I found it 
too troublesome to turn to the collection of 
the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, 
and. in the situation of the theatrical mecha- 
nist, who, when the white paper which repre- 
sented his shower of snow was exhausted, 
continued the shower by snowing brown. 1 
drew on my memory as long as I could, and 
when that failed, eiied it out with invention. 
1 believe that, in some cases, where actual 
names are affixed to the supposed quotations, 
it would be to little purpose to seek them in 
the works of the authors referreil to. Ii, some 
cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts 
and other graver authors have been ransacked 
in vain for stanzas for which the novelist alone 
was responsible." — Introduction to CkronicLes 
of the Canomjate. 



47 



■v 



/: 



7 



^ 



^ 



554 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'^ 



1. 

1 knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and pru- 
dent, 
Wisdom and cunnins: had their shnres of him ; 
But he was shrewish as a wavwiird child. 
And pleased again by toys which childhood 

please ; 
As— book of fables graced with print of wood, 
Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 
Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 
That first was sung to please King Pepin's 
cradle. 

(2.) — CHAP. IX. 

*' Be brave," she cried, "you yet may be our 

guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held the best: 
If. then, your valour can the fight sustain 
Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain; 
If your courageous tongue have powers to 

talk. 
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall 

walk ; 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 
I'll .see your sheets well air'd, and show the 

room." True Story. 

(8) — CHAP. XI. 

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision 

sent. 
And order'd all the pageants as they went; 
Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play,— 
The loose and scatter'd relics of the day. 

(4.) — CHAP. XII, 

Beggar !— the only freemen of your Common- 
wealth; 

Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, 

Obey no governor, use no religion 

But what they draw from their own ancient 
customs, 

Or constitute themselves, yet they are no re- 
bels. Brome. 

(5.)-CH.\P. XIX. 

Here has been such a stormy encounter. 
Betwixt rny cousin Captain, and this soldier, 
About I know not what !— nothing, indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 
Of soldiership ! A Faire Quarrel. 

(6.) — CHAP. XX. 

If you fail honour here. 

Never presume to serve her any more ; 
Bid farewell to the integrity of arms. 
And the honourable name of soldier 
Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath of laurel 
By thunder struck from a desertlesse fore 
head. A Faire Quarrel. 

(7.) — CHAP. XXI. 

The Lord Abbot had a soul 

. Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire : 
By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, 
And if in devils' possession gold be kept, 
He brought some sure from thence— 'tis hid in 
caves. 

Known, save to me, to none 

The Wonder of a Kingdome. 



An 



(8.) -CHAP. XXVII. 

Many great ones 

Would part with half their states, to have the 

plan 
And credit to beg in the first style.- 

B"jyur's Bush. 



(9.) — CHAP. XXX. 

Who is he T — One that for the lack of land 

Shall fight upon the water— he hath challenged 

Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles 

Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so ftnth. 

He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 

Th' aquatic had the best — the argument 

Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play. 
(10.) — CHAP. xxxr. 

Tell me not of it, friend — when the young 
weep. 

Their tears are lukewarm brine; — from ntir 
old eves 

Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the 
North. 

Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks. 

Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feei- 
ng— 

Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — ours re- 
coil, 

Heap the fair plain, and bletiken all before us. 
Old Flat/. 

(11 ) — CHAP. XXXIII. 

Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! — 

A bloodhound stanch— she tracks our rapid 

step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy. 
Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tametl 

us; 
Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our 

joints. 
And maim'd our hope of combat, or of night. 
We hear her deep-niouth'd bay, announcing 

all. 
Of wrath and woe and punishment that hides 

us. Old Play. 

(12.)-CHAP. XXXIV. 

Still in his dead hand clench'd remain the 

strings 
That thrill his father's heart — e'en as the 

linib, 
Lopp'd off and laid in grave, retains, they I ell 

us, 
strange commerce with the mutilated stump, 
Whose nerves are twinging still in maim d 

existence. Old Play. 

(13.) — CHAP. XXXV. 

Life, with you. 

Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 
'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath 

qtiafTd. , ^ 

That glads the heart and elevaffs the fancy :— 
Aline is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that contains .t. 
Old Play. 
(14.) -CHAP, xxxvii. 
Yes' I love Justice well— as well as yon do- 
But, since the good dame 's blind, she shall 

excuse me. 
[f, time and reason fitting. I prove dumb ; — 
The breath T utter now shall be no nieims 
To take away from me my breath in future. 
Old Play. 
(15.) -CHAP, xxxvm. 
Well, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor 

coinage, . , 

Granting I knew all that you charge me with. 
What, tho'the tomb hath born a second Imih, 
And given the wealth to one that knew not 

on'l 



T 



/ 



y- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 555 



^ 



Yet fair excliHiiite was never robbery. 

Far less pure bounty — * Old Play. 

(16.) —CHAP. XL. 

Life ehbs from such old a^e, unmark'd and 

silent, 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded 

galley.— 
I-ate she rock'd merrily at the least impulse 
That wind or wave could give; but now her 

keel 
Is settlms on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
An ansjle with the sky, from which it shifts 

nor. 

Earh wave receding shakes her less and less, 

'I'lll. bedded on the strand, she shall remain 

Useless and motionless. Old Play, 

(17.)— CH.\P. XLI. 

So, white the Goose, of whom the fable told. 
liiciiiiiliHiit. brooded o'er her eg-ss of sold, 
V\|ili liaiid outsrrelch'd impatient to destroy, 
Stote on her secret nest the cruel Boy. 
Whose sripe rapacious changed her splendid 

dream. 
For winss vain flutterins:. and for dyin^ 

scream. T^ie Loves of the Sea-weeds. 

(18) — CH.\P. XLII. 

Let those go see who will — I like it not -^ 
For. say he was a slave to rank and pomp. 
And all the nothing.s he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 
Yf t is it sad to mark his alter'd brow, 
Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish 
Old Play. 

(19)— CH.\P. XLIII. 

Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but 

circles. 
Like the tleet sea-bird round the fowler's 

skitr.- 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the white sail with her whiter wins, 
As if to court the aim. — Experience watches, 
And has her on the weel. Old Play. 

(■JO)— CH.\P. XLIV, 

Nay. if she love me not, I care not for her: 
.Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms? 
Or sigh because she smiles — and smiles on 

others '. 
Not I, by Heaven !— 1 hold my peace too dear, 
To let it, like the plume upon her cap. 
Shake at each nod that her caprice shall 
dictate. Old Play. 

[" It may be worth noting, that it wa.s in cor- 
recting the proof sheets of Tke Antiquary that 
Sctitt first took to eqiiiptiing his chapters with 
mottoes of his own taliric.atioii. On one occa- 
sion he happened to ask John Ballaiitvne, who 
was sitliiii; bv hini. to hunt for a particular 
passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John did 
as he was bid. but ilid not succeed indiscover- 
iiiff the lines * Hang it. Johannie,' cried .Scott, 
' I believe 1 can make a motto sooner than you 
will find one.' He did so accordinsly ; and 
from that hour, whenever memory failed 'o 
suaffest an appropriate epigraph, lie iiad re- 
course to the inexiiaustible iiunes of old play' 
or "oW bfilUid.' to winch we owe some of the 
most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his 
pea."— Life, vol. v., p. 145. 



jFrottt the 3Jlitcfe litDirrf. 



1816, 
M0TT0E8. 

(1.) — CHAP. V. 

The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 
Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring ; 
And, in the April dew, or beam of .May, 
Its moss and lichen freshen and revive ; 
And thus the heart, most sear'd to human 

pleasure, 
Melts at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. 
Beaumont. 
(2.) — CHAP. XVI. 
— — -— — 'Twas time and sriefs 
That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer 

hand, 
Oflfenng the fortunes of his former davs. 
Tiie lormer man may make him— Bring us to 

him. 
And chance it as it may. Old Play. 



jFrom a^lti Movtnlit^, 



(1.) — MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. 

And what though winter will pinch severe 
Throiish locks of grey and a cloak that's 
old. 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time will rust the briRlitest blade, 
And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Wa.s never wight so starkly made. 
But time and years would overthrow ? 

Cliap. xix. 



(2.)— VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

" With these letters was a lock of hair 
wrapped in a copy of verses, written obviously 
with a feeling whi(;h atoned, m MorKm's 
opinion, for the roughness of the poetry, and 
the conceits with which it abounded, accord- 
ing to the taste of the peri()d :'" — 
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 
As in that well-remember'd night, 
When first that mystic braid was vvove. 
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. 

Since then how often hast thou press'd 
The torrid zone of this wild breast. 
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin that peopled hell. 
A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean. 
Each throb the earthquake's wild commo- 
tion ! — 
O. if such clime thou canst endure. 
Yet keep thy hue uustain'd and pure, 



V 




556 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



What conquest, o'er each errin2 thonglit 

Of that fierce realm hail Asnes wrought! 

I had not waiuler'd wild and wide, 

Witli such an angel fur niy Riiide ; 

Nor heave-n nor earth could then reprove me 

If she had hved. ami lived to love me. 

Not then this world's wild joys had heen 
To me one savase ImntinR scene, 
Mv sole delisht the headlon? race, 
And frantic hurry of the chiise ; 
To start, pursue, atid bring to bay, 
Rush in, drag d(tvvn and rend my prey. 
Then — from the carcase turn away! 
Mnie ireful mood had sweetness tamed. 
And soothed each wound which pride 

inflamed ! 
Yes. God and man might now approve me. 
If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me. 

Chap, xxiii. 



(3.) — EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF 
BURLEY. 

"Gentle reader. 1 did request of mine 
honest friend. Peter Proudfoot, travelling mer- 
chant, known to many of this land for his 
faithful and just dealings, as well in mnslins 
and cambrics as in small wares, to procure 
me, on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, 
H copv of the tpitaphion alluded to. And, 
according to his report, which I see no ground 
to discredit, it runneth thus :"— 

Here lyes ane saint to prelates surly. 
Being "John Balfour, sometime of Burley, 
Who, stirred up to vengeance take. 
For solemn League and Cov'nant's sake, 
Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife. 
Did lak' James Sharpe the apostate's life; 
By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot. 
Then drowned in Clyde near this saam spot. 
Chap, xliv 



MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHAP. V. 

Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no common call,— 
God's church is leaguer'd — haste to man the 

wall; 
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on 

hiirii. 
Signals of honour'd death or victory. 

James Duff. 

(a.) — CHAP. XIV. 

My hounds may a' rin masterless. 

My hawks may fly frae tree to tree. 
My lord may grip my vassal lands. 

For there again maun I never be ! 

Old Ballad. 

(8 ) — CH.\P. XXXIV. 

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 

To all the sensual world proclaim. 
One crowded hour of glorious life 

Is worth an age without a name. 

Ationymou^. 



®)c Scare!) after Jl^upplmsB; 

OR, 

THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. 



I. 

Oh for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, 
That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing talc. 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly. 
When Giam Battista hade her vision hail !— l 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 
Given by the natives of that land canorous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale. 
We Britons have the fear of shame before us. 
And, if not wise in mirth, at least must he 
decorous. 

II. 
In the far eastern clime, no great while 

since. 
Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince. 
Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their 

round. 
Beheld all others fix'd upim the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried 

phrase, 
"Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys!" 
All have their tastes- this may the fancy 

strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur 

like; 
For me, I love the honest heart and warm 
Of Monarch who can amble round his farm, 
Or. when the toil of state no more annoys. 
In chimney corner seek domestic joys— 
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass. 
Exchanging with his subjects glance and 

glass ; 
In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay. 
Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay — 
Such iMonarchs best our free-born humours 

suit. 
But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 

III. 
This Solimaun. Serendih had in sway — 
And Where's Sereiidib, may some critic say. — 
Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the 

chart. 
Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! 
If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap. 
The isle laid down in Captain Smbad's 

map.— 
Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations 
Drove every friend and kinsman out of 

patience. 
Till, fain to find a guest who thought them 

shorter. 
He deign 'd to tell them over to a porter — 2 
The last edition see. by Long, and Cr>., 
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the 

Row. 

IV. 
Serendih found, deem not my tale a fiction — 
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradic- 
tion — 



i 



\ 



1 The hint of the following tale is taken from La 
Camitcia Magica, a novel of Giam Battista Casti. 



3 See the Arabian Nights' Eutertainmenls. 



y- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 55 



N 



(A sort .)f stiiiiiilunt which h;ith its uses, 
I'd raise lh« spirit-; and reform the juices, 
— ."Soverei!;!! specitic for all sorts c)f cures 
III my wife's praciice. ami perhaps iii yours.) 
The >iiltauii lacking this same wholesome 

bitter. 
Or cnnlial smooth for prince's palate fitter— 
Or It some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams 
With Deirial, Giiinistan. and such wUd 

themes 
Belonging to the .Mollah's subtle craft. 
1 wot not— but the Sultaun never laugh'd. 
>c.irce ate or drank, and took a melancholy 
That scornM all remedy— profane or holy; 
III his long list of mehiiichoiies, mad 
Or mazed,or diimli, hath Burton none su bad.' 

V. 

Physi(!ians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried, 

As e'er scrawi'd jargon in a darken'd room ; 

With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue 

they eyed. 
Peep'd ill his bath, and Gud knows where 
beside. 
And then in solemn accent spoke their 
doom, 
" His majesty is very far from well " 
Then each to work with his specitic fell : 
The Hakim Ibrahim inslanltr brought 
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaiit, 
Will e Roompot, a practiti.iner more wily, 
Keiied on his Munaskif al fillfily.2 
More and yet more in deep array appear, 
And some the front ;issail. and some the rear; 
'I heir remedies to reinforce and varv. 
Came surgeon eke. and eke apotiiec'ary ; 
Till the tired Monarch, though of words 

grown chary. 
Yet dropt. to recompense their fruitless 

labour. 
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. 
There lack'd, I promise you, no longer 

speeches 
To rid the palace of those learned leeches. 

VI. 
Then was the council call'd— by their advice. 
(I'hey deem'd the matter ticklish all, and 
nice. 
And souffht to shift it oflF from their own 
, shoulders.) 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent. 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 

Of feudatory cliieftams and freeliolders— 
Such have the Persians at this very day. 
My gallant Malcolm calls them amrouUni ;—i 
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song 
That to ^^e^endlb the same forms belong.— 
E'ea let the learn'd go search, and tell me if 
I'm wrong. 

vir. 

The Omrahs,* each with hand on scymitar. 
Gave, like Semppmius, still their voice for 

war— 
"The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath 
Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of 

death ; 
Let the I ambourgi bid his signal rattle. 
Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of 

battle! 



1 Set Biirlon'H Anatomy of Mrlanchnly. 
a For ihe«t- hanl woriln m-v D'Herbelol, or the learned 
CJlor of the Keciinai of .V 



This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's 
day, 

Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, 

Wjien the bold Lootie wheels his courser 
round. 

And the arrn'd elephant shall shake the 
ground. 

Each noble pants to own the glorious sum- 
mons — 

And for the charges — Lo ! your faithful Com- 
mons!" 

The fiiots who attended in their places 
(Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) 

Locik'd ruefully in one another's faces. 
From this oration auguring much disquiet, 

Douhle assessment, forage, and free quarters; 

And fearing these as Ch.na-men the I artars. 

Or as the whisKer'd vennin fear the mousers. 

Each fumbled m the pocket of his trowsers. 

vm. 

And next came forth the reverend Convoca- 
tion, 
Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban 
green. 
Imaum and Mollah there of every station, 
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen 
Their votes were various — some advised a 
Mosque 
W'ith fitting revenues should be erected. 
With seemly gardens and with gav Kiosque, 

To recreate a baud of priesis selected : 
Others opined that ihrough the realms a dole 
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might 
profit 
The Suliaun's weal in bodv and in soul. 
But their long-headed chief, the Shiek 11- 
Sofit. 
More closely touch'd the point : —"Thy stu- 
dious mood," 
Quoth he. "O Prince! harh thicken'd all thy 

blood. 
And dulld thy brain with labour beyond 

measure ; 
Wherefore relax a space and take thy plea- 
sure. 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure; 
From all the cares of state, my I. lege, enlarge 

thee. 
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." 

IX. 
These counsels sage availed not a whit. 

And so the patient (as is not uncommon 
W'here g.'-ave physicians lose their time and 

Wll.) 

Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; 
His mother she. a dame who once was beau- 
teous. 
And still was called so by each subject 

duteous 
Now whether Fatima was witch in earnest, 

Or only made believe. I cannot say- 
But she profess 'd to cure disease the sternest, 

By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And when all other skill in vain was shown. 
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. 

X. 

" Sijmpnthm maoica hath wonders done." 
( I'hus did oltl Fatima bespeak her sou.)- 



film's admirable Hi^ 



I 4 Nobil 



•T 



/ 



7 



X 



558 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



IN 



• Ii works upon tlie libres and the pores, 
And thus, insensibly, our lieiiltti restores. 
And It nmsl help us here — 'I'liou must endure 
Ttie ill, my son, or triivel for the cure 
Search land and sea, and get;, where'er you 

can, 
The inmost vesture of" a hapfiy man. 
I mean his shirt, my son; which, taken warm 
And fresh from off his back, sliall chase your 

harm. 
Bid every current of your veins rejoice. 
And your dull heart leap li^it as shepherd- 
boy's." 
Such was the counsel from his mother 

came ;— 
I know not if she had some under-same. 
As Doctors liave.who bid I heir patients roam 
And live abroad, when sure to die at home; 
Or if she thought, tliat, somehow or anoiher. 
Queen- Kegent sounded better than Queen- 
Mother; 
But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it,) 
That such was her advice— the Sullaun took it. 

XI. 
All are on board — the Sultaun and his train, 
111 gilded ealley prompt to plougli the main. 
The old Kais i was the first who questioned, 

•■ Whither?" 
They paused— " Arabia," thought the pensive 

Prince, 
" Was rall'd The Happy many ages since— 
For \loklia, Kais." — And they came safely 

thiMier. 
But not in Araby, with all her balm. 
Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm, 
Not in rich Esypt. not in Nubian waste. 
Could there the step of happiness be traced. 
One Co()t alone protess'd to have seen her 

smile, 
When Bruce his goblet fill'd at infant Nile : 
She bless'd the dauntless traveller as he 

quatf'd. 
But vanish'd from him with the ended 

draught. 

XII. 
"Enough of turbans," said the weary King, 
"These dolimans of ours are not the thing; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and 

cap. I 
Incline to think .some of them must be happy; 
At least, thev have as fair a cause as any can, 
They driuk good wine and keep no Ramazan. 
Then northward, ho!" — The vessel cuts the 

sea. 
And fair Italia lies upon her lee — 
But fair Italia, she who once unfurl'd 
Her eairle banners o'er a conqner'd world, 
l.ona from her throne of domination tumbled, 
I, ay. liy her quoiulani vassals, sorely humbled ; 
The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and 

lean. 
And was not half the man lie once had been. 
" While these the priest and those the noble 

fleeces. 
Our poor old boot," 2 they said, "is torn to 

pieces 
Its tops 3 the vengeful claws of Austria feel. 
And the Great Uevil is rending toe and heel.* 

Master of the veHnel. 
2 The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map. 
8 Florence, Venice, ic. 



If happiness you seek, to tell you truly. 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; 
By land or ocean never strikes his flag — 
And then— a perfect walking money-bag." 
Of set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, 
But first took France— it lay upon the road. 

XIII. 
Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion. 
Was agitated like a settling ocean, 
Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what 

ail'd him. 
Only the glory of his house had fail'd him ; 
Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding. 
Gave indication of a recent hiding.5 
Our Prince, though SuUauns of such things 

are heedless. 
Thought It a thing indelicate and needless 
"To ask, if at that niomenl he was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was comim il 

Jmil, a 
Loud voice mustered up. for " Vive le Roi !" 
Then whisiier'd, " Ave you any news of 
N'ap-py ?'' 
The Sultaun answer'd him with a cross ques- 
tion, — 
" Prav, can you tell me aught of one John 

Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond your her- 
ring-pool ?" 
The query seem'd of difficult digestion. 
The party shrugg'd. and gnnnd. and took his 

sniilf. 
And found his whole good- breeding scarce 
enough. 

XIV. 
Twitching his visage into as many puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers, 
(Ere liberal Fashion dainn'd both lace and 

lawn. 
And bade the veil of modesty be drHwn.) 
l<eplied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, 
'•Jean Bool! — I vas not know him — Ves, I 

vas — 
1 vas remember dat. von year or two, 
I saw him at von place call'd Valerloo— 
.Vlafoi! il sest tres joliment battu, 
Dat IS tor Englishman,— in'entendez-vonsT 
But den he had wil hlin one damn son-gun, 
Kogue I no like— dey call liiin Velliinjton." 
Monsieur's politeness could not hide his tret. 
So Soliniauu took leave, and cross'd the slrait. 

XV. 

John Bull was in his very worst of moods. 
Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; 
His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw, 
And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. 
His wars were ended, and the victory won. 
But then, 'twas reckoning-day with lionest 

John; 
And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's 

way, 
" Never to grumble till he came to pay ; 
And then he always thinks, his temper's such. 
The work too little, and the pay too much."* 

4 The Cilabrias, infested by bands of assa.-mins. One of 



7 



^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



559 ^ 



Yet, grumbler as lie is, so kind and hearty, 
Tliat when his mortal foe was on the fl(M>r, 
And past the power to harm his quiet more, 
Poor Jolin had wellnigh wept tor Bona- 
parte ! 
Such was the wight whom Solimaun salam'd. — 
" AudVho are you," John answer'd, 'and be 
d-d t" 

XVI. 
" A stranger, come to see the happiest man, — 
S<i. sisnicir. all avouch.— in Krangistan." — ' 
*' Happy ? my tenants breaking on my hand ; 
Unstocic d my pastures, and nntiil'd my land; 
i>uu'ar :mJ rum a drug, and mice and moths 
The sole consumers of my good broadcloths— 
Happv '—Why, cursed war and rackmg tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs."— 
'• In that ca-e. siiinior, 1 may take my leave ; 

1 c:ime to ask a favour— but I grieve" 

'•Favour?" said John, and eyed the SuUaun 

hard. 
" It's my luilief you come t-o break the yard ! — 
But, st:ty,you look like some poor foreign sin- 
ner, — 
Take thai to buy yourself a shirt and din- 
ner." — 
With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head ; 
But. with due dignity, the bultaun said, 
'■ Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well." — 
'•Kiss and be d—d,'' quoth John, "and go to 
hell !" 

XVII. 
Next (liior to John there dwelt his sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 
V\ hen the blithe bagpipe blew — but, soberer 

now, 
Mie douceiy span her flax and milk'd her cow. 
And whereas erst she was a needy slattern. 
Nor now of wealth (>r cleanliness a pattern, 
jfet once a- month her hou-e was partly swept. 
And once aweek a plenteous board she kept. 
And wtiereas. eke, tlie vixen used her claws 
And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, 
She now was grown amenable lo laws, 

A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 
The sole remembrance of her warlike joys 
Was in old songs she sang to plea«e her boys. 
John Bull. whom, in their year.-; of early strife. 
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life. 
Now found the woman, as he said, a utigh- 

bour. 
Who look'd to the main chance, declined no 

labour. 
Ixived a long grace, and spoke a northern 

jargon. 
And was d-^J close in making of a bargain. 

XVIil. 
The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg. 
And with decorum curtsy'd sister Peg; 
(She loved a book, and knew a thing or two. 
And guess 'd at once with whom she had todo. ) 
She bade him •• .■^it into the fire." and took 
Her dram, her cake, her kebhuck from the 

nook; 
Ask'd him "about the news from Eastern 

parts ; 
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland 

hearts! 



V 



1 Kurnpe. 



If peace brought down the price of tea and 

pepper. 
And if the lutmurjs were grown ony cheaper ;— 
Were there uae speenngs of our Munso Park — 
Ve'll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinnin', 
I'll warrant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." 

XIX. 

Then up got Peg. and round the house 'gan 

scuttle 

In search of goods her customer to nail. 

Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely throttle. 

And hiillo'd.— '• .Ma'am that is not what I ail. 

Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug 

glen ? ' — 
" Happv ?" said Peg ; " What for d'ye want to 

ken? 
Besides, just think upon this by-sane year. 
Gram wadna pay the yoking of the 
pleugh."— 
*' What say you to the present ?"— " Meal's sae 
dear. 
To mak' their brose my bairns have scarce 
aneiigh." — 
" The devil take the shirt." said Solimaun, 
" I think my quest will end as it began.— 
Farewell, ma'am ; nay. no ceremony, T beg" — 
" Ye'll no be for the linen then V said Peg. 

XX. 

Now, for the land of verdant Erin. 

The Sultaun's royal bark is steering. 

The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells. 

The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. 

For a long space had John, with words of 
thunder. 

Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy 
under. 

Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogg'd un- 
duly. 

Had gotten some'.vhat restive and unruly. 

Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, 

A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; 

His landlord, and of middle-men two brace. 

Had screw'd his rent up to the starving place; 

His garment was a top-coat, and an old one. 

His meal was a potato, and a cold one; 

But still for fun or frolic, and all that. 

In the round world was not the match of Pat. 
XXI. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday. 

Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : 

When mass is ended, and his load of sins 

Confess'd. and Mother Church hath from her 
binns 

Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit. 

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit ! 

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free. 

And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 

" By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, 

"That ragged fellow is our very man ! 

Rush in and seize him — do not do him hurt, 

But, will he nill he, let me have his skirt." — 

XXII. 
Shilela their plan was wellnigh after baulk 

in?, 
(Much less provocation will set it a-walkins:,) 
But thp odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy 

Whack ; 
They seized, and they floor'd, and theystnpp'd 

111 m— .Alack' 



A 



560 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



X 



Up-bubhoo ' Paddy had not a shirt to his 

back ! ! ! 
And the Kins, disappointed, with sorrow and 

shame. 
Went baclf to Serendib as sad as he came. 



I^r. l^einble's jFarctocll 
^trtiress,' 

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE 



As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's 

sound, 
Erects his mane, nnd neighs, and paws liie 

e:ronnd — 
Disdains the ense his generous lord assiens, 
And longs to rush on the embattled lines, 
So I. your plaudits riiie-inar on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to ilimk our parting near ; 
To thmk my sneinc hour for ever past. 
And that these valued plaudits are my last. 
Why should we part, while still some powers 

remam. 
That in your service strive not yet in vain ? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth 

supply. 
And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; 
And all the wrongs of nge remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? 
Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close. 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is past, 
It cannot be renew'd, and will not la«f ; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frost of age. 
Yes! It were poor, remembering what I was. 
To live a pensioner on your applause, 
To drain the dregs of your en<lurance dry, 
And take, as alms, the praise I once couid 

buy ; 
Till every sneering youth around enquires, 
"Is this the man who once could please our 

sires ?" 
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful 

mien, 
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene. 
This must not be; — and higher duties crave 
Some space between the theatre and the 

grave, 



1 These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817, in a weekly 
sheet, calleil the " Sale Room," conducted and published 
by Messrs. Ballanlyiie and Co , at Edinburgh. In a note 
prefixed, Mr James Ballaniyne says, " The character fixed 
upon, with happy propriety, for Kemble's closing scene, 
was Macbeth, in which he looli his final leave of Scotland 
on the evening of Saturday, the 29th March, 1817. He 
had laboured under a severe cold for a few days before, 
but on this memorable night the physical annoyance yielded 
to the energy of his mind.—' He was,' he said, in the green- 
room, immediately before the curtain rose, determined 
to leave behind him the most perfect specimen of his 
art which he had ever shown,' and his success was com- 
plete. At the moment of the tyrant's death the curtain 
fell by the universr.l acclamation of the audience. The 
applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased 
—were resumed— rose again— were reiter.ited — and again 
were hushed. In a few minutes the curtain ascended, 
r Kemble came forward in the dress of Macbeth, 
(tbe audience by a consentaneous movement rising to 



That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 

I may adjust my manile ere 1 fall : 

My life's brief act in public service flown. 

The last, the closing scene, must he my own. 

Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well- 
graced parts 
May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts. 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget, — 
O. how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
In an.xious hope, how oft return'd wilh fume ! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's niagic 

wand. 
Till the full burst of inspiration came, 
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the 

flame ! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign en- 
dures. 
Those hours must live — and all their charms 
are yours. 

O favour'd Land ! renown'd for arts and 

arms. 
For manly talent, and for female charms, 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, 
What fervent benedictions now were tlime I 
But my last part is play'd. my knell is rung. 
When e'en your praise falls faltenng from my 

tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or 1 can fell. 
Is— Friends and Patrons, hail, and fare you 

well. 



WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 



When Ihe lone pilgrim views afar 
The shrine that is his guiding star. 
With awe his footsteps print the road 
Which the loved saint of yore has trod. 
As near he draws, and yet more near. 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear; 
The Gothic fane's unwonted show, 
The chor.'il hyiim, tlie tapers' glow. 
Oppress his soul ; while thev delight 
And chasten rapture witn affright. 



receive him,) to deliver his farewell." "Mr. 

Kemble delivered these lines with exquisite beauty, and 
with an effect that was evinced by Ihe tears and sobs of 
many of the audience. His own emotions were very con- 
spicuous When his farewell was closed, he lingered long 
on the stage, as if u„able to retire. The hou.w again 
stood up, and cheered him with Ihe waving of hats and 
long shouts of applause. At length he finally retired, and, 
in BO far a« regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon hia 
professional life for ever." 

2 These lines were first printed in "The Forget-Me-Not, 
for 1834." They were written for recitation l)y the dis- 
tinguished actress. Miss Smith, now Mrs Hartley, on the 
night of her benelil at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1M7; 
but reached her too late for her purpose. In a letter 
which enclosed them, the poet intimated that they were 
written on the morning of the day on which they were 
sent— that he thought the iden better than the execution, 
and forwarded th,-m witli the hope of their adding "a 
little sjit to the bill." 



z 



y- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 5G1 



Ni) iDnger dare he think his toil 
Can merit au?hl his f);i!rori's smile; 
'1(1(1 li^'ht appears the tlislant way, 
The r.hilly eve, the sultry day — 
All the.se enihirud iiii ravoiir chiitii. 
But Miurmiinn? forth the sainted name, 
He lays Ins little offering down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We t(M). who ply the Thespian art, 
Oft feel -sunh bodiiiss of the heart. 
And. when our utmost powers are strain'd, 
Dare hardly hope your favour saiu'd. 
She. who from sister olimes has sought 
'I'he ancient land where VVallace foiisht; — 
Land Ion? renown'd for arms and arts. 
And coiKiuenns eyes and (Jauntless hearts; 
She. as ilic tluttermgs htre avow, 
h'eels all the pilsrim's terrors now. 
Vet sure on '"aledoiuan \\\m\\ 
The straiiser never sued in vain. 
' lis yours the liospi'ahie t^isk 
To give the applause she dare not ask ; 
AndMiey who bid the pilgrim speed. 
The piUrini's blessing be their meed. 



2ri)e .Sun upon tljc StWcirtilate 

1817. 



["Scott's enjoyment of his new territories 
was. however, interrupted by varlou^ leturns 
of his cramp, and the depression of spirit 
which always attended, in his rase, the use of 
opium, the only medicine that seemed to have 
power over the disease It was wliile strug- 
glingwirh such languor, on one lovely evening 
of tins autumn, that he composed the follow- 
ing beautiful verses. They mark the very 
spot of llieir birth, — namely, the then naked 
height overhanging the northern side of the 
Cauldshiels l.och. from which Melrose Alibey 
to the eastward, and the hills of L'ltnck anil 
V'aridw to the west, are now visible over a 
wide range of rich woodland. — all the work 
of the poet's hand "—Life, vol. v., p. 'ISl.l 
Air — " Rimhiii uluin 'stu mo ru/i." 



The air, comp"s(Hl by ttie KxJitor of .Xlhvii's Anthology. 2 
The words wriltiiu for .Mr. George Thoiusou'^s Scottish 
Melodies, [l>f£t.] 

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 

In Elt rick's vale is sinking sweet: 
The west land wind is hush and still, 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore; 
Though evening, with her richest dye. 

Flames o'er the hills of Eltrick's shore. 

With listless look along the plain, 
I see Tweed's silver current glide. 

1 "O f,ivour'd land ' renown'd for arts and arms. 
For manly latent, and for female charms " 

Lines written for Mr J. Kemble. 



And coldly mark the holy fane 
Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pnde. 

The quiet lake, the balmy air. 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, 

Are they still such as once they were ? 
Or IS the dreary change in me ? 

Alas, the warp'd and broken board. 
How can it bear the painter's dye ? 

The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord. 
How to the miiistrel's skill reply ! 

To aching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; 

And Ar.tby's or Eden's bowers 
Were barren as this moorland hill. 



N; 



Air — " Yindaith Minnyc." 

WRITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON'S WELSH 
MELODIES 



Ethelfrid, or Olfrid. King of Northumber- 
land, having besieged Chester in 613, and 
Bntckmael, a British Prince, advancing to re- 
lieve It, the religious of the neigiibouring 
Monastery of Bangor marched in procession, 
to pray for the success of their countrymen. 
But the British being totally defeated, the 
heathen victor put the monks to th(! sword, 
and destroyed their monasieiy The tune to 
which these verses are adapted is called the 
Monks' .M;irch, and is supposed to have beeu 
played at their lll-oIilen^•d proce.ssiou. 



When the heathen trumpet's clan?. 
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang. 
Veiled nun and friar grey 
Maich'd from Bangor's fair Ahbaye ; 
High their holy anthem sounds, 
Ceslria's vale the hymn rebounds, 
Floating down the silvtin Dee. 

O miserere, Dumme! 

On the long procession goes, 
Ulory rounil their crosses glows. 
And the Virgm-moiher mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
v\ ho could think such saintly band 
Doom'd to feel unhallow'd hand? 
Such was the Divine decree, 

O miserere, Domwe , 

Bands that masses only sung. 
Hands that censers only swung. 
Met the northern bow and bill. 
Hetird the war-cry wild and shrill: 
Woe to Brock mael's feeble hand, 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand. 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

O miserere, Domine ! 

1 •• Na'haniel Gnw told me that he got the a :r from an 
old gentleman. Mr. Palrvrnple of Orai.gelield, (h^ Ihii.is) 
who had it from a fn-iid n the Western Ule<, a> 
Highland iiT."— George Thomson. 



\- 



662 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Wellerin? amid warriors slain, 
Spurii'd by steeds wild hlocidy mane, 
SlaUKhrer'd down by lieaUieii blade, 
Banifor's peaceful nionlis are laid : 
Word of partins resr, utispoke. 
Mass unsuns. and bread iinbroke; 
For their souls for rhariiy, 

Sini/, O miserere. Domine ! 

Bangor! o'er the murder wail! 
Loup thy ruins told the tale, 
Shaiter'd towers and broken arch 
Lon? recall'd the woeful niaiTh : 1 
On thy sliriiie no tapers burn. 
Never shall thy priests return; 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee. 

O tniserere, Domine 1 



Setter 



TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 
DRUMLANRIG CASTLE. 

Sanqohar, 2 oVlock, July 30, 1817. 

From Ross, where the clouds on Benioniond 

are sleepins — 
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is 

sweeping— 
From Larss, where the Scotch gave the 

Nortliinen a drilling— 
From Ardriissau, whose harbour cost many a 

shilling— 
From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard 

as a plank, sir — 
Frorii a chop and green pease, and a chicken 

in Sanquhar, 
This eve, please the fates, at Drumlanrig we 

anchor. W. S. 

[Sir Walter's companion on this excursion 
was Captain, now Mr Adam Ferguson. — iee 
Lije, vol. v., p. 23t.] 



jyvom IXob Hog. 



(1.) — TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD 
THE BLACK PRINCE. 

" A bio' ted piece of paper dropped out of the 
book, and being taken up by my father, he in- 
terrupted a hint from Owen, on the propriety 
of securing l(to.>^e memoranda wiiii a lil'le 
paste, by exclaiming, 'To ihe memory of Ed- 
ward the Black Prince — Whafs all this? — 
v.Tses!— Bv Heaven. Frank, you are a greater 
blockhead than I supposed you !' " 
O for Ihe voice of that wild horn. 

On Fontarabian echoes i)orne. 
The dying hero's call. 

That told imperial Charlemagne, 

How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain, 

Had wrought his champion's fall. 



I w 

^ to 111.- 



ilH- tltsolalion octaMontd by ihe 



" ' Fonlarnbian echoes !' continued my father, 
interrupting himself; ' the Fontarabian Pair 
would have been more to the nurpose. — Pjy- 
n?m.?— What's Paynim ? — Could you not say 
Pagan as well, and write English, at least, if 
you must needs write nonsense.'" 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding. 
And England's distant cliffs astounding 

Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

"'Poitiers, by the way, is always spelled 
with an 5, and I know no reason why orllio- 
graphy should give place to rhyme.' '' 

'■ Raise my faint head, my .squires," he said, 
"And let the casement be display'd, 

That I may see once more 
The splendour of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirror'd wave. Garonne, 

And Blaye's empurpled shore." 

" ' Garoniie anil SU71 is a bad rhyme. Why, 
Frank, you do not even understand the beg- 
garly trade you have chosen " 

" Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep. 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear. 
When England's maids and matrons hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. 
^'ew planets in these southern skies. 

Through clouds of blood and flame." 

"'A cloud of flame is something new — 
Good-morrow, my masters all. and a merry 
Christmas to you I— Why, the bellman writes 
better lines.'" Chap. i\. 



(2.)— TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. 



1817. 



"Mi.ss Vernon proceeded to read the first 
stanza, which was nearly to the following 
purpose :"' — 

Ladies. an<l knights, and arms, and love's fair 
flame. 
Deeds of emprize and courtesy. I sing; 
What time the Moors from sultry Africk 
came. 
Led on by A^ramant, their youthful king — 
He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring 
O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and 
war; 
Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring. 
Which to avenge he came from realms afar. 
And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman 
Emperor. 



A 



7 



Z. 



^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 563 



^ 



Of dauntless Kolaud, too, my strain shall 
sound, 
In niiport never known iti prose and rhyme, 
How He. the chief of judgment deem"iJ pro- 
found. 
For luckless love was crazed upon a time— 

••'There is a great deal of it.' said she, 
planciiig along the paper, and interruptins the 
sweetest sounds winch mortal e;i is can drmk 
in; those of a yourh ill | o^-t's verses, namely, 
read hy the lips which are dearest to them." 
Chap. XVI. 



(3.) — MOTTOES. 

(1.) —CHAP. X 

In the wide pile, hy others heeded not, 

Hers was (me sacred solitary spot. 

Whose gloomy aisljs and bending shelves 

contain. 
For moral hunger food, and cures fir moral 

pain. Anunyrnous. 

"The lihrary at Osbaldislone Hall was a 
gloomy room," &.c. 

(2.)— CHAP. XIII. 

Dire was his thought, who first in poison 

sieep'd 
Tiie weapon form'd for slaughter — direr his. 
Anil worthier of damnation, who instiU'd 
The mortal venom in the sor;ial cup, 
'I'o fill the veins with death instead of life 
Anonymous. 

(3)— CHAP. XXII. 

Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here's the 

place 
Which men (for beine: poor) are sent to starve 

in,— 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease 
Within tliese walls, stifled by damp and 

stench. 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire; and at the 

snuff. 
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, find way- 
ward. 
The desperate revelries of wild despair. 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to 

deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere 

practised. 
Till bondage .>-unk his soul to his condition 
The Prison, Scene iii. Act i. 

(4.)— CHAP. XXVII. 

Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen. 
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the livelv green ; 
No birds, except as birds ot passage, flew ; 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth, as amner clear. 
Were seen to glide, or heard to waible here. 
Prophecy of Famine. 



l"The 


Appeal.' 


a TraE«ly 


hv 


Joh 


n Gait. 


Ksq.. 


was 


plaved for 


four nifitlls at this t 




in K( 


inhurgh. 




Titian 


ei-essarv 


mention. 


tha 


t thi. 


allusi 


us in 


ihis 




all local. 


anil aildrci. 


sell 


only 


lo the 


lidinb 


urch 




The iiev. 


prisons of the 


city, 


on IheCalton Hill. 


«iv iioi fa 


r from tli 


e theatre. 













\ 



(5.) — CHAP. XXXI. 

" Woe to the vanqiiish'd !" was stern Brenno's 

word. 
When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic 

swonl— 
"Woe to the vanquish'd I" when his massive 

blade 
Bore down the scale against her ransom 

weigh'd. 
And on the field of foughten battle still. 
Who knows no limits save the victor's will. 
Tlie GuuUiad. 

(6.)— CHAP. XXXII. 

And be he safe restored ere evening set. 
Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart. 
And power to wreak it in an armed hand, 
Vour land shall ache for't OUJ Flay. 

(7)— CHAP. XXXVI. 

Farewell to the land where the clouds love lo 

rest. 
Like the shroud of the dead on the monntain's 

cold breast ; 
To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply. 
And the lake her lone bosom expands to llie 

sky. 



H4)ilo2uc to 2ri)e ^iipe.il/ 

SPOKES BY MRS. HE.NRY SIDDONS. 

Feb. 16, 1818. 

A cat ot yore (or else old iEsop lied) 
Was changed into a fair and blooming liride. 
But spied a mouse u[ion her niarriage-day. 
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey . 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you Siiw 
Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made 

loose, 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour, 
Since the New Jail became our next-door 

neighbour. 2 

Ves, times are changed ; for, in your fathers' 

age, 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 
However high advanced by future fate. 
There stands the bench {points to the Pit) that 

firs' received their weight. 
The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see. 
Doom though iinwigg'd, and plead wilhout'a. 

fee. 

But now. astounding each poor mimic elf. 
Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 
Tremendous neighbour, on our right she 

dwells. 
Builds high her towers and excavates her 

cells; 
While on the left she agitate^" tlie town. 
With the tempestuous question. Up or down? 3 
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, 
Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. 



3 -At this time the public of Edinburgh was much ag|. 
tated by a lawsuit betwixt the Magistrates and many of 
the Inhabitant* of the City, conierning a ranee of new 
buildings on the western side of the North Bridte ; which 
the latter insisted should he removed as a deformity. 



V 



•7 



z' 



564 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



^ 



But, soft! who lives at Rome the Pope must 

flatter, 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting: matter. 
Ttien— just farewell! We wait with serious 

awe 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trustins our humble efforts may assure ye, 
We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and 

J ury. 



ifEacferimmon's Hament 

1818. 



Air—" Cha till, mi tuille." J 
Mackrimnion. hereditary piper to the I-aird 
of Macleod, is said to have oom posed this La- 
ment when the Clan was about to depart upon 
a distant and danserons expedilion. The Min- 
strel was impressed with a belief, wiiinh the 
event verified, that he was to be slain in tlie 
approaching feud ; and henre the Gaelic words. 
" Cha till mi tnillf ; ijfd tlii/lis M'iclcod, rhn till 
Mackrimmon," "I shall never return : alt hough 
Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never 
return !" The piece is but too well known, 
from its beins the strain with which the f.\w- 
prants from the West Highlands and Isles 
usually tal\e leave of their native sliore. 



Macleod's wizard flag from the grey castle 

sallies. 
The rovers are seated, unmoor'd are the gal- 
leys ; 
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target 

and quiver. 
As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunve- 

gan for ever ! 
Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are 

foaming ; 
Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer 

are roaming; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and 

river; 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall 

never ! 

"Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan 

are slee|)iiig ; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are 

weeping ; 
To each minstrel delusion, farewell !— and for 

ever — 
Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never! 
The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge 

before me,2 
The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er 

me : 
But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves 

siiall not shiver. 
Though devoted I go— to return again never! 

"Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's be- 
wailing. 

Be heard when the Gael on llieir exile are 
sailing; 



Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling 
we sever, 

Keturn— return— return shall we never! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 
Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon !' 



Bonalti CatrTi's Come ^flnin. 

Air—" Malcolm Caird's come again." ^ 



1818. 



CHORUS. 

Donald Caird's come again ! 
Donald Caird's come again ! 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again! 

Donald Caird can lilt and sing. 
Blithely dance the Hieland fling, 
Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; 
Hoop a leglin, clout a pan. 
Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 
'I'ell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again. 

Donald Caird's come again ! 
Donald Caird's come again ! 
Toll the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again. 

Donald Caird ran wire a maukin. 
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin', 
Leisters kipf)er, makes a shift 
To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift; 
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers. 
He can wauk when they are shepers; 
Not for bountith or reward 
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 

Donald Caird's <;ome again ! 
Donald Caird's come again ! 
Gur the bagpipes hum amain, 
Donald Caird's come again. 

Donald Caird can drink a gill 
Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 
Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
Kens how Donald bends a bicker; 
When he's fou he's stout and saucy. 
Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 
Hieland chief and Lawland laird 
Maun gie room to Donald Caird! 

Donald Caird's come again I 
Donald Caird's come again ! 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird's come again 

Steek the amrie, lock the kist. 
Else some gear may weel be mis't ; 
Donald Caird finds orra things 
Where Allan Gregor fand the tings ; 
Diints of kebbuck. taits o' woo. 
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow. 
Webs or duds frae hedge or yard— 
'Ware the wuddie. Donald Caird ! 



7 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 565 



Di)iialil Caird's come again ! 

Donald Caird's come asain! 

Dimia ler, tlie -Shirra ken 

Donald Caird's come again. 
On Donald Caird the doom was stern, 
CraiiT to lether, lesrs lo aim ; 
But Donald Caird. wi' mickie study, 
Canslii ilie gift to cheat the wnddie; 
Rni2:s of aim. and holts of steel. 
Fell like ice frae hand and heel! 
VV'aich the sheep in fan Id and glen, 
Donald Caird's come as;ani ! 

Donrdd Caird's come again! 

Donald Cand's come again! 

Dinna let the Justice ken. 

Donald Caird's come again. * 



jTvont X\\t l^zwcx oC 

1S18. 



(1.)— :MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS. 
When the gledd's in the blue cloud, 

The lavidck lies still ; 
When the himnd's in the green-wood, 
The Iliad keeps the hill. 

O sleep ye sound. Sir James, she said. 
When ye suld rise and ride ? 

There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 
Are seeking where ye hide. 

Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, 

Duh a dub. dub a dub; 

Have at old Beelzebub.— 
Oliver's running for fear. — 



I glance like the wildfire through country and 

town; 
I'm seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the 

down; 
7'he liulitning that flashes so bright and so 

Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. 



What did ye wi' the bridal ring— bridal ring— 

l.iKhilrimi? 
What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little 

cultv quean, OT 
1 cied ii till a sodsier, a smlaer, a sodeer, 
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' 

mine, (X 



^ 



GiMid even.sood fair moon. Erf>od even to thee; 

I [iriihee. dear moon, now show lo me 

The form and the features, the speech and 

desfree. 
Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 

1 Mr D. Thomson, of O.ilasbifls, prndnced a parody on 
this son? at an annual dinnt-r of Ihe ni;iiiuracturer8 Iti.-re, 
which Sir VValtt-r Sioll usu;illy atl^nded ; and the I'oei 
was highly amused with a 8ly allusion to hid two-folJ 



It is the bonny butcher lad. 

That we irs'thc sleeves of blue; 
He sells the flesh on Saturday, 

On Friday that he slew. 



565 ^^ 



There 's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald 
Wood, 

There 's harness glancine sheen ; 
There 's a maiden sits on Tmwald hrae, . 

And she sings loud between. 



T'p in the air. 

On my bonnie grey mare. 

And I see, and I see, and I see her vet. 



In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, 

Ere I was ane and twenty. 
I had hempen bracelets strong. 
And merry whifis, ding-dong. 
And prayer and fasting plenty. 



My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard 

Sae far ayont the sea. 
And it is biit my blithesome ghaist 

That's speaking now to thee. 



I'm Madse of the country, and Madge of the 

town. 
And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to 

own.— 
The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine. 
But has not a heart half so lighisome as 

mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of 

May, 
And I lead the blithe ring round the Mav-pole 

to-day; 
The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free 
Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. 



He that is down need fear no fall. 

He that is low no pride; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 

Fulness lo such a burden is 

That go on pilgrimage ; 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age. 

" As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, 
and then a part of the chorus and words of 
what had been, perhaps, the song of a jolly 
harvest-home" 

Our work is over — over now. 
The soodman wipes his weary brow, 
The last long wain wends slow away, 
And we are free to sport and play. 

The night comes on when sets the sun, 
And laltoiir ends when day is done. 
When Autumn 's gone, and Winter 's come. 
We hold our jovial harve>t-home 



racter of Sheriff of Selkirkshirr, and 
' Rob Roy," in the chnrus,-- 

" Think ye, Joes the Skirra ten 
Rob M-Gregor'i come again !" 



T 



A 



oC6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



"The attendant on the hospital arranged 
lier 111 her bed as she desired, with her face io 
the wall, and her back to the light. So soon 
as she was quiet in this new positiim, she 
hepan again to sing in tlie s;inie low and 
modulated strains, as if she was recovering 
the stale of abstraction wliich the interrup- 
Imn of her visitants had disturbed. 'I'lie 
strain, however, was different, and rather 
re.seiiibled the music of the nietliodist hymns, 
though tlie measure of tlie song was similar 
to that of the former :" — 
When the figlit of grace is fouglit,— 
V\ hen the niarriase vest is wrought, — 
When Failli has chased cold Uoubt away,— 
And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
When Charity, imprisoned here, 
l.oiigs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Dotf iliy rubes of sm and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away. 

" Her next seemed to be the fragment of 
some old ballad :" — 

Cauld is my bed, Lord .Archibald, 

And sad my sleep of sorrow : 
But thine sail be as s:id :iiid cauld. 
My fause true-love! to-morrow, 
^nd weep ye not. my maidens free, 

Thougli death your mistress burrow ; 
For he for whom I die to-day. 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 
" Again she changed the tune to one wilder, 
less monotonous, and less regular.' But of the 
words only a fragment or two could be col- 
lected by those who listened to this singular 
scene :" — 

Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early; 
Sweet Kobin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 
'•Tell me. tliou bonny bird. 

When shall 1 many me ;"— 
" When six bniw gentlemen 
Kirk ward shall carry ye." 
" Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie, say truly ?"— 
"The grey-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 
"The glow worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 
' Welcome, proud lady.' " 
"Her voice died away with the last notes, 
«nd she fell into a slumber, from which the 
ex-ierienced attendant assured them, that she 
would never awake at all, or only in tiie deal h- 
agonv. 

•• Her first prophecy was true. The poor 
maniac parted with existence, without again 
Uttering a sound of any kind." 

Chaps. xv.-xxKviii. passim. 



(2.) — MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP. XIX. 

To man. in this his trial state. 

The privilese is given. 
When lost, by tides of human fate. 

To anchor fast m Heaven 

Watts' Hymns 



(2)-CH.VP. XXIII. 

Law, take thy victim! — May she find the 

mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this hard world 

denies her! 

(3.)— CHAP. XX vu. 

And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind 
in sad alliance, each degraded mind. 

(4.)-CHAP. XXXV. 

1 beseech you — 

These tears beseech you, and tiiese chaste 

hands woo you, 
That never yet were heaved but to things 

holy- 
Things like yourself— You are a God above 

us ; 
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! 

The Bloody Brother. 

(11.) — CHAP. XLVI. 

Happy thou art ! then happy be, 

Nor envy me my lot: 
Thy happy state i envy thee. 

And peaceful cot. 

Lady C • C /. 



iFrom the ajrOre oC 
' nammermoor. 



(1.) — LUCY ASIITON'S SONG. 

"The silver times of I.ucy Ashton's voice 
mingled with the accompnniment in an ancient 
air. to which some one had adapted the fol- 
lowing words :" — 

Look not thou on beauty's charming,— 
Sit thou still when king.*; are arming.— 
Taste not when the wirie-oup arlistens.— 
Speak not when the people listens,- 
^top thine ear against the singer,— 
From the red gold kepp thy finger,— 
Vacjint heart, and hand, and eye. 
Easy live and quiet die. Chap. iii. 



(2.) — NORMAN THK FORESTER'S 
SONG. 

"And humming his rustic ronnuelay, the 
yeoman went on his road, the sound of Tiis 
roush voice gradually dying away as the dis- 
tance betwixt them increased." 
The iiumk must arise when the matins ring. 

The abbot mav sleep to I heir chime ; 
But the yeoman must start when the bugles 
sing, 

'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time. 

There 's bucks and raes on Billhope braes. 
There's a herd on Short wood .-^haw; 

But a lilv-white doe in the garden goes. 
She 's fairly worth them a'. Clwp. in. 



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(3.) — TILE PROPHECY. 

"With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale 
with apprehension, Caleb faltered otic the 
foUiiwnig lines:" 

Wtien the last laird of Ravenswood to 

Ravenswdod shall ride, 
And woo a dead maiden to he his bride. 
He shall stahle his steed in the Kelpie's flow. 
And his name sh.ill be lost fur everirioe ! 

Chap, xviii. 



(4.) — MOTTOES. 
(1.) —CHAP. vin. 
The hearth in hall was black and dead. 
No board was distlit in bower within. 
Nor iiieiry howl nor welcome bed ; 
'* Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of 
Linne. 

Old Ballad, 
[Altered from " The Hnr of Lmne.''] 

(2.)— CHAP. XIV. 

As. to the Autumn breeze's busle-sonnd, 
Vanous anil vague the dry leavt-s dance their 

round, 
Or. from the garner-door, on aether borne. 
The chatf flies devious from the wiimow'd 

corn ; 
So va?ue, so devious, at the breath of heav'n. 
From their tix'd aim are mortal counsels 

driven. Anonymous. 

(3.) — CHAP. XVII. 

Here is a father now. 

Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 
Make her the stop-g;ip to some caiiker'd feud, 
(Jr fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes. 
To appease the sea at highest. 

Anonymotts. 

(4.)— CHAP. XVIII. 

Sir, stay at home and take aa old man's 
counsel : 

Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth ; 

Our own blue smoke is warmer than their 
fire. 

Domestic, food is wholesome, though 'tis 
homely. 

And foreign dainiies poisonous. I housh taste- 
ful. The French Courtezan. 

(5.)— CHAP. XXV. 

True-love, an' thou be true, 
Thou has ane kittle part to play. 

For fortune. fa.shlon. fancy, and thou 
.Maun strive for many a day. 

I've kend by mony friend's tale. 

Kar better by ihis heart of mine. 
What time and change of fancy avail, 

A true-love knote to untwine 

Hendersoun. 

(6.) -CHAP. xxvn. 

Whv, now I have Dame Fortune by the fore- 
lock. 

And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is 
mine ; 

He that hath buffeted with stem adversity. 

Best knows to shape his course to favouring 
breezes. Old Play 



iTrom tlie JLt^txCn oC 

(1.) — ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY. 

'So sayina:, Annot Lyle sate down at .i 
little distance upon the bench on which All m 
M'Aulay was placed, and tunimj her clair- 
shach, a small tiarp, about thirty inches in 
height, she accompanied it with her voice. 
The air was an ancient Gaelic meh)dy, and 
the words, which were supposed to be very 
old, were in the same language; but we sub- 
join a translation of them, by Secundus 
M'Pherson. Esq., of Glenforsen; which, ai- 
tliough subniitied to the fetters of L'liijlish 
rhythm, we trust will be found nearly as 
genuine as the version of Ossian by his cele- 
brated namesake." 

1. 
Birds of omen dark and foul, 
Niffht-crow, raven, hat. and owl. 
Leave the sick man to liis dream — 
All night long he heard you scream. 
Haste to cave and riiin'd tower, 
Ivy-tod. or dingled-hower. 
There to wink and mo|). for, hark ! 
In the mid air sings the lark. 



Hie to moorish gills and rocks. 
Prowling- wolf and wily fox. — 
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view. 
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe 
Couch your trains, and speed your flight, 
Safety parts with parting night; 
And on distant echo borne. 
Comes the hunter's early horn. 

3. 
The moon's wan crescent scarcely ?leams, 
Ghost-like she fades in morning beams; 
Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay 
That scare the pilgrim on his way.— 
Quench, kelpy ! quencli. in bog and fen, 
Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done, 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 



Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep, 
O'erpower the passive miiid in sleep. 
Pass from the slumberer's soul away. 
Like night-mists from the brow of day; 
Foul hag. whose blasted visage grim 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb. 
Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! 
Thou darest n<jt face the godlike sun. 

Chap VI. 



(2.) — THE ORPHAN MAID. 

"Tuning her instrument, and receiving an 
assenting look from Lord Monteith and Allan, 
Annot Lyle executed the following ballail. 
which our frii-iid, .Mr. Secundus .\l Plierst.n, 
whose goiKlness we had before to acUiu'W- 

I ledge, has thus translated into the English 

' tongue :" 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



I'd 
^ bin 



November's hail-cloiul drifts away, 

November's suii-beam vv;in 
Looks coldly on the castle ?rey, 

V\ hen forth conies Lady Anne. 

The orphan by the oak was set. 

Her arms, her feet., were bare ; 
The hail-drops had not melted yet, 

Airiid her raven hair. 

'• And. dame," she said. " by all the ties 

That child anti mother know. 
Aid one who never knew these joys, — 

Relieve an orphan's woe." 

The lady said. " An orphan's state 

Is hard and sad to bear; 
Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate, 

Who mourns both lord and heir. 

"Twelve times the rolling year has sped. 

Since, from the venseance wild 
Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled. 

Forth's eddies whelm'd my child " — 

"Twelve times the year its course has 
borne," 

The waiiderin? maid replied ; 
"Since tishers on St. Brids'Jt's morn. 

Drew nets on Campsie side. 

" St. Brideet .sent no scaly spoil, 

An infant, well niffh dead, 
They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, 

To b^g from you her bread." 

The orphan maid the lady kiss'd, — 

" Mv husband's looks von bear; 
Saint Bndiet and her morn be bless'd ! 

You are Ins widow's heir." 

They've robed that maid, so poor and pale. 

In silk and sandals rare; 
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail. 

Are glistening in her hair. Chap. \x. 



(3.) — MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHAP X. 

Dark on their journey lour'd the gloomy dav, 
Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the 

way ; 
More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, 

show'd 
The mansion which received them from the 

road. 

The Travellers, a Romance. 

(•2.) — CHAP. XI. 

Is this thy castle. Baldwin ? Melancholy 
Displays her sable banner from the donjon. 
Dark'ning the foam of the whole surge 

beneath. 
Were I a habitant, to see this gloom 
Pollute the face of nature, and to hear 
The ceaseless sound of wave and sea-bird's 

scream, 
I'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant 
V.re framed to give him temporary shelter. 
Browne. 



(3.)— CHAP. XIV. 

This was the entry, then, these stairs — hut 

whither after? 
Yet he that's sure to perish on the land 
May quit the nicety of card and compass, 
And trust the open sea without a pilot. 

Tragedy of Brcimovalt. 



(I.) — THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 
1. 
High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 
From Palestine the champion came ; 
Tlie cross upon his shoulders borne. 
Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn. 
Each dint upon his batter'd shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 
And thus, beneath his lady's bower, 
He sung, as fell the twilight hour : 

2. 
" Joy to the fair !— thy knight behold, 
Return'd from yonder land of gold ; 
No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, 
Save his good arms am) battle-steed : 
His spurs to da^h against a foe. 
His lance and sword to lay him low ; 
.'^uch all the trophies of his toil. 
Such— and the hope of Tekla's smile ! 

3. 
"Joy to the fair! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might! 
I nnoted shall she not remain 
Where meet the bright and noble train ; 
Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell — 
' Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 
'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field of Ascalon! 



" ' Note well her smile !— it edged the blade 

Which fifty wives to widows made. 

When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell, 

Iconium's turbati'd Soldan fell. 

See'st thou her locks, whose sunny gjow 

Half shows, half shades, her neck ol"' snow T 

Twines not of them one golden thread. 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 



"Joy to the fair!— my name unknown. 
Each deed, and all its praise, thine own ; 
Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate, 
1 he night-dew falls, the hour is late. 
Inured to Syria's glowing lireath. 
I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 
Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 
And grant him bli.ss wlio brings thee fame " 
Chap xviii. 



(2.)— THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

L 

I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth oi 

twain. 
To search Europe through from Byzantium to 
Spain ; 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 



But ne'er shall you find, should you search till 

you tire. 
So happy a man as the Barefooted friar. 



Your kiiisht for his lady pricks forth in career. 
And is brought home at even-sons; pnck'd 

throusti with a spear; 
I coiiress hini in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort oil earth save the Barefooted 

Friars. 



Your monarch !— Pshaw ! many a prince has 

been known 
To barter Ins robes for our cowl and our 

?own : 
But winch of us e'er felt the idle desire 
'I'o exchange for a crown the grey hood of a 

Knar! 

4. 
The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has 

gone. 
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own 
He can roam where he lists, he can stop where 

he tires. 
For every man's house is the Barefooted 

Friar's 



He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he 

comes, . 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge 

of plums ; 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the 

fire. 
Is the uudenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 



He's expected at night, and the pasty's made 

hot. 
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the 

black pot; 
And the good-wife would wish the good-man 

in the mire, 
Kie he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted 

Friar. 

7. 
Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the 

cope. 
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ! 
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the 

briar. 
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

Chap, xviii. 



(3.)— THE SAXON WAR-SONG. 

"The fire was spreading rapldiv through all 
pans of the castle, when L'lric;i. who had first 
kindled it. appeared on a turret, in the guise 
of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a 
war-song, snch as was of yore chanted on the 
field ill' h.itlle by the yet heathen Saxons. Her 
loiisf dishevelled grey hair flew back from her 
Uiiciivered head ; the inebriating delisht of 
gratitied vengeance contended in her eyes 
with the fire of insanity; and she brandished 
the dist.iff which .she held m her hand, as if 
she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who 
simi and abridge the thread of human liie. 
Irailiiii'ii lias preserved some wild strophes 

48* 



of the barbarous hymn which she chanted 
wildly amid that scene of fire and slaugh- 
ter :"— 

1. 
Whet the bright steel. 
Sons of the White Dragon ! 
Kindle the torch. 
Daughter of Hengist ! 
I'he steel glimmers not for the carvmg of the 

banquet, 
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 
The torch goelh not to the hrulai chamber. 
It steams and glitters lilue with sulptiur. 
Whel the steel, the raven croaks! 
Light the torch. Zernebuck is yelling! 
Whet the sieel, sons of tlie Diagon I 
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist ! 



The black clouds are low over the thane's 
cast le : 

The eagle screams — he rides on their bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalhi look forth. 

The race of Hengist will .send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, inaideus of Val- 
halla! 

.And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your iialls, 

Many a lieliiied head. 



Dark sits the evening upon the thane's cisile. 

The black clouds gather round ; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the va- 
liant ! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red 
CTtisl against them ; 

He. the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner. 

Red, wide, and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant ; 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broKen 
bucklers ; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts 
warm from the wound ! 




All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance: 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of f)rinces, 

Kiigmes break down the fences of the battle 

.All nnjst perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Hor^a is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the 

sword ! 
Let your blades drink bl(«>d like wine; 
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter. 
By the light ot the blazing halls! 
Strong be your swords while your blood is 

warm. 
And spare neither for pity nor fear, 
F(ir vengeance hath but an hour; 
Strong hale itself shall expire ! 
I also must perish. 

Notf. — "It will readily occur to the anti- 
quary, that the.«!e verses are intended i.i iiin- 
laie the antique poetry of the Scalds — the 



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riiiiistrels of the old Sraiidinaviaus — the race, 
as *he Liiureate so happily terms them, 

" Stern to inflict, ami stuhborn to endure. 
Who smiled in death." 

The poetry of the Ana-Jo-Saxons. after their 
civilisation and conversion, was of a different 
and softer character ; hut. in tlie circumstances 
of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed 
to return to the wild strains which animated 
her forefathers dnrins' the times of Paganism 
and untamed ferociiy," 

Oiap. xxxii. 



(4.)— REBECCA'S HYMN. 

" It was in the twilislit of the day when her 
trial, if it could be called such, had taken 
place, that a low knock was heard at the door 
ol Rebecca's prison chamber. Itdisturbed not 
the inmate. wh(» was then engaged in the 
eveninsr prayer recommended by her relisrion, 
and which concluded with a hymn, which we 
have ventured thus to translate into Eiig- 
lish:" 

When Israel, of tlie Lord beloved. 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fatliers' God before her moved. 

An awful^uide in smoke and flame. 
By day. aloiiR the astonish'd lands, 

'I'he cloudy pillar glided slow; 
By nisht. Arabia's crimson'd sands 

fieturii'd the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise. 

Anil trump and timbrel answer'd keen. 
And Zion's daughters poiir'd their lays. 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen ! 

Wlien brightly shines the prospierous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh. when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou. lotig-sufferinK, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams. 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, "The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought. 

Are mine accepted sacrifice.' 

Chap. xl. 



^ 



(5.)— THE BLACK KNIGHT'S SONG. 

" At the point of their journey at which we 
take them up, this joyous pair were engaged 
in singing a viielai, as it was called, in which 
the clown bore a stiff and mellow burthen to 
the better instructed Knight of the Fetterlock, i 
And thus rail the duty :" I 



Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Mane, love, morn is begun. 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up III the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his 

horn, 
I'he echo rings merry from rock and from 

tree, 
'Tis time to arou.se thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA. 

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. 
Aroiind my soft pillow while softer dreams 

flit; 
For wliat are the joys that in waking v»e 

prove, 
Compared with these visions, O Tybalt ! my 

love ? 
Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol 

shrill. 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the 

hill. 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I 

prove. 
But think not 1 dream'd of thee, Tybalt, my 

love. Chap. xli. 



(6.) — SONG. 

THE BLACK KNIGHT ANP WAMBA. 

"The Jester next struck into another carol, 
a sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, 
catching up the tune, replied in the like 
manner. 

KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

There came three merry men from south, 
west, and north, 
Ever more sing the roundelav ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 
And where was the widow might say them 
nay? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he 
came. 
Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were men of 
great fame. 
And where was the widow might say him 
nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire. 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. 
For she was the widow would say him nay. 



The next that came forth, swore by blood and 
by nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage 
was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him 
nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap GrifTith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor Ap Khice. quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too 
few. 
And she bade the Welsh.niun wend his way. 



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But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of 
Kent. 
Joliily smsinar his ronndeliiy ; 
He spoke to the widow of livins and rent. 
And where was the widow could say him 
nay ? 

BOTH. 

So the knisht and the squire were both left in 
the mire. 
There for to sins the roundelay ; 
For a yeoiiiiiii of Kent, wiili Ins yearly rent. 
There ne'er was a widow could say him 
nav. Chap. xli. 



(7,)_FUNKRAL IIVMN. 

" Four maidens. Rowena leadins the choir, 
raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of 
winch we have only been able to decipher 
two or three stanzas :" 
Dusr, unto dust. 
To this iill iriiist ; 

Tlie tenant hath resisn'd 
The faded form 
To WHste and worm — 
Corruption claims her kind. 

Tliroush paths unknown 
Thy soul liatli flown. 

To seek the realms of woe. 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purse and stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place. 
By Mary's ?race. 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 
Till prayers and alms. 
And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 

Chap, xliii. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.) — OHAP. XiX. 

Awav ! our journey lies th'-oush dell and 

dinsle. 
Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid 

mother. 
Where the broad oak, with interceptin§r 

boushs. 
Cliequers the sun-beam in the green sward 

alley — 
Up and away !— for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the fflad sun is on his throne : 
Less pleasar.t, and less safe, when Cynthia's 

lamp. 
With doubtful glimmer, lights the dreary 

forest. Ellrick Foitsl. 

(2.)— CHAP. XXI. 

When autumn nieh's were Ion? and drear. 
And fori st walks were d;irk and dim. 

How sweet I V on the inl'/rim's ear 
Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music's tone. 
And Music took Devotion's wing. 

And. like the bird that hails the sun, 
Thev soar to heaven, and soarinsrsm? 

The Hermit of Si. Chmenl's Well. 



\ 



(3.)— CHAP. XXVU. 

The hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire . 
The fr\ar will often play ine fool, 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 

(4., — CHAP. XXIX. 

This wandering race, sever'd from other men, 
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts; 
The seas, the woods.'the deserts which they 

haunt. 
Find them acquainted with their secret 

treasures; 
And unregarded herbs, and flowei^ and 

blossoms. 
Display uiidieam'd-of powers when gather'd 

by tliem. The Jew. 

(3.) — CHAP. XXXt. 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

V\ Inch, as the lark arises to the sky, 

'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest 

dew. 
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and 

tears ! 
Anselm parts otherwise. Old Play. 

(6.) — CHAP. XXXIII. 

Trust me. each state must have it.s policies ; 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their 

charters; 
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 
For not since Adam wore Ins verdant apron. 
Hath man with man in social union dwelt. 
But laws were made to draw that union chjser. 
Old PUiy. 

(7.) — CHAP. XXXVI. 

Arouse the ti?er of Kyrcanian deserts. 
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering 

fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. Anonymous. 

(8) —CHAP, xxxvii. 

Say not my art is fraud— all live by seemin?. 
The beggar begs vrith it. and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seem- 
ing : 
The clergy scorn it not, and the hold soldier 
Will eke with it Ins service— All admit it. 
All practise it ; and he who is content 
With showing what he is, shall have small 

credit 
In church, or camp, or state. — So wags the 
world. Old Play. 

(9.)— CHAP. XXXVIII. 

Stern was the law which bade its vol'ries 

leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 
Stern was the law, which at the winninsf 

wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to 

smile ; 
But sterner still, when high the iron-rod 
Of ivrant power she shook, and call'd ihat 

power of God. Middle Aijes 



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Hpitapi) on Plrs. lEisltmc' 



1819. 

Plain, as her native dignity of mind, 
Arise the toinh of lier we have resisn'd ; 
Uiiflaw'd and stainless be the marhle scroll, 
Enildeni of lovely form and candid soul — 
But, oh I what symhol may avad, to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so 

well ! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of life. 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife ! 
Or on the tablet stamp ea(^h title dear, 
By which tliine urn, Rupheniia, claims the 

tear! 
Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume 
Patience in ang^uish, hope beyond the tomb, 
Kesisn'd, though sad, this votive verse shall 

flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



iFrom X\\t Ji^onastrrg* 



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n.)_ SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY 
OF AVENEL. 

NO TWEblD RIVER. 

I. 

Aferrily swim we. the moon shines brisfht. 

Both current and ripple are dancin? in lisht. 

We have roused the night raven, I heard him 

croak. 
As we plashed alon? beneath the oak 
Tnat flina;s its broad branches so far and so 

wide. 
Their shadows are dancing: in midst of the 

tide. 
"Who wakens my nestlings!" the raven he 

said, 
" My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ! 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal. 
And I'll liave my share with the pike and the 

eel." 

2. 
Merrily swim we. the monn shines bright. 
There 's a eolden gleam on the distant height : 
There 's a silver shower on the alders dank. 
And the drooping willows that wave on the 

hank. 
1 see the Abbey, both turret and tower, 
It is all astir for the vesper hour; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving each 

cell. 
But where 's Father Philip should toll the 

bell? 

3. 
Merrily swim we. the moon shines bright. 
Downward we drift Ihrouffli shadow and light. 
I iider yon rock the eddies sleep, 
Calcn and silent, dark and deep. 



The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool. 
He has lighted his candle of deatn and of 

dool: 
Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyes on 

thee ! 

4. 

Good luck to vour fishing, whom watch ye to- 
night? ■ 

A man of mean or a man of might ? 

Is it layman or priest that must float in your 
cove. 

Or lover who crosses to visit his love ? 

Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we 
pass'd,— 

•' God's blessing (m the warder, he lock'd the 
bridge fast! 

All that come to my cove are sunk. 

Priest or lavman, lover or monk." 



Landed— landed ! the black hook hath won. 
Else had you seen Berwick with mornin? sun ' 
Sam ye. and save ye. and blithe mot ye be. 
For seldom they land that go swinirniiig with 
me. Chap. v. 



TO THE SUB-PRIOR. 

Good evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you 

ride. 
With your mule so fair, and your mantle so 

wide; 
But ride vou through valley, or ride you o'er 

hiu; 

There is one that has warrant to wait on you 
still. 

Back, back. 

The volume black I 

I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came you hut here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's 

bier? 
Sain you. and save you, be wary and wise, 
Kide back with tiie book, or you'll pay for 

your prize. 

Back, back, 

"^I'here 's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, I bid thee bear 

back. 

" In the name of my Master." said the 
ast«mished Monk, "that name before which 
all things created tremble, I conjure thee to 
say what thou art that hauntest me thus?'" 

The same voice replied, — 

That which is neither ill nor well, 
That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 
A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping 
dream ; 

A form that men spy 
With the half-shut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am I. 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my 

right ! 
Like the star when it shoots, I can dart 

through the night; 



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I can (liince on the torrent, and ride on the 

Hir. 
And travel the world with the bonny night- 
mare. 

Again, a^ain. 
At the crook o^ the elen. 
Where bickers tlie burnie, I'll meet thee 

agam. 
Men of K(K)d are bold as sarkless i 
Men of rude are wild nnd reckless. 
Lie thou still 
In the noiik of the liiU, 
For those be before thee that wish thee ill. 
Chap. IX. 



HALBERT'S INCANTATION. 

Thrice to the holly brake- 
Thrice to the well:— 

I bid thee awake. 

White Maid of Avenel ! 

Noon eleanis on the Lake — 
Noon glows on the Fell — 

Wake thee. O wake, 
White Maid of Avenel. 



TO HALBERT. 

youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou 

call me ? 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal 

thee! 
He that seeks to deal with us must know nor 

fear, nor failiiis; 
To coward and churl our speech is dark, our 

pitls are unavailiiis. 
The breeze that biought me hither now must 

sweep Egyptian ground. 
The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Arahy is 

bound ; 
The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze 

sighs for my stay. 
For I must sail a thousand miles before the 

close of day. 



What 1 am I must not show — 
What I am thou couldst not know — 
Something betwixt heaven and hell — 
Something that neither stood nor fell — 
Something that through thy wit or will 
May work thee good— may work thee ill. 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow, 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow, 
Dancing by the haunted sprmg. 
Hiding on the whirlwind's wing; 
Aping in fantastic fashion 
Every change of human passion, 
VN liile o'er our frozen minds they pass, 
like shadows from the mirror'd glass. 
Wayward, fickle, is our moixl. 
Hovering betwixt bad and good, 
Happier than brief-dated man, 
Living ten times o'er his span ; 
Far less happy, for we have 
Help nor hope beyond the grave! 
Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; 
Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. 
This is all that 1 can show — 
This IS all that thou may'st know. 

1 SackUki — Iiuioc^Dt. 



^ 



Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell, 
To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. 
But thou hast loved the heron and hawk, 
.More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And thou has', loved the lance and the sword, 
.More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track, 
.More than the lines and the letters black; 
kw\ thou art a ranger of moss and wood. 
And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. 



Thy craven fear my trnih accused, 

Thine idlehood my tr'ist abused; 

He that draws to harbour late, 

Must .>leep without, or burst the gate. 

There is a star for thee which burn'd, 

Us influence wanes, it* course is turn'd ; 

Valour and constancy alone 

Can bring thee back the chance that's flown. 



Within that awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries ! 
Happiest they of human race. 
To whom God has gramed grace 
To read, to tear, to liope. to pray, 
'lolifi the latch, and force the way; 
And better had they ne'er been horn, 
W ho read to doubt, or read to scorn. 



Many a fathom dark and deep 
1 have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glowing- 
Ethereal music ever flowing— 

The sacred pledge of Heav'n 
All things revere, 
Each in his sphere, 

Save man for whom 'twas giv'n: 
Lend thy hand, and tiiou shalt spy 
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 



Fearest thou to go with me ? 
Still It IS free to thee 

A peasant to dwell ; 
Thou may'st drive the dull steer. 
And chase the king's deer. 
But never more come near 

'I'liis haunted well. 



Here lies the volume thou hast boldly sought; 
Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly be bought. 



Rash thy deed. 
Mortal vveed 
To immortal flames applying ; 
Kasher trust 
Has thing of dust. 
On his own weak worth relying; 
Strip thee of such fences vnm. 
Strip, and prove thy luck again. 



Mortal warp and mortal woof 
Cannot brook this charmed roof; 
All that mortal art hath wrought 
In our ceil returns to nought. 
The molten gold returns to clay, 
The polish'd diamond melts away ; 



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All is alter'd, all is flown. 
Nought stands fast but truth alone. 
Not for that thy quest ^ive o'er : 
Courage I prove thy chance once more. 



Alas! alas! 

Not ours the prare 

These holy characters to trace : 

Idle forms of painted air. 

Not to us is given to share 
The boon hestovv'd on Adam's race. 

With patience bide, 

Heaven will provide 
The fittnig time, the fitting guide. 

Chap. Xii. 



HALBERT'S SECOND INTERVIEW 
WITH THE WHITE LADY OF 
AVENEL. 

"She spoke, and her speech was still song, 
or rather measured chant; hut if, as now. 
more familiar, it flowed occasionally in modu- 
lated blank verse, and, at other times, in the 
lyrical measure which she had used at their 
former meeting." 

This is the day when the fairy kind 

Sit weeping aione for their hopeless lot. 

And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing 

wind, 
And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal 

grot; 
For this IS a day that the deed was wrought, 
In which we have neither part nor share. 
For the children of clay was salvation bought, 
But not for the forms of sea or air! 
And ever the mortal is most forlorn, 
Who nieeteth our race on the Friday morn. 



Daring youth ! for thee it is well, 

Here callimr me in haunted dell, 

That thy heart has not quail'd, 

Nor thy courage fail'd. 

And that thou couldst brook 

The ansrv look 

(M" Her of Avenel. 

Did one limb shiver, 

()r an eyelid quiver. 

Thou wert lost for ever. 
Though 1 am form'd from the ether blue. 
And my blood is of the unfallen dew. 
And thou art framed of mud and dust, 
lis thine to speak, reply I must. 

A mightier wizard far than I 
Wields o'er the universe his power; 
Him owns the eagle in the sky, 
The turtle in the bower. 
Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, 
He wields the heart of man at will, 
From ill to good, from good to ill. 
In col and castle-tower. 



tv 



Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 
Is fill'd with Mary Avenel ! 
Ask thy pride, why <icornful look 
In Mary's view it will not brook \ 



Ask it. why thou seek'st to rise 
Ainonff the tiiishfy and the wise, — 
Why thoii spurn'st thy lowly lot,— 
Why thy pastimes are forgot,—- 
Why thou wouldst In bloodv strife 
Mend thy luck or lose thy life? 
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell, 
Sighing from its secret cell, 
"I'is for Mary Avenel. 

Do not ask me ; 

On doubts like these thou canst not task me. 

We only see the passing show 

Of human passions' ebb and flow; 

And view the pageant's idle glance 

As mortals eye the northern dance, 

When thousand streamers, flashing bright. 

Career it o'er the brow of night. 

And gazers mark their changeful gleams. 

But feel no influence from their beams 

By ties mysterious link'd, our fated race 
Holds strange connection with the sons of 

men. 
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, 
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, 
That star, when culminating in its orbit. 
Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew. 
And this bright font received it— and a Spirit 
Rose from the fountain, and her date of life 
Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel 
And with the star that rules it. 



look on my girdle — on this thread of gold— 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer. 
And. but there i.s a spell on't. would not bind, 
Light as they are. the folds of my thin rohe. 
But when 'twas doiin'd, it was a massive chain, 
Such as might bind the champion of the Jewg, 
Even when his locks were longest — it hath 

dwindled. 
Hath 'minish'd in its sub.stance and its 

strength. 
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. 
When this frail thread gives way, I to the ele- 
ments 
Resign the principles of life they lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 



Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, 
Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh. 
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the light- 
house ; 
There is an influence sorrowful and fearful. 
That dogs its downward course. Disastrous 

passion. 
Fierce hate and rivalrv. are in the aspect 
That lowers upon its fortunes. 

Complain not on me. child of clay, 
If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We. who soar thy sphere above. 
Know not aught of hate or love; 
As will or wisdom rules thy mood. 
My gifts to evil turn or good. 

When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, 
[,et this token meet his eye. 
The sun is westering from the dell. 
Thy wish is granted— fare thee well I 
Chav. xvii. 



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THE WIIITR LADY TO MARY 
AVENEL. 

Maiden, whose sorr')ws wail tlie r.ivinij Dead. 
WhoMe eves snail romuiune with the Dead 
AliVe. 
Maiden, intend ! Beneath mv foot lie.s hid 
The Word, the Law. the Path which thou 
dost s'rive 
To find, and Ciin.st not find. — Could Spirits 
shed 
Tears for their lot. it were my Jot to weep, 
Showins the roaJ whif^h I shall never tread, 
'Ihdush my foot points it. — Sleep, eiernal 
.vieep. 
Dark, lone, and cold forsetfiilness my lot !— 

But do not thou at human ills repiiie j 
Secure there lies full guerdon In this spot 
For al! the woes that wait frail Adam's 
line — 
Stoop then and make it your's, — I may not 
make it mine! 

Ckaj). XXX 



THE WHITE LADY TO EDWARD 
GLEXDINNING. 

Thou who seek'st my foiint.iin lone. 
With thoughts and hopes limu dar'st not own 
Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad. 
When mo.st his brow seem'd dark and sad ; 
Hie thee back, thou find'st not here 
Corpse or coflin. enive or bier ; 
The Dead Alive is gone and fled— 
Go thou, and join the Living Dead ! 

The Living Dead, whose sober brow 

Oft shruiids such thoiigtits as thou hast now. 

Whose hearts within are seldom cu-red 

Of passions by their vows abjured ; 

Where, under sad and solemn show, 

Vam hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow. 

Seek the convent's vaulted room, 

Prayer and vigil he thy doom ; 

Dotf tlie green, and don the grey, 

'J'o the cloister hence away ! 

Chap, xxxii. 



THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL. 

Fare thee well, thou Holly green! 

Thou Shalt seldom now be seen. 

With ail thy glittering garlands bending. 

As to greet my slow descending, 

Starilins; the hewilder'd hmd, 

V\'ho sees thee wave without a wind. 

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long 
Slialt thou murmur lo niy song. 
V\ hile thy crystal bubbles glancing. 
Keep the time in mystic dancing. 
Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 
Like mortal schemes by fortune cross'd. 

The knot of fate at length is tied. 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride I 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Senil the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fall'n is lofty Avenel ! 

Chaii. xxxvii. 



(2.) — BORDER BALLAD, 

1 
March, march. Ettrick and Teviotdale, 
Why the deil dinna ve mari;h forward m 
order ? 
March, march. Eskdale and Liddesdale. 
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the 
Border. 
.Many a banner spread. 
Flutters above your head, 
.Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then. 
Sons of the mountain glen. 
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish 
glory. 

2. 
Come from the hills where your hirsels are 
gr.izing, 
Come from the glen of the l)uck and the 
roe; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blaziiiir, 
Come with I he buckler, the lance, and the 
bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeils are bounding. 
Stand to your arms, and march in good 
order, 
England shall manv a day 
Tell of the bloody fray. 
When the Blue Bonnets c^me over the 
Border. Chap xxv. 



MOTTOES. 

(I ) — CH.^P. I. 

ay! the Monks, the Monks, thev did the 

mischief! 
Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition 
Of a nwi\ gross and superstitious age.— 
May He be praised that sent the liealthful 

tempest. 
And scattered all these pestilential vapours; 
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot 
Throned oa the seven hills with her cup of 

gold, 

1 will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, 

I hat old Moll White took wmg with cat and 

broomstick, 
And raised the last night's thunder. 

OlA Play. 

(2.) — CHAP. II. 

In yon lone vale his early youth wa.'s bred. 
\ot solitary then— the bngle-horn 
Of fell Alecto often waked its windings. 
From where the brook joins the majestic river. 
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt, 
Where oozes forth its first and feeble stream- 
let. Old Flay. 
(3.)— CHAP. V. 
A priest, ye cry, a prie.si ! — lame shepherds 

they. 
How shall they gather in the straggling flock ? 
Dumb dogs vvhicli bark not— how shall they 

compel 
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire, 
And snuflF the mess neat-handed Phillis 

dresses. 
Than on tlie snow-wreath battle with the 

wolf. Reformation 



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(4)— CHAP. VI. 

Now let us sil in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the Chnrch, 
Tliat these foul lares be sever'd from the 

wheat, 
We are, I trust, agreed.— Yet how to do this. 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine- 
plants, 
Craves good advisement. 

The Riformalion. 

(8)— CHAP. VIII. 

Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's trea- 
sure. 
Though fools are lavish on't— the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. 

Old Play. 

(8) — CHAP. XI. 

You call this education, do you not T 
Why. 'tis the forced march of a herd of bid- 
Before a shoutin? dtover. The glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward. 
While all t'lie blows, the oaths, the indignittion. 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-faied laggard 
Thai cripples in the rear. Old Play. 

(7.) — CHAP. XII. 

There's something in that ancient supersti- 
tion, 
Which, erring as it is. our fancy loves. 
The spring that, with its thousand crystal 

bubbles. 
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 
Tn secret solitude, may well he deem'd 
The haunt of something purer, more refined, 
And mightier than ourselves Old Play 

(8) —CHAP. XIV. 

Nay, let me have the friends who eat my 

victuals. 
As various as my dishes. The feast's 

naught. 
Where one huge plate predominates. —John 

Plaintext, 
He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; 
The worthy Alderman, a hutter'd dumpling; 
Yon pair of whisker'd Cornets, ruffs and 

rees; 
Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in 

sippets. 
And so the board is spread at once and fill'd 
On the same principle — Variety. 

iVeio Play. 

(9 )-CHAP. XV. 

He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new 

phrases. 
And vends ihein f<uth as knaves vend gilded 

counters. 
Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in 

payment. Old Play. 

(10.) — CHAP. XVI. 

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet 
Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise. 
Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immor- 
talize 
Mortality itself, and makes the essence 
Of his whole happiness the trim of court. 

Magnetic Ijidy. 



(n.)-cHAP. XIX. 

Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and 
honour ; 

There lies ttie pelf, in sum to bear thee 
through 

The dance of youth, and the turmoil of man- 
hood. 

Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; 

But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 

Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition. 

And raising thy low rank above the churls 

That till the earth for bread ! Old Play. 

(H.) — CHAP. XXI. 

Indifferent, but indifferent— pshaw ! he doth it 

not 
Like one who is his craft's master — ne'erthe- 

less 
I have seen a (slown confer a blood v coxccmib 
On one who was a master of defence. 

Old Play. 

(13.) — CHAP. XXII. 

Ves. life hath left him— every busv thought. 
Each fiery pa.ssion. everv strong affection. 
The sense of outward ill and inward .';orrow, 
Are fled at once from the pale trunk before 

me ; 
.And I have given that which spoke and 

moved. 
Thought, acted, snffer'd. as a living man, 
To be a ghastly form of bloody clay. 
Soon the foul food for reptiles. Old Play. 

(14)— CHAP. XXIII. 

'Tis when the wound is stiffening with the 

cold, 
The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the 

heat 
And fiery fever of his soul is past, 
1 he sinner feels remorse. Old Piny. 

(15.) — CHAP. XXIV. 

I'll walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution. 
My heart with courage, and my hand with 

weapon. 
Like him who ventures on a lion's den. 

Old Play. 

(16.)— CHAP. XXVII. 

Now, by Our Lady Sheriff, 'tis hard 

reckoning, 
That I. with every odds of birth and baronv. 
Should be detain'd here for the casual death 
Of a wild forester, whtise utmost having 
Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 
In which he sticks his hedge-knife. 

Old Play. 

(17.) — CHAP. XXX. 

You call it an ill ansel— it may be so ; 
But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, 
'Tis the first fiend ere counsell'd man to rise. 
And win the bliss the sprite himself had 
forfeited. Old Play. 

(18)— CHAP. XXXI. 

At school I knew him— a sharp-witted youth. 
Grave, thoughtful, and reserved among his 

mates. 
Turning the hours of sport and food to 

labour. 
Starving his body to inform his mind 

Old Play. 



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(19)— CHAP. XXXIII. 

N"w on my faith this sesir is nil entangled, 
I. ike to the yam-clew of the drowsy knitter, 
Drags'd hy the frolic kiHen through the 

Ciil>m. 
While the good danie sits nodding o'er the 

fire- 
Masters, attend ; 'twill crave some skill to 

clear it. OH Play. 

(aO)— CHAP. XXXIV. 

It is not texts will do it— Churrli artillery 
Are silenced soon by real ordnance, 
And canons are but vain opposed to cannon, 
till, coin your crosier, melt your church plate 

down. 
Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls. 
And quart" the long-saved hogsheads — Turn 

them out 
Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard 

your wall. 

And they will venture for't. 

Old Play. 



Sfxmx the ^fjtjot. 



1820. 



(1.) — THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

"At length the pardoner pulled from his 
scrip a small pliial of clear water, of which 
he vaunted the quality in the following 
verses:" — 

Listneth. gode people, everiche one. 
For in the londe of Bahylone, 
Far eastward I wot it lyeth. 
And is the fir>t londe the sonne espieth, 
Ther. as lie cumeth fro out the se ; 
In this ilk lonile. as thinketh nie, 
Kighi as holie leg;, ndes tell, 
Siiottreili from a roke a well, 
And falleth into ane hath of ston, 
Wher chast >usaniie in times Ions gon, 
Was wont to wash her bndie and lim — 
Mickle vertue hath that streine, 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by this little glas— 
Throusli nisflites cold and dayes Uote, 
Hiderward I have it brought ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide, 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside; 
Puttetli this waier under her nese. 
Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 

Chnp. xxvii. 



(2.) — MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHAP. V. 

Fn the wild storm. 

The seaman hews his mast down, and the 

merchant 
Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd 

precious : 
So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions, 
Cast off their favourites. Old Play. 



(2.) — CHAP. \I. 

Thou hast each secret of the householu, 

Francis. 
1 dare he sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
Steepintc thy curious humour in fat ale. 
And III the butler's tattle— ay. or chatting 
With the glib waiting-woman oer lier 

C4>UltltS — 

These bear the key to each dome.stic 
mystery. Old Play. 

(3.)— CHAP. VIII. 

The sacred tapers' lights are gone. 
Grey mo.ss has clad the altar slone 
'I'he holy image is o'erlhrown. 

The bell has ceased to toll. 
The loiigribb'd aisles are burst and shrunk, 
Tlie holy shrines to ruin sunk, 
Depaned is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul ! Rediviva. 

(4.)— CHAP. XI. 

Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then : 
The woods are vocal, and the flowers all 

odour ; 
Its very blast has mirth m't, — and the 

maidens. 
The while they don their cloaks to skreett 

their kirtles. 
Laugh at the ram that wets them. 

Old Play. 

(5.) —CHAP. XII. 

Nay, hear me. brother— I am elder, wiser. 
And holier than thou; and use, and wisdom. 
And holiness, have peremptory claims. 
And will be listen'd to. Old Play. 

(6)— CHAP. XIV. 

Not the wild billow, when it breaks its 
barrier — 

Not the wild wind, escaping from its 
cavern — 

Not the wild, fiend, that mingles both toge- 
ther. 

And pours their rage upon the ripening 
harvest. 

Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful 
meeting — 

Comic, yet fearful— droll, and yet destructive. 
The Conspiracy. 

(7.)— CHAP. XVI. 

Youth! thou wear'st to manhood now. 

Darker lip and darker brow. 

Statelier step, more pensive mien. 

In thy face and gait are seen : 

Thou must now brook midnight watches. 

Take thy food and sport by snatches! 

For the gambol and the jest, 

Thou wert wont to love the best. 

Graver follies must thou follow. 

But as senseless, false, and hollow. 

Life, a Poem. 

(8.) — CHAP. XIX. 

It is and is not — 'lis the thing I so'iffht for. 

Have kneel'd for, pray'd for. risk'd my fame 
and life for. 

And vet it is not— no more than the shadow 

Upon the hard, cold. flat, and polish'd mirror. 

U the warm, graceful, rounded, living sub- 
stance 

Which It presents in form and lineament. 

Old Play. 



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(».)— CHAP. XTIII. 

Give me n morsel on the greensward rather, 
Coarse as you will the cooking— Let the fresh 

spring 
I'.uhhle beside my napkin— and the free birds, 
Twilterins and chirping, hop from bough to 

bough. 
'I'd claim the crumbs 1 leave for perquisites — 
Your prison- feasts I like not. 

The Woodman, a Drama. 

(10) — CHAP. XXIV. 

'Tis a weary life this 

Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around 

me, 
Anl my sad hours spent with as sad compan- 
ions. 
Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own 

mischances, 
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 

The Woodsman. 

(II.) — CHAP. XXV. 

And when Love's torch hath set the heart in 
flame. 

Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cau- 
tions. 

Giving such aid as the old grey-beard Sexton. 

Who from the ciiurcli-vault drags his crazy 
engine. 

To ply it.s dribbling ineffectnal streamlet 

Against a conflagraiion. Old Play. 

(12.)— CHAP, xxvni. 

■yes, it is she whose eyes look'd on thy child- 
hood. 

And watch'd witli trembling hope thy dawn 
of youth, 

That now, with these same eye-balls, dimm'd 
with age. 

And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dis- 
honour. Old Play. 

(13.) — CHAP. XXX. 

In some breasts passion lies conceal'd and 

silent. 
Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, 
Tntil occasion, like the linstock, lights it ; 
Then comes at once the lightning and the 

thunder. 
And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 
Old Play. 

(14.) — CHAP. XXXIII. 

Death distant ?— No, alas I he's ever with us, 
And shakes the dart at us in all our actings ; 
He lurks within our cup, while we're m 

health; 
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
W^c cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel, 
But Death is by to seize us when he lists. 

The Spanish Father. 

(15) — CHAP. XXXIV. 

Ay, Pedro,— Come you here with mask and 

lantern. 
Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — 
Why, youngster, thou niayst cheat the old 

Duenna, 
Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet : 
But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, 
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or 

bribe. 
And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. 
The Spanish Father. 



(16.)-CHAP. XXXV. 

It is a time of danger, not of revel. 
When churchmen turn to masquers. 

The Spanish Father. 

(17.)— CHAP. XXXVIl. 

Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild 

limes. 
Oft stood upon a cast— the gamester's ducat, 
^o often staked, and lii.-^t, and then regam'd, 
Scarce knew so many iiazanls. 

I'he Spanish Father. 



iFrom mcnUtoorth. 



1821. 

(l.)—GOLDTH RED'S SONG. 
"After some brief interval, Master Gold- 
thred, at the earnest instisation of mine host, 
anil the joyous concurrence of his guests, in- 
dulged the company with the lollowing morsel 
of melody:" — 
Of all the birds on bnsh or tree, 

Commend me to the owl, 
Since he may best ensample be 
'I'o those the cup that trowL 
For when the sun hath left the west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves the best, 
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at 

his jest. 
Then, though hours be late, and weather fool. 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bouny 
owl. 
The lark is but a bumpkin fowl. 

He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 
But my blessings upon the jolly owl, 
That all night blows his hoin. 
Then up with your cup till you stagger in 

speech. 
And match nie this catch till you swagger and 

screech. 
And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; 
For, though hours be late, and weather be 

foul. 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 
owl. Chap. ii. 



(2) — SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT 
KENILWORTH. 

" At the approach of the Queen, upon sight of 
whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the 
gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his 
keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the 
night, and all her magnificent train." 
What stir, what turmoil, have we for the 

nones T 
Stand back, my masters, or beware your 

bones ! 
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 
Yet soft— nay stay— what vision have we heret 
What dainty darling's this— what peerless 

peer? 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 579 



What loveliest face, that lovin? ranks enford, 
I.Ike hri!?ljtest (ii irnoiiiJ cuased in piiresi gold? 
Diizzled and blind, mine office I ror.«ake. 
My club, my key. my knee, my homuse take. 
Brislil [)aiagiin. pa.ss on in jov and bliss ;— 
Beshrew the eate that opes not wide at such 
a siglit as this ! i Chaj). xxx. 



(3.) — MOTTOES. 

(I.)— CHAP. IV. 

Not serve two masters ? — Here 's a youth will 

try It — 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his 

due; 
Says grace before he doth a deed of villany. 
And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis 

acted. Old. Flay. 

(a.)— CHAP. V. 

He was a man 

Versed in the World as pilot in his compass. 
Tlie nt-edle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his 

sails 
With vantage to the gale of others' passion. 
The Deceiver— a Tragedy. 

(3) — CHAP. VII. 

This is He 

Who rides on the court-gale; controls its 

tides : 
Knows all their Jiecret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile e.talts 
He shines like any rainbow— and, perchance. 
His colours are as transient. Old Play. 

(4.) -CHAP. XIV. 

This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good 

fellow; 
There are two bulls fierce battling on the 

green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down. 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd. 
Which have small interest in their brulzie- 

ment, 
May pasture there in peace. Old Play. 

(5 ) —CHAP. xvti. 
Well, then, our course is chosen; .spread the 

sail,— 
Heave oR the lead, and mark the soundings 

well; 
Loi>U to the helm, good master ; many a shoal 
Marks this stern coast, and rocks where sits 

the siren. 
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 
The Shipwreck 

(6.) — CHAP. XXIII. 

Now God he good to me in this wild pilgri- 
mage ! 

All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 

O, who would tie a woman T who that fool, 

A weepin?, pining, faithful, loving woman? 

bhe has hard measure still where she hopes 
kindest. 

And all her bounties only make insrates. 

Love's Pil'jrimage.. 



Thii 
the H« 
Kovel.l Theongi 



m9 ^. 



(7 )-ClIAP. XXV. 

Hark ! the bells summon^ and the bugle calls, 
But she the fairest an.swers noi ; the ijde 
Of nobles and of ladies ihrongs the halls. 
But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 
What eve.s were thine, proud Prince, which in 

the gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense. 
That o'er the gl(jw-worm doth the star esteem, 
And meril's miKlesl blush o'er coiirilv inso- 
lence? The Glass Slipper. 

(8.)— CHAP. XXVIIl 

What, man, ne'er laclc a draught, when the 

full can 
Stand.-* at thine elbow, and craves emptying! — 
Nay. fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men's vices, since 1 have mvself 
Of virtue nousht to boast of —I'm a striker. 
Would have the world sinke with me. pell- 
mell, all. Pandmmojiium. 

(9.) -CHAP. XXIX. 

Now fare thee well, my master ! if true ser- 

vice 
Be Riierdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the 

tow-line, 
And let our barks across the pathle.ss floo<l 
Ht)ld different courses. Shipulreck. 



(10.)— CHAP. XXX. 

Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she 

comes ! 
Speak for us. hells ! speak for us, shrill- 

tonsued tuckets! 
Stand to the linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe 
Came stretch'd in turband ranks to storm the 

ramparts. 
We will have pageants too; but that craves 

wit. 
And I'm a rou?h-hewn soldier. 

The Vugin-Queen,a Tragi- Comedy. 

(11.) -CHAP. XXXII. 

The wisest sovereigns err like private men. 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder. 
Which better had been branded by the hang- 
man. 
What then 1 Kings do their best,— and they 

ami we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event 
Old Play. 
(H)-CHAP. xxxm. 

Here stands the victim — there the proud be- 
trayer. 

E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling 
do?s 

Lies at the hunter's feet, who couneous prof- 
fers 

To some tiish dame, the Dian of the chase. 

To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp 
blade. 

To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodsman. 



an imitation of Ga«co\gne'8 Vfrses. spoken by of the Princely Pleasares of Kenilworth, by the »ame 
lean porter, as raeiilinned in the text [of the author, in the History of Kenilworth. Chiswick, 1631 
I may be found in the republication ' 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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(13.) -CHAP. XL. 

High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beam' 

itiSt 
And darkness flics with her deceitful sha- 

dows; 
So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 

Old Play. 



jrront the J^frate. 



1821. 

(l.) — THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. 
" .\ Norwegian invocation, still preserved 
in the island of Unst, under the name of the 
Son? of the Keim-kennar, thoueh some call it 
the Son? of the Tempest. The following is a 
free translation, it being: impossible to render 
literally many of the elliplical and metaphori- 
cal terms of expression peculiar to the ancient 
Northern poetry :"— 

1. 
Stern eaRle of the far north-west. 
Thou that hearest in thy grasp the thunder- 
bolt, 
Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to 

madness, 
Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scat- 

terer of navies. 
Amidst the scream of thy rage. 
Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings. 
Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a 

[lerishing nation, 
Though the rushing of thy winss be like the 

roar of ten thousand waves, 
Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste. 
Hear tliou the voice of the Keim-kennar. 

2. 
Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, 
Tlieir dark-ereen heads lie prostrate beside 

their uprooted stems; 
Tlictu hast met the rider of the ocean, 
The tall, the siron? bark of the fearless rover, 
And she lias struck to thee the topsail 
That she had not veti'd to a royal armada: 
Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest 

amon? the clouds. 
The battled riuissive tower of the Jarl of for- 
mer days. 
And the cope-stone of the turret 
Is lyiii? upon Its hospitable hearth; 
But thou too Shalt stoop, proud compeller of 

clou<ls. 
When thou hearest the voice of the Reim- 

kennar. 

• 3. 
There are verses that can stop the stag in the 

forest, 
Ay, and when the dark-colour'd dog is opening 

on his track ; 
There are verses can make the wild hawk 

pause on the wing. 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and the 

jesses. 
And who knows the shrill whistle of the 

lowler. 



Thou who canst mock at the scream of the 

drowning mariner. 
And the crash of the ravaged forest. 
And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds. 
When the church hath fallen in the moment 

of prayer ; 
There are sounds which thou also must list. 
When they are chanted by the voice of the 

Keim-kennar. 



Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the 
ocean, 

The widows wring their hands on the beach ; 

Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the 
land. 

The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; 

Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, 

Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; 

Cease thou the flashing of thine eye. 

Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armourv of 
Odin; 

Be thou SI ill at my bidding, viewless racer of 
the north-western heaven. — 

Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the Reim- 
kennar. 

5. 

Eagle of the far north-western waters. 

Thou hast hoard the voice of the Keim-ken- 
nar, 

Thou h;ist closed thy wide sails at her bid 
ding. 

And folded them in peace by thy side. 

My blessing be on thy retiring path ; 

W hen thou stoopest fnm* thy place on high. 

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the un- 
known ocean. 

Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; 

Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the 
voice of the Reim-kennar. 

Chap. vi. 



(2.) — CLAUD HALCRO'S SONG. 

MART. 

Farewell to Northmaven, 

Grey Hillswicke, farewell! 
To the calms of thy haven. 

The storms on thy fell- 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main. 
And to thee, bonny Mary ! 

We meet not again ! 

Farewell the wild ferry. 

Which Hacon could brave. 
When the peaks of the Skerry 

Were while in the wave. 
There's a maid may look over 

These wild waves m vain, — 
For the skifl!" of her lover — 

He comes not again ! 

The vows thou hast broke. 

On the wild currents fling them ; 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaidens sing them. 
New sweetness they'll give her 

Bewildering strain; 
But there's one who will never 

Believe them again. 



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O were there an island. 

TlKingli ever so wifd, 
Where wmnan c(»iild smile, and 

N<» man he beguiled — 
T(ti> temptnisf a siiaie 

To poor iiiortals were given ; 
And the nope would fix there, 

That should anchor in heaven. 

Chap. xii. 



(3.) — THE SONG OF HAROLD HAR- 
FAGER. 

The snn is rising: dimly red. 
The wind is wailin;; h)w and dread; 
From his cliff the easle sallies. 
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys; 
In the nnst the ravens liover. 
Peep the wild diijs from the cover, 
Screaminsc. croakins. bavin?, yelling, 
Each in his wild accents telling. 
"Soon we feast on dead and dying, 
Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying." 

Many a crest on air is streaming. 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming. 
Many an arm the axe upiears, 
Doom'd to hew the wood of spears. 
All alon? the crowded ranks 
Horses neigh and armour clanks; 
Chiefs are shunting, clariims ringing, 
U)ii(ler still the bard is singing. 
"Gather footmen, sather horsemen. 
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! 

" Halt ye not for food or slumber. 
View not vantage, count not number: 
Jolly reapers, forward still. 
Grow the crop on vale or hill. 
Thick or scatter'd. stiff or lithe. 
It shall down l)efore ihe scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright. 
Reap the harvest of the fight — 
Onward footmen, onward hor.«emen. 
To the charge ye gallant Norsemen ! 

"Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 
O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 
Hear the choice she spreads before ye, — 
Victorv. and wealth, and glory ; 
Or old Valhalla's roaring hail. 
Her ever-circling mead and ale, 
Where for eternity unite 
The joys of wassail and cf fight. 
Headlong forward, fool and liorsemen. 
Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen !"- 
Chap. XV. 



I Children of wild Thiile. we, 

From the deep caves of the sea. 
As the lark springs from the lea. 
Hither come, to share your glee. 

MERMAN. 

From reining of the water-horse, 

That bounded till the waves were foaming. 
Watching the infant tempest's course. 

Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 
From winding charge-notes on the shell. 

When Ihe huge whale and sword-fish duel. 
Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. 

When the winds and waves are cruel; 
Children of wild Thule, we 
Have plough 'd such furrows on the sea, 
As the steer dravvs on the lea. 
And hither we come to share your glee. 

MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 

W'e heard you in our twilight caves, 

A hundred fathom deep below. 
For notes of joy can pierce the waves. 

That drown each sound of war and woe. 
Those who dwell beneath the sea, 

I ove the sons of Thiile well ; 
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 

Dance, and song, and sounding shell. 
Children of dark Ihule, know. 
Those who dwell hy haaf and voe, 
Where your daring shallops row, 
Come to share the festal show. 

Chap. xvi. 



(4.) — SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND 
MERMEN. 

MERMAID. 

Fathoms deep beneath the wave. 

^^tringlng beads of glistering pearl. 
Singing the achievements brave 

Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 
Dwelling where the tempest's raving, 

Falls as light upon our ear. 
As the sigh of lover, craving 

Pity from his lady dear, 



(5- 



NORNA'S SONG. 



For leagues along the watery way. 

Through gulf and stream my course has 
been ; 
The billows know my Runic lay. 

And smooth tiieir crests to silent green. 

The billows know my Runic lay,— 

The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; 

But human hearts, more wild than they, 
Know but the rule of wayward vvill. 

One hour is mine, in all the year. 

To tell my woes, and one alone; 
\\heii gleariis this magic lamp, 'lis nere, — 

When ilies the mystic light, 'tis gone. 

Daughters of northern Magnus, hail ! 

The lamp is lit. the flame is clear,— 
To you I come to tell my tale. 

Awake, arise, my tale to liear ! 

Chap. xix. 



(6.) — CL.'VUD HALCRO AND NORN A. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother darksome. Mother dread. 

Dweller on the Kitful-head. 

Thou canst see what deeds are done 

I'lider the never-setting sun 

Look through sleet, and lo "k thrnii'jh frost, 

i.ook !o Greenland's caves and couht,— 

By the ice berg is a sail 

Chasing of the swarthy whale; 

Motlier dciiibtliil. Mother dread. 

Tell us, has the good ship sped ? 



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NOUN\. 

The thoiieht of the ased is ever on sear.— 
Oil his fislimsr. his furrow, his flock, and his 

steer ; 
But llirive mav iiis fishiiis, floo.k, furrow, and 

herd, 
While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey 

heard. 
The ship, well-laden as hark need he. 
Lies; deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; — 
The hreeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, 
And i;aily the ffarland is flutlerins: aloft : 
Seven iioikI Hshes have spouted their last. 
And then- jaw-bones are hanging to yard and 

mast ; 
Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall. — 
Three for Burgh Weslra, the choicest of all. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother doubtful. Mother dread, 
Dweller of the f-'itfiil-heail. 
Tliou hast conn'd full many a rhyme, 
That lives upim the surge of lime : 
Tell me, sliall my lays lie sung. 
Like Hacon's of the golden tonsrue. 
Long after Halcro's dead and gone ? 
Or shall Hialtland's minstrel own 
One note to rival glorious John ? 

NORN A. 

The infant loves the rattle's noise: 
Age. double childhood, hath its toys; 
But different far the descant ring's. 
As strikes a different hand the strings. 
The eagle mounts the polar skv — 
The Imber-goose, unslvill'd to fly. 
Must he content to glide along. 
Where seal and sea-dog list his song. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Be mine the Imber-goose to play. 
And haunt lone cave and silent hay; 
The archer's aim so sliall I shun- 
So shall I 'scape the levell'd eun — 
Content my ver.«^es' timeless jingle. 
Willi Thule's soiindins tides lo miiisle. 
While, to the ear of wonderiii'-' wiuht, 
I'pon the distant headland's height, 
S/iften'd by nifirmur of tin- sea. 
The rude sounds seem like harmony! 

Mother doubtful. M(ttlier diead, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
A gallant hark from far abroad. 
Saint Magnus hath her in his road, 
With guns and firelocks not a few — 
A silken and a scarlet crew. 
Deep stored with precious merchandize. 
Of Kiild. and goods of rare device — 
Wli.ii interest halh our comrade hold 
In hark and crew, and goods and gold ? 

NORN A. 

Gold is ruddy, fair. aM<l free. 

Bhmd is crimson, and dark to see ; — 

I lo'ik'd out on ^aiiit MasniiN hay, 

And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, — 

A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore. 

And talons and Miigles are dripping with 

g<ire ;— 
Let he that asks after them look on his hand, 
And if there is blood ou't, he's one of their 

band. 



CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother doubtful. Mother dread. 
Dweller of the Fitful-head. 
Well thou know'st it is ihy ta«k 
To tell what Beauty will not ask ;— 
Then steep thy words in wine and milk. 
And weave a doom of gold and silk.— 
For we would know, shall Brenda prove 
In love, and happy in her love ? 

NORNA. 

I'ntouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 

Is like the snow on Rona's crest. 

High seated in the middle sky, 

In brisht and barren purity ; 

But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd. 

Scarce by the eazing eye 'tis miss'd, 

Rre, down the lonely valley stealing. 

Fresh grass and ijrowtli its course revealing, 

It cheers the flock, revives the flower. 

And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 

MAGNUS TROII.. 

Mother speak, and do not tarry, 
Here's a maiden fain would marry. 
Shall she marry, ay or not ? 
If she marry, what's her lotT 

NORN A. 

I'ntouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest ; 
So pure, so fre« from earthy dye. 
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky. 
Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh; 
But passion, like the wild March rain. 
May soil the wreath with many a slam. 
We gaze— the lovely vision's gone— 
A torrent fills the bed of sione. 
1 hat iiuriying to destruction's shock. 
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 

Chap. xxi. 



(7.) _ SONG OF THE ZtiTLAND 
FISHERMAN. 

" While they were yet within hearing of the 
shore, they chanted an ancient Norse diliy, 
appropriate to the occasion, of which Claud 
Halcro had executed the following literal 
translation :" — 

Farewell, merry maidens, to song and to 

lausrh. 
For the brave lads of Weslra are bound to 

the Haaf; 
And we must have labour, and hunger, and 

pain. 
Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness 

again. 

For now. in our trim boats of Noroway deal. 
We must dance on the waves, with the [)or- 

poi'-e and seal : 
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too 

high. 
And the gull be our songstress whene'er she 

flits by. 

J^iiig on, my brave bird, while we follow, like 

thee. 
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of 

the sea ; 



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LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 583 




And when twenty-score fishes are straining 

our line. 
Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall 

b« ttiine. 

\\ e'll sin? while we bait, and we'll sing while 

we haul. 
For the deeps of the H;iaf have enough for us 

all: 
There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the 

carle. 
And there's wealth for Inild Magnus, the son 

of the earl. 

Huzza ! mv brave comrades, give way for the 

Haat, 
We shall sooner conne back to the dance and 

the laugh; 
For lisht without mirth is a lamp without oil ; 
Then, iiiirlh and long life to the bold Magnus 

Troll ! Chap. xxii. 



(8.) — CLEVELAND'S SONGS. 

L 

Love wakes and weeps 

While Beauty sleeps! 
O for Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme, 

For Beauty's dream. 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 



Throush groves of palm 

Sigh sales of balm. 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; 

While tliroush the gloom 

CiMues soft perfume. 
The distant beds of flowers revealing 

3. 

O wake and live ! 

No dream can give 
A shadow'd Miss, the real excelling; 

No longer sleep. 

From lattice peep. 
And list the tale that Love is telling. 



Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear. 
Hast left Its last soft tone with you,— 

Its next must join the seaward cheer. 
And shout among the shouting crew. 

The accents which I scarce could form 
Beneath your frown's coiitrollius: check. 

Must give the word, above the storm. 
To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise, — 

The hand, that shook when press'd to thine, 
Must point the guns upon the chase — 

Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 

To all I love, or hope, or fear, — 

Honour, or own, a long adieu ! 
To all that life has soft and dear. 

Farewell! save memory of you ! 

Chnp. xxiii 



(9.) — CLAUD HALCRCS \T;RSES. 
And yon shall deal the funeral dole ; 

Ay. deal it. mother mine. 
To weary body, and to heavy soul. 

The white bread and the wine. 

And you sliall deal my horses of pride ; 

Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 
And you shall deal my lands so wide. 

And deal my castles nine; 

But deal not vengeance for the deed, 

And deal not for the crime ; 
The body to iis place. and the soul to Heaven's 
erace. 

And the rest in God's own time. 



Saint Masniis control thee, that martyr of 

treason ; 
Saint Roman rebuke thee, with rhyme and 

with reason; 
By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of 

Saint Mary. 
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if 

thou tarry! 
If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; — 
If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; — 
If thou'n of air. let the erey mist fold thee ; — 
If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; — 
If a Pixie, seek thy rin?: — 
If a Nixie, seek tliy sprins ;— 
If on middle earth thou'st been 
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin. 
Hast eat the bread of toil and .«trife. 
And dree'd the lot which men call life; 
Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is scant ot 

thee. 
The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want 

of thee : 
Hence, houseless shost ! let the earth hide thee. 
Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that 

there thou bide thee ! — 
Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a 

token. 
Hence pass till Hallowmass! — my spell is 

spoken. 

Where corpse-light 

Dances bright. 

Be it by day or night. 

Be it by light or dark. 

There shall corpse lie stiff and stark. 



Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 
Till the first beam tinge the skies; 
Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, 
Till the sun has kiss'd the rose ; 
Maiden's foot we sli<iuld not view, 
Mark'd with tiny print on dew, 
Till the opening flowerets spread 
Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 

Chav- xxiii. 



(10.) — NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. 

Champion, famed for warlike toil. 
Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil T 
Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 
Are leaving bare thy giant bones. 



V 



^ 584 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Who dared touch the wild bear's skin 
Ye sluitiber'd on. while life was in ?— 
A woman now, or hahe. mav come 
And cast the covering from thy tomb. 

Yet he n(»t wrathful. Chief, nor blight 

Mine eyes or ears with sound or sisjht ! 

I come not with unhallow'd tread. 

To wake the slumbers of the dead, 

Or lav thv giant reliques bare ; 

But what I seek thou well canst spare. 

Be it to my hand allow'd 

To shear a merk's weight from thy 

shroud ; 
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 
To shield thy bones from weather rough. 

fee, T draw mv magic knife — 

Never, while thou wer» in life, 

T.aidst thou still for sloth or fear. 

V\ hen point and edge were glittering near; 

See. the cerements now T sever — 

Waken nr)w. or sleep for ever! 

Thou wilt not wak«;— the deed is done !— 

The prize I sought is fairly won. 

Thanks. Ribolt, thanks.— for this the .'sea 
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee — 
And while afar its billows foam. 
Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb 
Thanks. Ribolt. thank.":— for this the might 
Of wild winds raging at their height, 
When to thy place of slumber nifjh, 
Shall soften to a lullaby. 

She. the dame of doubt and dread. 
Noma of the Fitful-head, 
Mighty in her own despite, — 
Mi.serahle in her might : 
In despair and frenzy great. 
In her greatness desolate ; 
Wisest, wickedest who lives, — 
Well can keep the word she gives. 

Chap. XXV. 

[AT INTERVIEW WITH MINNA.J 

Thou, so needful, yet so dread. 
With cloudy crest, ami wing of red : 
Thou, without whose genial brejith 
The North would sleep the sleep of death ; 
Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, 
Yet hurls proud palaces to earth.— 
Brightest, keenest of the Powei-s, 
Which form and rule this world of ours, 
With thy rhyme of Runic. I 
Thank thee for thy agency. 



Old Reimkennar. to thy art 
Mother Hertha sends her part ; 
She. whose gracious bounty gives 
Needful food for all that lives. 
From the deep mine of the North 
Came the mystic metal forth. 
Doom'd amidst disjointed stones. 
Long to care, a champion's hones, 
Disinhumed my charms to aid — 
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. 



1 



Girdle of our islands dear. 
Element of Water, hear! 
Thou whose power, can overwhelm 
Broken mounds and rum'd realm 



On the lowly Belgiati s'rnnd ; 
All thy fiercest rage c;iii never 
Of our soil a furlong sever 

From our rock-defended land ; 
Play then gently thou thy part, 
To assist old Noma's art. 

Elements, each other greeting. 

Gifts and power attend your meeting ! 



Thou, that over billows dark 
Safely send'st the fisher's hark. — 
Giving him a path and motion 
Through the wilderness of ocean : 
Thou, that when the billows lirave ye. 
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy.- 
Did'st thou chafe as one neglected. 
While thv brethren were respected ? 
To appease thee. see. I tear 
This full grasp of grizzled h:iir ; 
Oft thv breath hath through it sung, 
Softening to my niagiit tongue, — 
Now. 'tis thine to bid it fly 
Through the wild exnaiise of sky, 
'Mid the countless swarms to sail 
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale; 
Take thy portion and rejoice. — 
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ! 



She who sits by haunted well. 

Is subject to the Nixies' spell ; 

She who walks on lonely beach. 

To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 

She who walks round ring of green. 

Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 

And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's 

cave, 
A weary weird of woe shall have. 

Bv ring, by spring, by cave, by shore. 
Minna Troil has braved all this and more ; 
And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill 
A source that 's more deep and more mys- 
tical still.— 
Thou art within a demon's hold. 
More wise than Heims, more strong than 

Trolld; 
No siren sings so sweet as he. — 
No fay springs lighter on the lea ; 
No elfin power hath half the art 
To soothe, to move, to wiing the heart, — 
life-blood from the cheek to drain. 
Drench the eye. and dry the vein. 
Maiden, ere we farther go. 
Dost thou note me, ay or no T 

MINNA. 

1 mark thee, my mothtr, both word, look, 

and siL'n ; 
Speak on witli thy riddle — to read it be 

mine. 

NORNA. 

Mark me ! for the word I speak 
Shall bring the colour to thy cheek. 
This leaden heart, so light of cost, 
The symbol of a treasure lost, 
Thoushalt wear in hope and in peace. 
That the cause of your sickness and sorrow 

may cease. 
When crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land 



A 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 585 



Be patient, be p:itient; for Patience hath 
p.iwer 

To ward us in danger. hKe nianlle in shower ; 

A fairy gift you best may hold 

In a (^liain of fairy gold ; — 

The Cham and ihe sifl are each a true token, 

That not without warrant old Noma has 
spoken ; 

But thy nearest and dearest must never be- 
hold thetn. 

Till tune shall accomplish the truths I have 
told them. Chap, xxviii. 



(11.) — liRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVER- 
TISEMENT. 

Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, 
Are tain lo cover them wiili leaves. 
Zeiland halli mi leaves, 'lis true. 
Because tliat trees are none, or few , 
But we have flax and laits of woci'. 
For linen cloth and wadniaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks 
Of tiner waft than woo' or fl >x. 
Ye sallarity l.anilmias lads apiiear. 
And brni» your Uimbmas sisters here 
Bryce Siiadsfoot spares not coat or care. 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 

Chap, xxxii 



(12.) — MOTTOES. 

(1 ) — CHAP. 11. 

'Tis not alone the scene— the man, Anselmo. 
The man finds sympathies in these wild 

wastes. 
And muihly tumbling seas, which fairer 

views 
And smoother waves deny him. 

Ancient Drama. 

(•.'.)— CHAP. VII. 

She does no work by halves, yon raving 

ocean ; 
Engulpliinsf those she strangles, her wild 

womb 
AflTords the mariners wlioni she hath dealt on, 
I'heir death at once, and sepulchre. 

Old Play. 

(3.)— CHAP. IX. 

This is a gentle trader, and a prudent- 
He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye. 
With quips of worldly gauds and gainesome- 

iiess ; 
But seasons all his glitterin? merchamlize 
With wholesome doctrine suited to the use. 
As men sauce goose wiih sage and rosemary. 
Old Flat/. 
(4) -CHAP. XI. 

.Ml your ancient customs. 

And Idiisf-ilescended usases. I'll change. 

Ye sliali not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor 

move. 
Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do; 
iJven your marriage-beds shall know muta- 

iioii ; 
Tlie bride shall have the stock, the groom the 

wall; 
For ail old practice will I turn and change. 
And call ii lelKrmatiiin— many, will 1 ! 

'Tis Even Uial we're al Odds. 



\ 



(5.)— CHAP. XIV. 

We'll keep our customs— what is law itself. 
But old establish'd custom ? What religion 
(1 mean, with one-half of the men that use i ,) 
Save the good use and wont ihat rairies them 
To worship how and where their fathers wor- 
shipped 1 
All things resolve in custom— we'll keep ours. 
Old Flay. 

(6.)— CHAP. XXV. 

1 do liive these ancient ruins ! 

We never tread upon them but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend history, 
And quesiionless, here in this open court, 
(Which now lies naked to the injuries 
Of stormy weather.) some men lie mterr'd. 
Loved the Church so well, and gave so largelv 
to It. 

They ihouglit it should have canopied their 

bones 
Till doomsday ;— but all things have their 

end — 
Churches and cities, which have diseases like 

to men. 
.Must have like death which we have. 

Duchfss of Malfy. 

(7.) — CHAP. XXIX. 

See yonder woman, whom our swains revere. 
And dread in secret, wiiile they take her 

counsel 
When sweetheart shall be kind, or when 

cross dame shall die; 
Where lurks the thief who stole the silver 

tankard. 
And how the pestilent murrain may be 

cured ;— 
This sase adviser's mad, stark mad, my 

friend ; 
Yet, in her madness, hath the art and 

cnmiing 
To wring fnols' secrets from their inmost 

bosoms. 
And pay inquirers with the coin thev gave her. 
Old Piny. 

(8.) —CHAP. XXX. 

What ho. my jovial mates ! come on ! we'll 

frolic it 
Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine. 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some 

ciinsienmg. 
Or some liliihe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — 
He starts, and changes his bold bottle 

swHgeer 
To chunhmairs pace professional. — and, ran- 
sacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn, 
Finds but the roundel of the midniL'lii raicli. 
Old Play. 

(9.)— CHAP XXXII. 

I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way. 
Which, lai-king favounu;; breeze, halh not the 

power 
To stem the powerful current. — Even so, 
Resolving daily to forsake my vices. 
Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd tempta- 
tion. 
Sweep me to sea again — O heavenly breath. 
Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 
Which ne'er can reac!» the blessed port 
without thee ! 

'7w Odds w/u7i Evens meet. 



\ 



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686 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(10.) —CHAP. XXXIII. 

Parental love, my friend, has power o'er 

wisdom, 
And IS I he charm, which, like the falconer's 

lure, 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring 

spirits — 
So when famed Prosper doff'd his magic robe. 
It was Miranda pluck 'd it from his shoulders. 
Okl Play. 

(11 )-CH\P. xxxiv. 
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. 
The fierce threat answering to the brutal 

jeer; 
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words 
Clash witii each other like conflicting 

sworiis — 
The rol.ber's quarrel by such sounds is 

shown. 
And true men have some chance to gain their 
own. Caplwily, a Poem. 

(Ill — CH.\P. xxxvii. 
Over the moiuitains and under the waves. 
Over the fountains and under the graves, 
Over floods that are deepest, 

Which Neptune otiey. 
O'er rocks that are steepest. 
Love will find out the wav. 

Old Song. 



©II 35ttifck SfoxtsVs ittountains 
3iun/ 



On Kttrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'Tis blithe to liear the sportsman's gun. 
And seek the heaih-freqiientuia brood 
Far through the noonday solitude; 
By many a cairn and treiiclied niouiid, 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound. 
And springs, where grey-hair'd shepherds tell, 
Tliat still the fairies love to dwell. 

Alons; the silver streams of Tweed, 
' I is blithe the mimic fly to lead. 
When to the hook the salmon springs. 
And the line whistles through the rings; 
I'he boiling eddy see him try. 
Then dashing from the current high. 
Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

'Tis blithe along the midnight tide, 
With stalwart arm the boat to siuule; 
On high the dazzling tihize to rear. 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear; 
Kock, wood, and scaur, emeigmg bright, 
Fling on the stream their ruddy light. 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genu, arm'd with fiery spears.^ 

1 Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in whicli 
ttiH poet had been engaged with some friends. 

2 See the famous salmon-spearin(j scene in Guy Man- 



tcuaii 



of that kind and lioa- 



'Tis blithe at eve to tell the tale. 
How we succeed, and how we fail, 
Whether at Alwyii'sS lordly meal. 
Or lowlier hoard of Ashe.«tiel ; * 
While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 
Bickers the fire, and flows the wine- 
Days free from thouelit. and nights from care. 
My blessing on the Forest fair ! 



iFaretoell to ttje i«use.* 

1822, 

Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd 
me. 
At the close of the evening through wood- 
lands to roam. 
Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied 
me 
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for 
home. 
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers 
wild speakins. 
The language alternate of rapture and woe : 
Oh ! none but stmie lover, whose heart-strings 
are breakiiiK. 
The pang that I feel at our parting can 
know. 

Each joy thou couldst double, and wiien there 
came sorrow. 
Or pale disappointment to darken my way. 
What voice was like thine, that could sing of 
to-morrow. 
Till forsrot in the strain was the grief of 
to-day! 
But when friends drop around us in life'.s 
wearv waning. 
The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst 
not assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet 
remaining. 
The languor of paiu, and the chillness of 
age. 

'Tw.is thon that once taught me, in accents 
bewailing. 
To sing how a warrior lay stretcli'd on the 

plain. 

And a maiden hung o'er him with aid un- 
availing. 
And held to his lips the cold eoblet in vain; 
As vain thy enchanlnients. O Queen of wild 
Numbers, 
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is 
o'er. 
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy 
slunihnrs — 
Farewell, then. Enchantress! I meet thee 
no more ! 

pitahle nohleman, the author's nearest neighbour and 
intimate friend. Lord S. died FebrUMry IMi). 

4 Ashettiet, the poel's residinie at ihai time. 

5 Written, during illncBS, for Mr. Thomson's Senttisli 
rollection, and first published in ISM, imitwl to an uir 
composed by Oeorge Kinlorh, Esq., of Kinloch. 



y; 



7 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



587 > 



CDe fSi^Va of JrsLi. 

Air — •' Tlie Maid of Isla." 

WBITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON'S 
SCOTTISH MELODIES. 



182-2 



Oh. Maid of Isla. from the cliff 

ihiit looks (III troubled wave and sky, 
Dost tlioii iKtt see yon little skiff 

("nntetid with ocean gallantly T 
Now beatiii? 'saiiist the hreeze and surge. 

And stf^ep'd her leeward d<ck in foam, 
\\ hy (liips she war uueqiial iir^e? — 

oil, fsl.is maid, slie seeks her home. 

Oh. Isla's rnai<l, yon sea-bird mark. 

Her Willie wins: gleams through mist and 
sjtray, 
Asaiiisi the storm-cloud, lowerina: dark. 

As lo the rock she wheels away ; — 
Wtiere douds are dark and billovvs rave, 

Why to ihe shelter shoiilil she come 
or cliff, exposed t<t wind and wave ?— 

Oh, maid ut' Isla, 'lis her home ! 

As breeze and tide to ycmder skiff, 

Thou'rl adverse to the suit f briiiii:. 
And (-old as is yon wintry cliff. 

v\ here sea-birds close Iheir wearied wing. 
V'el Cold as rock, uiikdul as wave. 

.Ntill. Isla's maid, lit itiee I come; 
For in thy love, or in Ins grave. 

Must Allan Vounch find Ins home. 



Carle, nob) tt)c Biufl'.? come* 

BEINfJ NEW WORDS TO .\\ AULD SPRING. 



1822. 

The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 
T^ie N(»rth for aiice has baiig'd the South; 
The deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth. 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

CHORUS. 

Carle, now tlie King's come ! 
Carle, now the King's come ! 
ThoQ Shalt dance, and I will sing. 
Carle, now tiie King's come ! 

Auld England held him lang and fast; 
And Ireland had a >oyfu' cast; 
But Scotland's turn is come at last- 
Carle, now the King's come! 

1 This imitation of an old Jacotiite ditty wan written on 
the appeiranc.-, iu the Frith of Forth, of the fleet which 
conveyed his Majesty Kins George the Fourth lo Scotland, 
in August leS'J; aud wag published as a broadside. 

2 I/ird Montagu, unile and guardian to the young Duke 
of Bunieurh, placed his Grace's residence of Dallieilh at 
his MnjeKiy'8 d sposjl during his visit to Scotland. 

S Charlek, the tenth Earl of Haddington, died in 1828. 
4 Tlie Duke of Hamilton, as Earl of Angus, carried the 



I Auld Keekie. in her rokelay grey. 
Thought never lo have seen the day; 
He's been a weary time away — 

But, Carle, now the King's come ! 

She's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; 
The Carliiie's vtuce is grown sae shrill, 
Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Up, bairns !" she cries, "baith grit and sma 
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw ! 
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

"Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires 
And match the mettle of your sires — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" You're welcome hame. my Montagu ! 
Bring in your hand the youiig Biiccleuch ; 
I'm missing some that I may rue — 

Carle, now t!»e King's come!' 

" Come. Haddington, the kind and gay. 
You've graced my causeway mony a day ; 
I'll weep the cause if you should stay — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 3 

"Come, premier Duke,< and carry doun 
Frae yonder craig 5 his ancient croun; 
It's had a lang sleep and a soun'— 

But, Carle, now the King's come ! 

"Come. Atliole, from the hill and wood. 
Bring down your clansmen like a clud ; 
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

•' Come. Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath ; 
Come, Hojietoun, fear'd on fields of death ; 
Come, Clerk, c and give your bugle breath ; 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

"Come, Wemyss. who modest merit aids; 
Come, Rosehery. from Dalmeny shades; 
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids; 
Carle, now the King's cxime ! 

"Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, 
Girt with the sword that Miiiden knew; 
V\e have o'er few such lairds as you — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

'• King Arthur's grown a common "crier, 
He's heard in Fife and far Caiitire.— 
* Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire !' 

Carle, now the King's come, 

"Saint Abb roars trnt, 'I see him pass. 
Between Tantallon and the Bass!' 
Calton, get out your keeking-glass- 
Carle, now the King's come!" 

ancient royal crown of Scotland on horsehack in King 
Georee's procession, from Holyrood to the Castle. 

STheCaslle. 

6 Sir George Clerk of Peunycuik, Bart. The Baron of 
Pennycuib ia bound by his tenure, whenever the Kin; 
comes to Edinburgh, lo receive him at the Harcstone (in 
which the standard of James IV. was erected when his 
army encamped on the BorouKhmnir, before his fatal expe- 
dition 10 England,) now built into the park-wall at the end 
of 'ripperlin Lone, near the Boroiii;hmuir-heail ; and, stand- 
ing thcruoii, 10 give three tjlas'.s on a horu. 



^ 



7 



N 



588 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Carhiie stopp'd ; and, sure I am, 
For very glee had ta'en a dwaai. 
But Oiiiuii ■ helji'd her to a drain. — 

Cogie, now ihe Kinj('s come ! 
CoKie, HOW the Kms's come ! 
CoKie. "low the Kmg's come! 
I'se be iou' and ye's he toom,2 
Cogie, now ihe King's come ! 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME. 



PART SECOND. 



A Hawick gill of mountain dew, 
Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow. 
It minded her of Waterloo- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 
Again I heard her summons swell, 
For. sic a dirdum and a yell. 
It drowu'd Saint Giles's jowing bell — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 
" My trusty Provost, tried and tight. 
Stand forward for the Good Town's right. 
There's waur than you been made a knight— 3 

Carle, now the Kind's come ! 
*• My reverend Clergy, looli ye say 
The best of thanksgivings ye hae. 
And warstle for a sunny day — 

Carle, now the King's come! 
" My Doctors, look that you aaree. 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, diniia pike a plea- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 
"Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn. 
That dints on wood or clanks on aim. 
That tires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 
"Come forward with the Blanket Blue,* 
Your sires were loyal men and true. 
As bcotlaiid's foemen oft might rue — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 



7 L 
^ manr 

\ uidH 



1 Mr, Oman, landlord of Ihe Waterloo Hotel. 

2 Kmpty. 

3 The Lord Provost had the agreeahle surprise to hear 
his hi-allh proposed, at the civic bRiii|uei given to George 
IV. in Ihe harliament-House, as " Sir William Arbuthnot, 
Ban." 

4 The Blue Blanket is the standard of the incorporated 
trades of Edinburgh, and is liepi by their convener, 
whose appearance therewith," observes Maitland, ' 
■aid, that not only the artificers of Edinburt;h are obliged 
to repair to it, "but all the artificers or craftsmen within 
Scotland are bound to follow it, and figlit under the con 
%ener of Kdinburgh as aforesaid." According to an old 
tradition, this standard was used in the Holy Wars by 
body of I rusading citizen.'* of Iklinburgh, and was the fin 
that was plantwl on Ihe walls of Jerusalem, when that 
city was stormed by the Christian army under Ihe fami 
Godfrey. But Ihe real history of it seems to be this 
James III , a prince who had virtues which the rude age 
in which he lived could not appreciate, having been de- 
tained for nine months in Ihe Castle of EiliiHiurgh by hie 
factious nobles, was relieved by the citizens of Edinburgh, 
who assaulted the castle and tooK it by surprise ; on which 
occasion James presented the citizens with this baniief 
•* with a power to display the same in defence of thei 
king, country, and their own rights." — Note to this stanza 
in the " Account of the King's Visit," Sec. 6 v o. 1?22. 

6 Sir Tliomas Bradford, then commander of the forces 
In Scotland. 

Edinburgh Castle. 

7 Lord Melville was colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeo 
nry Cavalry: Sir John Hope of Pinkie, Bart., Major; 

Robert Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains 



Scots downa loup, and rin, and rave. 
We're steady folks and somethins; grave. 
We'll keep the causeway tiriii and brave- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

Sir Thomas,5 thunder from your rock,' 
Till Pent land tlinnles wi' the shock. 
And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

"Melville, bring out your bands of blue, 
A' l.oiiilen lads, baith stout and true. 
With Eiclio. Hope, and Cot^kburn. too— T 
Carls, now the King's come ! 

" And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise. 
Rank out — rank out— my eallant Greys — 8 
Carle, now the King's come! 

"Cock o' the North, my Hiintly bra'. 
Where are you with the Korty-twa ?0 
Ah ! wae's my heart that ye're awa' — 
Carle, now tlie King's come ! 

" But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With ilurk and pistols at their bells, 
1 hank God, we've still some plaids and 
kills- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Lord, how the pibrochs eroan anl yell! 
Macdonnell's '<> ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Bend up your bow each Archer spark. 
For you're to guard him light and ilark ; 
Faitii, lads, for ance you've hit the mark — 

Carle, now tiie King's come ! 
" Young Krrol.ii take the sword of state. 
The sceptre. Panie-Morarchate ; '2 
Knight Mare.schal.i3 see ye olearthe gate — 

Carle, now the King's come I 

"Kind cummer, I.eith, ye've been mis-set, 
But dinna be upon the fret — 
Ye'se hae the handsel of him yet. 

Carle, now the King's come ! 



Scott had formerly 

gallant colonel, Ge- 
i.irl., were on duty 
Bonaparte's ejrla- 
Jes beaux chevaux 



in the same corps, to which Sir Wall 
belonged. 

8 The Scots Greys, headed by thei 
neral Sir James Stewart of Coltness, 
at K.<tinbiirgh during the King's visit. 
maiion at Waterloo is well known : 
gris, comme its travaillent I" 

9 Marquis of Huntly, who since became the last Duke 
of Gordon, was colonel of the 42d Regiment, and died in 
18S6. 

10 Colonel Ronaldson Macdonell of Glengarry— who died 
in January, 1828 

11 The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord High-Con.ttable 
of Scotland. 

12 In more correct Gaelic orthoeraphy, Banam'iqrar.Chat, 
or the Great Lady, (literally Fema'e Lord of the Cha'le ;) 
Ihe Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. " Evin 
unto this day, Ihe counlrev of Sutherland is yet calLd 
Cattey, the inhabitants Catieigh, and Ihe Earl of Suther- 
land Morweir Cattey, in old Scnitish or Irish; which 
language the inhabitants of this country doe still use." — 
Gordon's Genealofical Historj/ of the Earls of Sutherland, 
p. 18. It was determined by his M:ije8ly, tliat the right 
of carrying the sceptre lay with this noble family; and 
Lord Francis Leveson Gower, (now Egerton,) second sou 
of the Countess (afterwards Duihess) of Sutherland, was 
permitted to act as deputy for his molhir in that honour- 
able office. After obtaining his Majesty's permission to 
depart for Dunrobin Castle, his place was supplied by the 
Honourable John M Stuart, second son of the Earl of 
Mnrav.— Ed. 

13 The Author's friend and n lation, the late Sir A'ex- 
ander Keith, of Duniioltar and K.ivilsloue. 



y 



/- 



V 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 589 

" My daughters, conie wiih een sae blue, 
Yoor pailaiuJs weave. y(iur l)loss(>tiis strew; 
He ne'er saw fairer flowers lli;iii you — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 



^ 



" What shall we do for the propine 

We used to offer soinelhing line, 
But ne'er a groat's in pouch ot mine — 
Carle, now the King's come! 

'• Deil care— for that I'se never start, 
We'll welcome him with Hialilnnd heart; 
Whate'er we have he's set a part- 
Carle, now the King's come! 

" I'll show him mason-work this day — 
Nane of y()ur bricks of Bahel clay. 
But lowers shall stand till lime's away — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

•• I'll show him wit, I'll shuw him lair, 
And gallant lads and lasses fair. 
And what wad kind heart wish for mair? 
Carle, now the Kings come ! 

" Step out, Sir Johii.i of projects rife. 
Come win the thank'* of an aiild wife. 
And bring him health and lensrMi of life- 
Carle, now the King's come!" 



ifrom Wc^z iFortunes 



MOTTOES. 

(1 ) — CHAP. I. 

Now Scot and Enxlish are agreed. 

And '^auiulers hastes to cross the Tweed. 

Where, such the splendours that attend 

him. 
His very mother scarce had ken'd him. 
His iiieiamorphosis behold. 
From Glasgow frieze to cloth of sold ; 
His back swi.rd. with the iron-hilt. 
To rapier, fairly hatcli'd and gilt; 
Was ever seen a gallant braver ! 
His very bonnet's grown a beaver. 

The Rt forma lion. 
(2.) — CHAP. II. 

This, sir, is one among the "•'eignory. 

Has wealth at will, and will to use his 

wealth. 
And wit, lo increase it. Marry, his worst folly 
Lies in a thriftless .sort of charity, 
1 hat goes- a-gadding sometimes after objects 
Which wise men will not see when thrust 

upon them The Old Couple 

1 The Right Hoiinurahle Sir.Iohri Simlair, Bart , anthor 
of " The Code of Health and LoijKev.ty," <ko. ic, — the 
wellkiiown pauou aud projector of national and (jalriolic 



(3.)— CHAP. IV. 

Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft 

in't. 

As says the rustic proverb, and your citizen, 
ill's gVogram suit, gold chain, and well-black'd 

shoes. 
Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brtiin 
V\ iser than burns beneath the cap and 

feather. 
Or seethes within the statesman's velvet 

nightcap. Read mt viy Riddle. 



(4)— CHAP. V. 

Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; 
There are silks and jewels glistening. 
Prattling fools and wise men listening. 
Bullies among brave men justlmg, 
BeggJirs amongst nobles bustlma ; 
Low-breathed talkers, minion lispers. 
Cutting honest throats by whispers; 
Wherefore come ye not to court? 
Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 

Skellon Skellonizeth. 

(5)— CHAP. VI. 

O, I do knoMj him — 'tis the mouldy lemon 
Wliich our court wits will wet llieir lips 

withal. 
When they would sauce their honied conver- 
sation 
With somewhat sharper flavour. — Marry, sir. 
That virtue's wellnigh left him— all the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed 

out , 
While the poor rind, although as sour as ever. 
Must season soon the draff we give our 

grunters. 
For two-legged things are weary on't. 

Tke Chamberlain— A Coniedy. 

(6.) — CHAP. vu. 

Things needful we have thought on ; but the 

thing 
Of all most needful — that which Scripture 

terms. 
As if alone it merited regard. 
The one thing needful — that's vet uncon- 

sider'd. Tite ChumbtrLain. 

(7.J — CHAP. VIII. 

Ah! mark the matron well — and laugh not, 

Harry, 
At her old steeple-hat and velvet guard— 
I've called her like the ear of Dionysius; 
I mean that ear-forni'd vault, built o'er the 

dungeon. 
To catch the groans and discontented mur- 
murs 
Of his poor bondsmen —Even so doth Martha 
Drink up. for her own purpose, all that passes, 
Or IS suppiised to pass, in this wide city — 
She can retail it, too, if that her profit 
."^hall call on her to do so; and retail it 
For your advantage, so that you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 

The Conspiracy. 



^ 



A 



7 



590 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ Aii(j 



(8) —CHAP. X. 

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 

Of' yonder dancing: cubs of mottled bone ; 

And drown it not. like Etcypt's royal harlot. 

DissoiviiiK her rich pearl in the brimm'd wine- 
cup. 

These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink 
acres 

Into brief yards — bring sterling pounds to 
farthines. 

Credit to infamy; and the poor eull. 

Who miffht have lived an honour'd, easy life, 

To ruin, and an unregarded grave. 

'I'he Changes. 

(9) — CHAP. XII. 

This is the very barn-yard. 

Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the 
game. 

Ruffle their pinions, crow till ttiey are hoarse. 

And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, 
chickens. 

The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly. 

Learn first to rear the cresr. and aim the spur. 

And tune their note like full-plumed Chanti- 
cleer, 'ike Bear Garden. 

(10.) — CHAP. XIII. 

Let the proud salmon gorge the feather'd 

hook. 
Then strike, and then you have him.— He will 

wince ; 
Spin out your line that it shall whistle from 

you 
Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have 

him — 
Marry! you must have patience — the stout 

rock 
Which is his trust, hath edges something 

sharp; 
And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge 

enough 
To mar your fishing — 'less you are more 

careful. 

Albion, or the Double Kings. 

(ll.)-CHAP. XVI. 

Give way — give way — I must and will have 

justice. 
And tell ine not of privilege and place; 
Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 
I<ook to it. every one who bars my access; 
I have a heart to feel the injury. 
A hand to right myself, and. by my honour. 
That hand shall grasp wliat grey-beard Law 

denies me. The Chamierlam. 

(12.)— CHAP. XVII. 

Come hither, young one — Mark me! Thou 

art now 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputa- 
tion 
More than by constant income — Single-suited 
They are. 1 grant you ; yet each single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand 

followers — 
And they be men, who, hazarding their all, 
Needful apparel, necessary income. 
And human body, and immortal soul. 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that all hound in reversion ; 
Clothes t(» the broker, income to the usurer, — 
And l»ody to disease, and soul to the foul 
fiend ; 



Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladops. 

Play better than himself his game on earth. 

The Mohocks. 

(13.) — CHAP. XVIII. 

Mother. What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's 
mirror. 
With which the boy, as mortal urchins w(uit. 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passen- 
gers- 
Then laughs to see them stumble ! 

Daughter. Mother! no— 
It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me. 
And never shall these eyes see true asain 

Beef and Pudding— An Old English Comedy. 

(14.)— CHAP. XIX. 

By this good light, a wench of matchless 

mettle ! 
This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier. 
To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow. 
And sing a roundel as she help'd to arm him, 
Though the rough foeman's drums were heat 

so niffh. 
They seem'd to bear the burden. 

Old may. 

(15.)— CHAP. XX. 

Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus. 

Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat. 

False man hath sworn, and woman hath 

believed — 
Repented and reproach'd. and then believed 

once more. The New World. 

(16.) — CHAP. XXI. 

Rove not from pole to pole — the man lives 

here 
Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer; 
And where, in either sense, the cockney-put 
May. if he pleases, set confounded cut 

On the Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber. 

(17)— CHAP. XXII. 

Chance will not do the work — Chance sends 

the breeze : 
But if the pilot slumber at the helm. 
The very wind that wafts us towards the port 
May dash us on the shelves. — The steersman's 

part is vigilance. 
Blow it or rough or smooth. Old Play. 

(18) — CHAP. XXIV. 

This is the time— Heaven's maiden-sentinel 
Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser 

spangles 
Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 
And the short lever — bid Anthony 
Keep with his carabine ttie wicket-gate ; 
And do thou bare thy knife and follow me. 
For we will in and do it — darkness like this 
Is dawning of our fortunes. Old Play. 

(19.)— CHAP. XXV. 

Death finds us 'mid our playthings — snatches 

us. 
As a rro.ss nurse might do a wayward child. 
From all our toys and baubles. His rougti call 
Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth ; 
And well if they are such as may be answer'd 
In yonder world, where all is judged of irulv. 
Old PUiy'. 

(20)— CHAP. XXVI. 

Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun 

not 
Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; 



7^ 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 591 



Wake not the sluniberiii? echoes of thv banks 
Wiih voice of flute anil lioni — we do but seek 
On the broad p;ithwny of thy swelling bosoni 
To glide in silent safety. 

The Double Bridal. 

(21.)— CHAP. XXVII. 

This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; 
Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 
Mo.st welcome danger then — Nay, let me say, 
Though spoke with swelling heart — welcome 

e'en shame ; 
And welcome punishment— for. call me guilty 
1 do but pay the tax that 's due to justice ; 
And call me guiltless, then that punishment 
Is shame to those alone who dc inflict it. 

The Tribunal. 

(Q2)-CH.\P. XXIX. 

How fares the man on whom good men would 

lock 
With eyes where scorn and censure combated 
But that kind Christian love hath taught the 

lesson — 

That they who merit most contempt and hate. 
Do most deserve our pity Old Play. 

(23.) -CHAP. XXXI. 

Marry, come up. sir. with your gentle blood ! 
Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue 

doublet. 
That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn 
From the far source of old Assyrian kings. 
Who first made mankind subject to their sway. 
Old Play. 

(a4.)-CH.\P. XXXV. 

We are not worse at once— the course of evil 
Be?ins so slowlv, and from sui;h slisht source. 
An infant's hand might stem its breach with 

clay ; 
But let the stream get deeper, and philoso- 
phy — 
Ay, and religion too,— shall strive in vain 
To turn the headlong torrent. Old Play. 



JFrom 
J^e^erfl ^i the J^eafe, 



18-23. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHAP. II. 

Why then, we will have bellowing of beeves. 
Broaching of bnrrels. brandishing of spigots; 
Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore 
I Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultiy, 
Join'd to the brave heart's-blood of John-a- 
Barleycorn ! Old Play. 

(a.) -CHAP. IV. 

No. sir,— I will not pledge— I'm one of those 
Will) thinks good wine needs neither bush 

nor preface 
To make it welcome. If you doubt my word. 
Fill the quart-cjp, and .see if I will choke on't. 
Old Play. 



(3.)— CHAP VI. 

You shall have no worst prison than my 

chamber. 
Nor jailer than myself. The Caplain. 

(4) — CHAP. xvi. 
Asrasln. Can she not speak ? 
Oswald. If speech be only in accented 
sounds. 
Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden 's 

dumb ; 
But if by quick and apprehensive look. 
By motion, sign, and glance, to give each 

meaning. 
Express as clothed in language, be term'd 

speech. 
She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eves, 
Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold dis- 
course. 
Though it be mute and soundless. 

Old Play. 

(6.)— CHAP. XVII. 

This is a love meeting? See the maiden 

mourns. 
And the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. 
"I'liere's more hath pass'd between lliem than 

belongs 
To Loves sweet sorrows. Old Play. 

(7.) — CHAP. XIX. 

Now, hoist the anchor, males — and let the 

sails 
Give their broad bosom to the bnxoiii wind, 
Like la.ss that wooes a lover. Anonymous. 

(7) — CHAP. XXII. 

He was a fellow in a peasant's garb; 

Yet one could censure you a woodcock's 

carvins. 
Like any courtier at the ordinary. 

The Ordinai-y. 

(8.)— CHAP. XXIV. 

We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream. 
Which glide and sigh, and sign, and move 

their lips. 
But make no sound ; or. if they utter voice, 
' Tis but a low and uiidislinguish'd moaning. 
Whicli has nor word nor sense of tuter'd 

sound. The Chieftain. 

(9.) —CHAP. XXV. 

The course of human life is chatiseful still. 

As is the fickle wind and wanderinu nil ; 

Or, like the light dance which the wild breeze 

weaves 
Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves; 
Which now Its breath bears down, now tosses 

high. 
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
Such, and so varied, the precarious play 
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! 

AjiOTtymotts. 

(10.)— CHAP. XXVI 

Necessity — thou best of peacemakers, 
As well as surest prompter of invention — 
Help us to composition ! Anonymous. 

(11.) -CHAP. XXVII. 

— This is some creature of the elements 
Most like your sea-gull. He can wheel and 
whistle 



^ 



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A ^ 592 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



His screaniiiiff song, e'en when the storm is 

luiulest — 
Take for Ins sheeted couch the restless foam 
Of tiie wild wave-crest — slumber in the 

calm. 
And dally with the storm Yet 'tis a gull, 
An arrant gull, with all this. 

Tht Chieftain. 

(ia.)-CHAP. XXXI. 

I fear the devil most when gown and cassock, 
Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak, 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(18.)— CHA.P. XXXIII. 

'i'is the black han-dog of our jail — Pray look 

(111 him, 
Kilt at a wary distance— rouse him not — 
He bays not till he worries. 

'I'he Black Dog of Newgate. 

(11.) -CHAP. XXXVIII. 
"Speak not of iiiceness, when there's chance 

of wreck." 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dviiig dolphin flap the deck ; 
" If we go down, on ns these gentry sup; 
We dine upon them, if we Uaul them up. 
V\ ise men applaud us when we eat the 

eaters. 
As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the 

cheaters." 

The Sea Voyage. 

(li^.)- CHAP. XL. 

Contentions fierce. 

Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause. 
Albion. 

(16.)- CHAP. XLIII. 

He came amongst them like a new-raised 

spirit. 
To speak of dreadful judgments that impend, 
And of the wrath to come. 

The Reformer. 

(17.)— CHAP. XLIV. 

And some for safety took the dreadful leap; 
Some for the voice of Heaven seernd calling 

on them ; 
Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake— 
1 leap'd in frolic. The Dream. 

(18.) — CHAP. XLV. 

High feasting was there there — the gilded 
roofs 

Kung to the wassail-health — the dancer's 
step 

Spruns to the chord responsive— the gay game- 
ster 

To fate's disposal flung his heap of gold. 

And laushd alike when it increased or less- 
en 'd : 

Such virtue hath court-air to teach us pa- 
tience 

Which schoolmen preach in vain 

Why come ye not to Court f 

(19.)— CHAP. XLVI. 

Here stand 1 tight and trim. 
Quick i)f eye. though little of limb; 
He who denietli the word I have spoken. 
Betwixt hiiii and me shall lances he broken. 
Lay of the Little John de Saintre. 



j^ 






1^^23. 



(1.) — SONG- 



COUNTY GUY. 

nigh. 



Ah ! County Guv. the hour 

The sun has left the lea. 
The oraiise-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea 
The lark, his lay who thriH'd all day, 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour. 

But where is County Guy ? 

The villase maid steals through the shade, 

Her shepherd's suit to hear; 
To beauty shy. by lattice high. 

Sings liiKh-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above. 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
And high and low ihe influence know — 

But where is County Guy ! 

Chap iv. 



(2.) — MOTTOES. 

(l.)-CHAP. XI. 

Painters show Cupid blind — Hath Hymen 

eyes ? 
Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles 
Which parents, guardians, and advisers, lend 

him. 
That he may look through them on lands and 

mansions, 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich d<mations. 
And see their value ten times magnified ?— 
Methmks 'twill brook a question 

The Miseries oj Enforced Marriage. 

(2.) -CHAP. xn. 
This is a lecturer so skill'd in policy. 
That (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) 
He well migiit read a lesson to ttie devil. 
And leach the old seducer new temptations. 
Old Play. 

(3) — CHAP. XIV. 

[ see thee vet, fair France— thou favour'd land 
Of art and nature — thou art still before me; 
Thv sons, to whom their labour is a sport, 
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 
Thy sun burnt daughters, with their laughing 

eves 
And glossy raven-locks. But, favour'd France, 
'Ihou hast had many a tale of woe to tell. 
In ancient times as now. Anonymous. 

(4.) — CHAP. XV. 

He was a son of Egy[)t. as he told me. 
And one descended from those dread magi- 
cians. 
Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt iit 

Goshen, 
With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod 
With liis the sons of Levi's— and encountering 
Jehovah's miracles with iiicaiiiations. 
'I'lll upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, 



z 



^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 593 



M 



And llio>e proud sa^es wept fur their first- 
hum. 
As wept ihe uiilelter'J peasant. 

Anotiifrnous. 

(a) -CHAP. XXIV. 

Kesciie or none. Mr Knislii. I :iin your captive ; 
Deal Willi me what your iiob.eiiess susrjests — 
1 tiMikins the chance of war may one day place 

yon 
Where I must now be reckon'd — i' the roll 
Of melanclioly prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

(fi)— CHAP. XXV. 

No human quahiy is so well wove 
In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it ; 
I VK known a brave man fly a shepherds cur, 
A wise man so demean him. drivelliiiir idiocy 
Had well iiiih been ashamed on't. Fur your 

crafty. 
Your wiirldly-wise man, he. above ihe rest, 
Ueaves his own snares so tine, he's often 

caught in them. Old Play. 

(7) — CHAP XXVI. 

When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunction, full of boding. 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 

Old Ploy. 

(8.)— CHAP. XXIX. 

'I"hy time is not yet out— the devil thou servest 

Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids 

The friends who drudge for him, as the blind 

man 
Was aided by the e:uide. who lent his shoulder 
Oer rough and smooth, until he reach'd ttie 

brink 
Of the fell precipice — then liurl'd him down- 
wards. Old Play. 

(9.) — CHAP. XXX. 

Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark, 
I'liat reels amid the strife of meetins currents. 
Old Play. 

(10.) — CHAP. XXXI. 

Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle 

maiden, 
Keepyouyourpromi.se plight — leave age its 

subtleties. 
And grey-hair'd policy its maze of fal.sehood ; 
But be you candid as the morning sky. 
tre liie high sun sucks vapours up to .«ta;n it. 
The Tnal. 



JFront 



1823. 



MOTTOES. 

(l)-CHAP. II. -THE GUEST. 

Quis novUK liic hospes T 

Dido apud Virgilium. 

Cirm-maid ! — The Gemman in the front par- 
h.ur! 

Boots's free Translation of thf. Eneid. 



(a.) -CHAP. III. 
There must he government in ail society — 
Bees have their Queen, and stag herds have 

their leader; 
Kume had her Consuls, Athens had her Ar- 

chons. 
And we, sir, have our .Managing Committee. 
The Album of St. Ro/ians. 

(3)-CHAP. X 
Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it; 
Thou art of those, who belter help their 

friends 
Witli sage advice, than usurers with gold. 
Or brawlers with llieir swords — I'll trust to 

thee. 
For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 
The Devil hath met his Match. 

(l.)-CHAP. XI. 
Nearest of blood should still he next in luve; 
And when I see these liappy childien plaving, 
While VVilJiani gathers flowers for Ellen's 

rinsriels. 
And Ellen dresses flies for William's anffle, 
I scarce can think, that in advancins life. 
Coldness, unkindne.ss, interest, or suspicion. 
Will e'er divide ihat unity so sacred. 
Which Nature bound at birth. 

Anonymous. 

(5.) — CHAP. XXIII. 

Oh ! you would be a vestal maid. I warrant. 
The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake 

your purpose : 
For here I brioir in hand a jolly suitor 
Hath ta'en degrees in the sevi-n .sciences 
I hat ladies love best — He is yoiin? and noble, 
Haudsoiiie and valiant, gay and rich, anil 

liberal. The Nu7i. 

(6) -CHAP. XXXII. 

It comes — it wrings me in my fKirting hour. 
The long-hid crime — the well-dissuised guilt. 
Bring me some holy priest to lay the spi ctre ! 
Old Play. 

(7)— CHAP. XXXV. 

Sedet post eqiiilem atra cura 

Still though the headlong cavalier. 
O'er rough and smooili, m wild career, 

Seems racing wiih the wind ; 
His sad companion — ghastly pale, 
And darksome as a widow's veil. 

Care — keeps her seat behind. 

Horace. 

(8) — CHAP. XXXVIII. 

What sheeted ghost is wandering through the 

storm 1 
For never did a maid of middle earth 
Choose such a time or spot to vent her sor- 
rows. Old Play 
(0.) — CHAP. XXXIX. 

Here come we to our close — for that which 
follows 

Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 

Steep crags and headlong lins may court the 
pencil 

Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange ad- 
ventures; 

But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt 



(tor. 



In its long tract of sterile de.solalu 



Old Play. 



2.N 



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f 594 



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1823. 



I. 
Assist me. ye friends of Old Bdoks and Old 

Wi.ie. 
To sing in the praises of sage Bannalyne. 
Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore 
As enables each age to print one volume more 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more. 
We'll ransack old Banny for one volume 
more. 

11. 
And first. Allan Ramsay was eager to elean 
From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Ever- 
green ; 
Two light little volumes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volume 
more. 
One volume more. Sac. 

III. 
His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put 

in; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a 

bore, 
So this accurate age calls for one volume 
more. 
One volume more, &:c. 

IV. 
Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord 

Hailes, 
And weigh'd every letter in critical scales. 
But left out some brief words, which the 

prudish abhor. 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

mcjie ; 
We'll restore Banny's manhood in one 
volume more. 

V. 
John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd 
1 can't call that worthy so candid as learn'd ; 
He vail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the 

claymore. 
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume 
more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more. 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one 
volume more. 

VI. 
As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor. 
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar 
His diet too acid, his temper too sour. 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes 
more.* 



But one volume, my friends, one volume 

more. 
We'll dine (m roast-beef and print one 
volume more.s 

VII. 
The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll.* 
With his beard like a brush and as black a.s a 

coal ; 
And honest Greysteel 8 that was true to the 

core. 
Lent their hearts and their hands each to one 
volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 

VIIL 
Since by these single champions what wonders 

were done. 
What mav not be achieved by our Thirty and 

One' 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our 

corps. 
And the Trade and the Press join for one 

volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 

IX. 

Ancient libels and contraband books. I assure 

ye. 
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury; 
Tlien hear your Committee, and let them 

count o'er 
The Chiels they intend in their three volumes 

more. 
Three volumes more, <tc. 



They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient 

and Sext, 
And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops 

come next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your 

store. 
Resolving next year to print four volumes 

more. 
Four volumes more, my friends, four 

volumes more ; 
Pay down your subscriptions for four 

volumes more. 



This club was instituted in the year 1822, for 
the publication or reprint of rare and curious 
works connected with the history and antiqui- 
ties of Scotland. It consisted, at first, of a 
very few members. —gradually extended to 
one hundred, at which number it has now 
m ide a final pause. 'Iliey a.ssmne the name 
of the Bannatyiie Club from George Baiina- 
tyne, of whom little is known beyond that 
prodigious effort which produced ins present 
honours, and is, pierliaps, one of the most 
singular instances of Us kind which the 
literature of any country exhibits His labours 
as an amanuensis were undertaken during 
the time of pestilence, in 1.568. The dread 






1 Sir Walter Scott was the fin 
and wrote these verses for the 
March, 11-23. 

2 in acrordance with his own regimen, Mr Riteon pub- 
lished a volume entitled " An Essay on Abstinence from 
Animal Food as a Moral Duty 

3 See an account of the Metrical Antiquarian Researches 
of Pinl(erton, Rilson, and Herd, <kc., in the Introductory 
Bemarks on Popular Poetry, ante, p. 446, et leq. 



i 



, ed 



itor of Scottish Poetry, &c " The 
»me given him by the late Lord 
Clerk, advocate. The dercriptioii 



4 James 
Yeditur," was the 
Eldin, then Mr. J" 
of him here is very 

5 David Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads, 9 
vols. He was called Greysteel by his intimates, from 
having been long in unsuccessful quest of the romanct, >f 
lltul name 



I 



/■ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



of iiifeclKiii hail induc-ed liiiii to retire into 
S'llitude, and under such circunislances he 
had the enerjry to form and execute the plan 
<if savins: the literal ure of the v/liole nation; 
atid. undisiurhed by the seneral mourning for 
the dead, and eenerai fears of the iivinp, to 
devoie himself to the task of collecting and 
recordmar the tniimiihs of hninaii genms m 
the |)oetry of his ajie and country ; — thus, 
annd the wreck of all that was mortal, eiii- 
pliiyina; himself ni preservinj? the lays by 
which immiirtaliiy is at onc-e given toothers, 
and ohtamed fo'r the writer himself He 
informs usof some of the numerous difficulties 
he had to contend with in this self-imposed 
task. The volume conlainin? his labours, 
deposited in the Library of the Faculty of 
Advoca'es at Kdmhursh. is no le.ss than eight 
hundred pages in lengih. and very neatly and 
closely written, containing nearly all the 
ancient poetry of Jjcotland now known to 
exist. 

This Caledonian associ-.ition, which lioasts 
several names of distinction, both from rank 
and talent, has assumed rather a broader 
foundation than the parent society, the Kox- 
burglie Club in London, which, in its plan, 
being restricted to the reprinting of single 
tracts, each executed at the expense of an 
individual member, it follows as almost a 
necessary consequence, that no volume of 
considerable size has emanated from it, and 
its range has hi-en thus far limiied in point of 
uiilitv. The Bannaiyne. holding the same 
system with respect lo the ordinary species of 
club reprints, levies, moreover, a lund among 
its members of about L.503 a-year, expressly 
lo be applied for the editing and printing of 
worksof acknowledged importance, and likely 
to be attended with expense beyond the 
reasonable bounds of an individimrs contribu- 
tion. In this way either a member of the 
Club, or a (tompeient person under its patron- 
age, superiniends a particular volume, or set 
of volumes Upon these occ^isions. a very 
moderate number of coiiies are thrown olf 
for general sale; and those belonging to the 
Club are only distinguished from the others 
by being printed on the paper, and orna- 
mented with the decorations, peculiar to 
the Society In this way several useful and 
eminently valuable works have recently been 
^iven to I'iie public for the first time, or at least 
with a degiee of accuracy and authenticity 
which they had never before attained. — 
AhiidiiKl from the Quarterly Revuw — Art. 
Hitrair7t's Ancient Criminal Trials February, 
1831. 



ON THE COMPOSITION OF M-tlDA'S EPITAPH. 

1824. 



" Maiilae Marmorea tlormis sub imagine Maida! 
Ad januaia dimiin ait tihi terra li^vis." 

Uer UJt of Scott. »ol. vii., pp. 276-281. 

" Dear John,— I some time ago wrote fo inform 

his 
Fat worship itf jaces, misprinted for dermis; 



But that several Soutiirons assured me tl 

jmiuam 
Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Prisciau's 

cranium. 
You, perhaps, may observe that one Lionel 

Berguer. 
In defence of our blunder appears a stout 

argiier ; 
But at length I have settled, I hope, all these 

clatters, 
By a row/, in the papers, fine place for such 

matters. 
I have, therefore, to make it for once my 

command, sir. 
That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing 

in my hand, sir. 
And by no means accomplish what James 

says you threaten, 
Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog- 
Latin 
I have various reasons of weight, on my word, 

For pronouncing a step of this sort were 

absuril. sir.— 
Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against your ad- 
vising 
I adopted the lines this monstrosity lies in; 
For you modestly hinted my English transla- 
tion 
Would become better far such a dignified 

station. 
Second— how. in God's name, would my bacon 

be saved. 
By not having writ what I clearly engraved ? 
Un the contrary, I, (m the whole, think it 

better 
Tff be whipped as a thief, than his lousy 

resetter. 
Thirdly — dout you perceive I don't care a 

boddle 
Although liTty false metres were flung: at my 

noddle. 
For my back is as broad and as hard as Ben- 

ioinon's. 
And 1 treat as I please both the Greeks and 

the Romans; 
Whereas the said heathens might rather look 

serious. 
At a kink on their drum from the scribe of 

Valerius. 
And, fourthly and lastly — it is my good 

pleasure 
To remain the sole source of that murderous 

measure. 
So stet pro ratione voluntas — be tractile. 
Invade not, I say, my own dear little 

dactyl ; 
If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our 

intercourse : 
To-morn.w you will see me in town for the 

winter-course, 
But not al your door, at the usual hour, 

sir. 
My own pye-house daughter's good prog to 

devour, sir. 
Ergo— peace !— on your duty, your squeaiiiisli- 

ne.ss throttle. 
And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with :i 

canny third bottle. 
A lig for all dactyls, a fig for all spon- 
dees. 
A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys ; 
A fig lor dry tlirapples. south, north, east, and 

west, sir. 




T 



ud y 



^ 596 



\ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Spe;its and raxes i ere five for a faiiiisliiiig 

guest, sir; 
And as Fatsniaii 2 and I have some topics for 

liaver, he'll 
Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame 

Feveiil, 
Upon wliom, to say nothing of Oury and 

Anne, you a 
Dog sliall be deemed if you fasten your 

Janua. 



25yilcQiic 



nines,' 

ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE, THE 
CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 



TO THE DRAM.X FoUNDP^D ON " ST, RONAN'S 

WELL " 



1824. 



Of yore, in old England, it was not thought 
good 

To carry two visases under one hood : 

What should folk say to yoii.1 wlu) have faces 
such plenty, 

That from under one hood, you last night 
show'd us twenty! 

Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth. 

Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth ? 

Man. woman, or child— a dog or a mouse ? 

Or are you, at once, each live tiling in the 
house ? 

Each live thinsr, did I ask T— each dead imple- 
ment, too, 

A work-shop in your person.— saw, chisel, and 
screw ! 

Above all. are vou one individual ? I know 

You must be at least Alexandre and Co. 

But I think you're a troop— an assemblage— a 
mob, 

And that I, as Sheriff, should take up the job; 

And instead of rehearsing your wonders in 
verse. 

Must read you the Riot Act, and bid you dis- 
perse. 
Abbotsford, 23d April.* 



1 There is an excellent story (hut loo long for quota- 
tion) in the Memoire of the Somerviltea (vol. i., p 2i0) 
aliout an old Lord of that family, who, whi'ti he wished 
preparations to be made for high feasting at his Caslle of 
Cowthally, used to pend on a h llet inscrihed with this 
laconic phrase, " Speatea and raxes," i e. spits antt ranges. 
Upon one occasion. Lady SomerviUe (being newly married, 
and not yet skilled in her husband's hieroglyphics) read 
the mandate as spears and jacks, and sent forth 200 armed 
hirrsemen, whose appearance on the moors greatly alarmed 
Lord SomerviUe and his guest, who happened to be no less 
a person than King James III.— See Scutt's Mucellaneous 
Prcse. vol. xxii , p. 312. 

2 Falivian was one of Mr. James Balliiityne's many 
tiicset. Another (to which Constable mostly adhered) 
was Mr " Basket rill" — an allusiou to the celebrated 
printer Baskerville. 

3 "When Monsieur Alexandre, the celebrated ventrilo- 
quist, wai in Scotland, in iBH, he paid a visit to Abbots- 
ford, where he entertained his distinguished host, and the 
other visiters, with his unrivall'-d imitations. Next morn- 
ina, when he was about to depart. Sir Walter felt a good 
deal embarrassed as to the sort of acknowledgment he 
should ollvr; but at l.nglh. resolving that it would prob- 
ably be most agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid in 
profes-iional coin, if in iiny. he stepped aside for a few 
minutes, and, on returnin:.', prwenled him with this eid 
irram. The reader need hardly he reminded that S r 

Her Scoit hell th.- oltlce of Sheriff of the county of 
Selkirk "—Seulcli newspaper, 1S30. 



"After tlie play, the following humorous 
ad<lress, (ascribed to an emineiil literary ch.ir- 
acter,) was s|ioken with infinite effect by Mr. 
Maokay In the character of Mesr Dodds.'' — 
Edinburgh Weekly Journal, 9th June, 1824. 

Enter Mege Dodds. encircled by a crinjod nf 
unruly boys, whom a town's-officer is driviny off. 

Thiit's right, friend — drive the gaitlings 

bac.k. 
And lend yon miickle ane a wliack; 
Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saiicv. 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 

Upon your causey. 

I've seen the day they would have been 

scaur'il, 
Wi' the 'I'olbooth, or wi' the Guard. 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 
For Jamie I ains— 5 
The Water-hole « was right weel wared 
On sic a gang. 

But whar's the sude Tolbooth 7 sane now ? 
Whar's the old Claught.e wj' red iiiid bine? 
Whar's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John 
Doo ? 

And whar's the Weish-house? •<> 
Dei! hae't I see but what is new. 

Except the Playhouse ! 

Yoiiisells are changed frae head to heel. 
There's some that gar the causeway reel 
What clashing hufe and rattling wheel, 

And horses canterin', 
Wha's fathers dtiimder'il hame as weel 

Wr lass and lantern. 

Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs 1 kenn'd lanff syne, 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, 

And eat cheap dinners ; 
But deil a soul gangs there to dine. 

Of saints or sinners! 



4 The lines, with this date, appeared in the Edinburgh 
Annual Register of 1824. 

5 James Laing was one of the Depute-Clerks of the city 
of Edmburgh. and in his official connexion with the Police 
and Council-(;hamber, his name was a constant terror to 
evil-doers. He died in February, lb06. 

6 The Watch-hole. 

7 The Tolbooth of Edinburgh, The Heart of Mid. 
Lothian, was pulled down in 1817. 

S The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of 
this body of police was finally disbanded in 1617. 

9 John Doo, or Dhu— a lerrilic-lonking and high-spirited 
member of the Town-Guard, and of whom there is a pr.nt 
bv Kay, etched in 1784 

10 The Weigh-house, situated at the head of the West 
Bow, Lawnmarket, and which had long been looked upon as 
an encumbrance to the street, was demolished in order to 
make way for the royal procession to the Castle, whicL 
took place on the 22d o: August, 1622. 



z 



/- 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 597 



Fornine's i and Hunter's 2 g:ane, alas ! 
And Bayle's3 is Icisr in empty space; 
And now if folk would splice a brace, 

Or crack a bottle. 
They Rang to a new-fanirled place 

They ca' a Hotlle. 

The deevil bottle them for Me?! 
They are sae greedy and sae elep. 
That if ye're served hut wi' an ears:, 

(And that's puir pickm'.) 
In comes a duel and makes a leg. 

And charges chicken ! 

" And wha may ye he." gm ye speer, 

•• That brines vour auld-warld clavers here ? ' 

Troth, if there's onybody near 

That kens the roads, 
ni baud ye Burgundy to beer, 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you're in a hurry. 
Your patience I'll nae lans-er worry, 

But he sae cmuse 
As speak a word lor ane Will Murray ,■* 

That keeps this house. 

Plavs are au'd-fashion'd thinss, in truth, 
And ye ve seen wonders niair uncouth; 
Yet actors shnuldna suffer drouth. 

Or want of dramock. 
Although they speak but wi' their mouth, 

^ot with their slamock. 

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry ; 

And surely to hae stooden sentry 

Ower this bi? house, (that's far frae rent-free,) 

For a lone sister. 
Is claims as gude's to be a ventri — 

How'si ca'd— loquisier. 

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care 
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae niair; 
For gin ihey do, she tells you fair, 

And without falzie, 
As sure as ever ye .sit there. 

Shell tell the Bailie. 



Hpflofluc. 



18-24. 



The sages — for authority, pray look 
Seneca's morals, or the copy-book — 
T he sages, to disparase woman's power, 
>av, be;iuty is a fair, but fading flower; — 
I c uiiKa tel! — I've small philosophy — 
Yet. if it fades, it does not surely die, 

1 Forlune'8 Tavern— a house on the west side of the Old 
Stamp Office Close, High Sireel, and which wax, in the 
early pari of the last cenrnry, the mansion of the Earl of 
Eslinlnun.— The Lord High Commissioner to the General 
A-vembly of the day held his levees and dinners iu this 



S Bayle's Tavern and CoBeehoase, originally on the 
North Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, 
l>at removed to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. 



But. like the violet, when decay'd in bloom. 
Survives through many a year in rich perfume. 
Wiiiie.'is our theme to-night, two au'es gone, 
A third wanes fast, since Mary (ill'd the 

throne. 
Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny 

day, 
Twix', Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood 

you boast. 
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost? 
O'er Mary's mem'ry the learn'd quarrel. 
By Mary's erave the poet plants his laurel. 
1'ime's echo, old tradition. m:ikes her name 
The constant biirclen of his talt'rin? theme; 
In each old liall tiis grey-hau'd heralds tell 
Of Mary's picture, and of .Mary's cell, 
And show— mv fingers linale at the thoueht- 
The loads of tapestry winch ttiat poor Queen 

wrotiirht. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower : 
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r. 
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends. 
Spite of three wedloc.ks so completely curst. 
They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst, 
In spite of errors— I dare not say more. 
For Duncan Tarse lays hand on his claymore. 
In spite of all, however, humours vary. 
There is a talisman in that word Mary, 
That unto Scottish bosoms all and some 
Is found the genuine o\>€n sfsamun! 
In history, balhid. poetry, or novel. 
It charms alike the castle and the hovel, 
Kven you — forgive me— who. demure and shy, 
Goree not each bait, nor stir at every fly, 
Must rise to this, else in her ancient reisn 
The Rose of Scotland has survived lu vam. 



iFrom HeHflauntlet. 



18-24. 

"It was but three nishts ago. that, worn 

out by the uniformity of my confinement, I had 
manifesied more symptoms of despondence 
than I had before exhibited, which I conceive 
may have attracted the attention of the 
dimiestics, through whom the circunistant-e 
mishr transpire. On the next morniiiff. the 
following lines lay on my table : but how con- 
veyed there, I cannot tell. The hand in 
which they are written is a beautiful Ita- 
lian manuscript," — Darsie Latimer's Journal, 
Chap X. 
As lords their labourers' hire delay, 

Fate quits our toil with hopes to come. 
Which, if far short of present pay. 

Still owns a debt and names a sum. 

Such was the dignified character of this house, that the 
waiter always appeared in full dress, and nobody was ad- 
mitted who had not a white neckcloth— then conuiiiered an 
indispensable insignium of a gentleman. 

4 Mr. William Murray becan>e manager of the Edin- 
burgh Theatre in 1815. 

6 " I recovered the above with some difficulty. t 
believe it was never spoken, but written for some play, 
afterwards withdrawn, in which Mrs H Siddona was in 
have •■poken it in the character of ftoeen Mary."— E.r<rm:< 
from a Letter of Sir WaUer Scott to Mr. Cm'tabU. Mrf 
October, 11)34. 



^t 




7 



Z. 



^ 



^ 



598 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Quit, ncit the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 
Althoiieh a distant date be siven ; 

Despair is treasdn towards man, 
And blasphemy to Htaven. 



ifront Eht aietrotiieti. 



1825. 

(l.)_ SONG — SOLDIER WAKE. 

I. 
Soldier, wake— the day is peepin?. 
Honour ne'er was won in sleeping. 
Never when the sunbeams still 
T,ay un reflected on the hill : 
''lis when they are glinted back 
From axe and armour, spear and jack. 
That they pronnse future story 
Manv a pase of deathless ^lory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

II. 
Arm and up, the morning: beam 
Hath call'd the rustic to his team, 
Hath caird the falc'ner to the lake. 
Hath caird the huntsman to the brake; 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake— thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, Ihv same. 
Shield, that would be foeman's terror, 
Stdl should gleam the morning's mirror. 

III. 
Poor hire repays the rustic pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain : 
Vame.st of all the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream ; 
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd 
Since first the peep of dawn has smil'd ; 
And each is easerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! 
Be thv bright shield the morning's mirror. 
Chap. xix. 



Asain her word and truth she plight, 
And 1 believed them again ere niu'ht 

Chap XX. 



\ 



(2.)— SONG— THE TRUTH OF WOMAN. 
I. 
Woman's faith, and woman's trust- 
Write the characters in dust: 
Stamp them on the running stream, 
Print them on the moon's pale beam. 
And each evanescent letter 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the things those letters mean. 

II. 

I have strain'd the spider's thread 
'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 
I have weigh'd a grain of sand 
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand; 
J told my true love of the token. 
How her faith proved light, and her word 
was broken : 



(3.) _ SONG— I ASKED OF MY HARP. 

-"The minstrel took from his side a rntr, 

and striking, from time to time, a Welsh 
descant, sung at others a lav, of which we ran 
offer only a few fragments, litenllv translated 
from the ancient language in which they were 
chanted, premisins that thev are in that ev- 
rursive symbolical style of noetry, which 
Taliessin, I lewarch. Hen. and other b:ir(ls, 
had derived perhaps fn.m the time of the 
Druids." 
I ask'd of mv harp. "Who hath injured thy 

chords V 
And she replied, " The crooked finger, which 1 

mocked in mv tune." 
A blade of silver may be bended — a blade of 

steel abidelh— 
Kindness fadetli away, but vengeance en- 

duieth 

The sweet taste of mead passeth from the 

lips. 
But they are long corroded by the juice of 

Wormwood ; 
The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the 

wolf ranseth the mountain ; 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- 

dureth. 

I ask'd the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd en 

the anvil. 
" Wherefore glowest thou longer than the 

firebrand " 
" I was born in the dark mine, and the brand 

in the pleasant greenwood" 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- 

duieth. 
I ask'd the green oak of the assemjilv, where- 
fore its boughs were dry and'seared like 

the horns of the stag; 
And it show'd me that a small worm had 

gnaw'd its roots. 
The boy who remembered the scourge, undid 

the wicket of the castle at midnight. 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- 

dureth. 
Lightning destroyeth temples, though their 

spires pierce the clouds; 
Storms destroy armadas, though their sails 

intercept the gale. 
He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a 

contemptible enemy. 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- 

dureth. Chap. xxxi. 



(4.) — MOTTOES. 

(l.)-CH.\P. II. 
In Madoc's tent the clarion .sounds. 
With rapid clangour hurried far; 
Each hill and dale the note rebounds, 

But when return the sons of war! 
Thou, horn of stern Necessity, 
Dull Peace! the valley yields to thee, 
And owns thy nielaiicholv sway. 

Welsh Foem 



J 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 699 






(2.) — CH.VP. VII. 

O. sadlv shines the mornin? sun 

On leaener'd castle wall. 
When biislion. tower, and battlement, 

Seem nodding to their fall 

Old Ballad. 

(3)— CHAP. XII. 

Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 
And lidies of England that happy would 
prove. 
Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, 
Nor marry for nothing but only love. 

Family QtiarreU. 

(1)— CHAP. XIII. 

,Too much rest is rust, 

There's ever cheer in changing ; 
We tyne by too much trust. 
So we'll be up and ranging. 

Old Song. 

l-6.)— CHAP. XVII. 

Rin? out the merry bells, the bride ap- 
proaches. 

The blush upon her cheek has shamed the 
morning. 

For that IS dawning palely. Grant, good 
saints. 

These clouds betoken nought of evil omen ! 
Old Play. 

{6.)-.CHAP. XXVIL 

Julia. Gentle sir, 

You are our captive— but we'll use you so. 
That you shall think your prison joys may 

match 
Whatu'er your liberty hath known of 

pleasure. 
Roderick No, fairest, we have trifled here 

too long; 
And. Imserins to see your roses blossom. 
I've lei my laurels wither. Old Play. 



jTrom Wxt Knlinxmw, 



(1.) — AIIRIMAN. 

"'So saying, the Saracen proceeded to 

chain verses, very aiinent m the language and 
structure, which some have thouglit derive 
their source from tlie worship of Arimanes, 
the Evil Principle." 

Dark Ahriinan, whom Irak still 
Holds origin of woe and ill ! 

When, bending at thy shrine. 
We view the world with troubled eye. 
Where see we. 'neatli the e.xtended sky. 

An empire matching thine ! 

If the Beniffner Power can yield 
A fountain in the desert field. 

Where weary pilgrims drink ; 
Thine are the waves that lash the rock. 
Thine the tornado's deadly shock 

Where countless navies sink ! 



Or if He bid the soil dispense 
Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, 

How few can tliey deliver 
From lingering pains, or pans: intense, 
Ked Fever, spotteii Pestilence, 

The arrows of thy quiver ! 

Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway. 
And frequent, while in words we pray 

Before another throne, 
Whate'er of specious form be there. 
The secret meaninsf of the prayer 

Is, Ahriinan, thine own. 

.*5ay, hast thou feeling, .sense, and form, 
Thunder thy Voice, thy garments storm. 

As Eastern Ma?i say ; 
With sentient soul of hate and wrath, 
And winss to sweep thy deadly path, 

A rid fangs to tear t hy prey ? 

Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source, 
An ever-operatins: force. 

Converting good to ill ; 
An evil principle innate, 
Contending with our better fate. 

And oh ! victorious still ? 

Howe'er it be. dispute is vain. 

On all without thou hold'st thy rei^n, 

Nor less on all within ; 
Each mortal passion's fierce career. 
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear. 

Thou goadest into sin. 

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, 
To brighten up our vaio of tears. 

Thou art not distant far; 
'Mid such brief solace of our live.s. 
Thou whetl'st our very banquet-knite* 

To tools of death arid war. 

Thus, from the moment of our birth. 
Long as we linger on the earth, 

Thou rul'st the fate of men : 
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour. 
And — who dare answer ? — is thy power, 

Dark Spirit ! ended Then ? 

Chap. iii. 



(2.) — SONG OF BLONDE L. -THE 
BLOODY VEST. 

"The song of Blondel was. of course, in the 
Norman language; hut the verses which fol- 
low express its meaning and its manner." 

'Twas near the fair city of Beiievent, 

When the sun was setting on bough and bent. 

And knights were preparing in bower and 

tent. 
On the eve of the Baptist's tournament ; 
W'hen in Lincoln green a stripling gent. 
Well seeming a page by a princess sent. 
Wander'il the camp, and, still as he went. 
Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. 

Far hath he fared, and farther must fare. 
Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare, — 
Little save iron and steel was there; 
And, as lacking the com to pay armourer's 

care. 
With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare. 



^T 



7 



:i 



'v 



600 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The good knight with hammer and file did 

repair 
The ni:iii that lo-morrnw must see him wear, 
For the honour of Saint John and his lady 

fair. 

" Thus speal<s my lady," the paffe said he. 
And the knight bent lowly both head and 

knee, 
" She is Benevent's Princess so high in desree. 
And thou art as lowly as knight may well he- 
He that would climb so lofty a tree, 
Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee. 
Must dare some high deed, by which all men 

may see 
His ambition is hack'd by his high chivalrie. 

"Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair 

page he said. 
And the knight lowly louted with hand and 

with head, 
" Fling aside the ?ood armour in which thou 

art clHd, 
And don thou this weed of her night-gear 

instead. 
For a hauheik of steel, a kirtle of thread ; 
And ciiaree, thus attired, in the tournament 

dread. 
And fight, as thou wont, where most blood is 

shed. 
And bring honour away, or remain with the 

dead." 

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his 

hre.ist, 
The knight the weed hath taken, and rever- 
ently hath kiss'd : 
"Now ble'ss'd be the moment, the messenger 

be blest! 
Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's 

high behest; 
And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed 

ilress'd. 
To the best arm'd champion I will not veil my 

crest ; 
But if 1 live and bear me well, 'tis her turn to 

take the test." 
Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the 

Lay of tlie Bloody Vest. 



THE BLOODY VEST. 

FYTTE SECOND. 

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant 

feats — 
There was winning of honour, and losing of 

seats — 
There was hewing with falchions, and splinter- 
ing of slaves. 
The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won 

graves. 
O, many a knight there fought bravely and 

well. 
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, 
And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and 

breast, 
Seem'd the weed of a damsel when boune for 

her rest. 



1 ne 
^ But 



Vhere were some dealt him wounds that were 

bloody and sore. 
But others respected his plight and forebore. 



"It is some oath of honour," they said. " and 
I trow, 

'Twere unknighlly to slay him achieving his 
vow." 

Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tourna- 
ment cease, 

He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung 
peace ; 

And the judges declare, and competitors yield, 

That the Knight of the Night-gear was first 
in the field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was 

Higher, 
When before the fair Princess low louted a 

squire. 
And deliver'd a garment unseemlv to view. 
With sword-cut and spear-thrUst, all hack'd 

and pierced through ; 
All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with 

blood. 
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with 

mud. 
Not the point of that lady's small finger, I 

ween. 
Could have rested on spot was unsullied and 

clean. 
"This token my master. Sir Thnmtis a Kent, 
Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; 
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to 

the fruit, 
He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in 

his suit; 
Through life's utmost peril the prize I have 

won, 
And now must the faith of my mistress be 

shown ; 
For she who prompts knights on such danger 

to run. 
Must avouch his true service in front of the 

sun. 
" ' I restore,' says my master, ' the garment I've 

worn. 
And I claim of the Princess to dnn it in turn; 
For its stains and its rents she should prize it 

the more. 
Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd 

with gore.'" 
Then deep hlush'd the Princess — yet kiss'd 

she and press'd 
The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her 

breast. 
" Go tell my true knight, church and chamber 

shall show, 
If I value the blood on this garment or no." 

And when it was time for the nobles to pass, 
in solenm procession to minster and mass, 
The first walk'd the Princess in purple and 

pall, 
But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore 

over all ; 
And eke. in the hall, where they all sat at 

dine. 
When she knelt to her father and proflfer'd the 



That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. 
Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may 

think. 
And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and 

wink , 



^ 



z. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 601 



50l\ 



And tho Prince, who in an?er and sliame had 

liiok'd down, 
Tnrn'd at leiisflh to his daii!i;hter, and spoke 

with a frown : 
" Now sliK^e thou hast publish'd tliy folly and 

KUlIt, 

E'en alone with thy hand for the blood thou 

hast spilt; 
Yet sore for your boldness you both will re- 
pen r. 
Wlien you wander as exiles from fair Bene- 

veut." 
Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where 

he stixHl, 
Kxhausted and feehle. hut dauntless of mood ; 
••The blood that 1 lost lor this daugtiter of 

tliine. 
1 pour'd forth as freely as flask isives its wine: 
And if for my sake she luooks penance and 

blame. 
Do not doubt I will save her from suffering 

and shame ; 
And lii;:ht will she reck of thy princedom and 

rent, 
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of 

Kent." Cfiap. xxvi. 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— CHAP. IX. 

This is the Prince of Leeches; fever, plague. 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look 

on him, 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 
Anouymuus. 
(•i.)— CH.\P. XI. 

One thing is certain in our Northern land. 
Allow that birth, or valour, wealth, or wit, 
Give each precedence to their possessor. 
Kiivy, that follows on such eminence. 
As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's 

trace. 
Shall pull them down each one. 

Sir David Lindsay. 

(3.)— CHAP. XIII. 

You talk of Gaiety and Innocence! 
The moment when the fatal truil was eaten. 
They parted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice 
Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety. 
From Itz first moment when the smiliiig 

infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with. 
To the last chuckle of the dying miser. 
Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear 
His wealthy ueigtibour has become a bankrupt. 
Old Flay. 

(4.)— CHAP. XVI. 

'Tis no' her sense — for sure, in that 
There's nothing more than common; 

And all her wit is only chat. 
Like any otiier woman. Song. 

(5.)— CHAP. XVII, 

Were every hair upon his head a life. 
And every life were to be supphoated 
By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, 
Life after life should out like waiun? stars 
Before the daybreak— or as festive lamps. 
.Which have lent Instre to the midnight revel, 
♦ Each after each are quench'd when guests 
depart ! Old Flay. 



61 



(6.) -CHAP. XIX 
Must we then sheath our still victorious 

sword ; 
Turn ba<:k our forward step, which ever trode 
O'er foeinen's necks the onward path of aiory ; 
Unclasp the mail, which, with a solemn vow, 
In God's own house we hung upon our 

shoulders : 
That vow, as unacc(miplish'd as the promise 
Which village nurses make to still their chil- 
dren. 

And after think no more of T 

The Crusade, a Tragedy. 

(7.) -CHAP. XX. 

When beauty leads the lion in her toils. 
Such are her charms he dare not raise his 

mane. 
Far less expand the terror of his fangs, 
>o great Alcides made his club a distaff. 
And spun to please fair Omphal6. 

Arionymous. 

(8) — CHAP. XXIII. 

'Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves 

her hand. 
To change the face of the mysterious land ; 
Till the bewilderins scenes around us seem 
The vain productions of a feverish dream. 
Astolpho, a Romancr^ 

(9.)— CHAP. XXIV. 

A gram of dust 

Soiling our cup. will niake our sense reject 
Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst 

for; 
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful com- 
pass. 
Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the 

argosy. 
Even this small cause of anger and disgu.st 
Will break the bondsof amity 'mongst princes, 
And wreck their noblest purposes. 

The Crusade. 

(10.) -CHAP. XXVI. 

The tears I shed must ever fall ! 

I weep not for an absent swain. 
For tiaie may happier hours recall. 

And parieil lovers meet again. 

I weep not f(»r the silent dead. 

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er. 
And those that loved tlieirsteps must tread, 

V\ hen death shall join to part no more. 

But worse than absence, worse than death. 
She wept her lover's sullied fame. 

And. fired with all the pride of birth. 
She wept a soldier's injured name. 

Baliad. 



2.1 fe of lyii.ipolcon. 



June, 1S25. 

While Scott was engaged in writing the Life 
of Napoleon, Mr Lockhart says,— "The rapid 
accumulation of books and MSS. was at once 
flattering and alarming; and one of his notes 
to me, about the middle of June, had these 
rhymes by way of postscript: 



•^ 



A 




X 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When with Poetry dealing:, 
Room euoush in a ^hieliiiK: 
Neither cabin nor h )vel 
Too small for a novel : 
Thousli my back I should rub 
(.)n Diogenes' tub. 
How my fancy could prance 
In a dance of romance ! 
But my house 1 must swap 
With some Brohdisnagr chap. 
Ere I i?rap[)le, God bless me! with Em- 
peror Nap." 

Life, vol. vii. p. 391. 



ifrom ©woolrstocfe. 



(1.) — AN HOUR WITH THEE, 

An hour with thee ! — When enriiest day 
Dapples with sold the eastern srey. 
Oh, what can frame my mind to bear 
The toil and turmoil, rark and care. 
New griefs, winch coming hours unfold, 
And sad remembrance of tiie old ? 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee!— When burning June 
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 
What shall repay the faithful swain, 
His labour on the sultry plain ; 
And more than cave or sheltering; bough. 
Cool feverish blood, and tlirobhing brow? — 
One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee !— When sun is set, 
O, what can teach me to forget 
The thankle.ss labours of the day ; 
The hopes, the wishes flung away ; 
The increasing wants, and lessening gains, 
The master's pride, who scorns my pains?— 
One hour with thee. 
Chap. XXVI. 



(2,) — MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHAP. II. 

Come forth, old man— Thy daughter's side 
Is now the fitting place for thee : 

When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride, 
'I'he youthful tendril yet may hide 
The ruins of the parent tree. 

(2.)— CHAP. III. 

Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns 

your stage. 
To vapour forth the acts of this sad age. 
Stout EdgehiU fight, the Newberries and the 

West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought 

best; 
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of 

fear, 
When bullets flew between the head and ear, 
Whether y()U fought by Damme or the Spirit, 
Of you I speak. 

Legend of Captain Joites. 



(3.) — CHAP IV. 

— ; Yon path of greensward 

Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; 
There is no flint to gall ihy tender foot. 
There's ready shelter from each breeze, or 

shower.— 
Rut Duty guides not that way— see her stand, 
With wand entwined with amaranth, near vim 

cliffs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy 

footsteps. 
Oft where she leads thy head must bear the 

storm. 
And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and 

hunger; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heiirhts. 
Which he who gains seems naiive of the sky. 
While earthly things lie stretch'd beneath his 

feet, 

Diminish'd, shrunk, and valueless 

Anonyviovs. 

(4.)— CHAP. V. 

My tongue pads slowly under this new lan- 
guage. 

And starts and stumbles at these uncouth 
phrases. 

They may be great in worth and weight, but 
hang 

Upon the native glibness of my language 

Like Sauls plate-armour on the shepherd 
boy. 

Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.B. 

(.5.)— CHAP. X. 

Here we have one head 

I'pon two bodies— your two-headed bullock 

Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 

These two have but one meaning, thought, 

and counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has spoke out. 
The four legs scrape assent to it. 

Old Play. 

(6 ) — CHAP. XIV. 

Deeds are done on earth. 

Which have their punishment ere the earth 

closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 
Of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision. 
Distinct and real, of unearthly being. 
All ages witness, that beside the couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks tlie ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy 

wound. Old Play. 

(7.) -CHAP. XVII. 

We do that in our zeal, 
Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. 
Anonymous. 

(8) -CHAP. XXIV. 

The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 

'mongst flowers. 
Blend their bright colouring with the varied, 

blossoms. 
Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled 

dew-drop ; 
In all so like what nature has most harmless ' 
That sportive innocence, which dreads no 

danger. 
Is poison'd unawares. Old Play. 



y 



7^ 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 603 



nines to <Sfr Cutljbert Sjjar;). 



1827. 



"Sir Ciithbert Sharp, who had been parii 
r.iihtrly kind and alleniive to Scolt when at 
Sunderland, happened, in writing to him on 
gome iiiiiiler of business, to say he hoped he 
had not forgotten his friends in that qnarter. 
Sir V\ alier's answer to Sir Cuthbert (who had 
been introduced to him by his old and dear 
friend. Air. Snrtees of Maiiisforth) begins 
thus :— 

Forget thee! No ! my worthy fere ! 
P'oiget blithe niinh and gallant cheer! 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier! 

Forget thee T No. 

Forjfet the universal shoiil » 

Wlieii "canny Siinclerlaiur' spoke out— 

A truth which knaves atleci to donhi — 

Forset thee ? No. 

Foreet you ? No— though now-a-day 
I've heard your kn(»wmK people say, 
Disown the debt you caiinol pay. 
You'll find It far the tnriftiest way— 

But 1 ?— O no. 

Forget your kindness found for all room, 

in what, though large, seem'd still a small 

room, 
Forget my Surlees in a ball-room — 

Forget you ? No. 

Forget your sprightly diiiiipty-iliddles. 
And beauty lri|iping lo the fiddles. 
Forget my lovely friends the Lvlddls— 

Forget you T No. 

" So much for oblivion, my dear Sir G ; and 
now, liaviiig dismounted from my Pegasus, 
who is rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like 
an old dragoon as I am," <tc. &c. — Life 0/ 
Scott, vol. IX., (). 165. 



JFrom (Khronfcles of the 
(Kanongate- 



MOTTOES. 
(1.) — THE TWO DROVERS. 

CHAP. II. 

Were ever such two loving friends !— 

How could they disagree ? 
thus it was he loved him dear. 

And thought how lo requite him. 
And having no friend left but he, 

He did resolve to fight him. 

Duke upon Dtike. 



1 \ii allusion to the enthUBiastic reception of the Duke 
»f \V,-ii,ngtcn at Sunderland.— fil. 

2 Thia la? has beta let to beautiful music by a lady 



(2.)--MY AUNT MAROARET'S MIRROR. 
'I here are timivs 

When Fancy plays her gambol.^, in despite 

Kven of our watchful senses, when in sooth 

Sulistaiice seems shadow, shadow substance 
seems. 

When the broad, palpable, and marked parti- 
tion, 

'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dis- 
solved. 

As if the mental eye gained power to gaze 

Beyond the limils of the existing world. 

Such liours of shadowy dreams I better love 

Than all the gross realities of life. 

Anottymnns. 



jFrom m\t iTaCr iWaar 



1S28, 



(1,) — THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE.» 

Ah. poor Louise! the livelong day 
Mh; roams from cot to casi le gay ; 
And still her voice and viol say. 
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way. 

Think on Louise. 

Ah. poor Louise ! The sun was high, 
Ii siiiirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye, 
The woodland walk was cool and nigh, 
Wliere birds with chiming streamlets vie 
To cheer Louise. 

Ah. p(H)r Ionise! The savage bear 
.Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
The wolves molest not paths so fair — 
But better far liad such been there 

For poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huiiisman (air and bold: 
His baldric was of silk and gold, 
And many a witching tale he told 

To poor Louise. 

Ah. poor Louise ! Sm;ill cause to pine 
Hadsi thou lor treasures of the mine ; 
For peace of mimi, that gill divine. 
And spotless innocence, were thine. 

Ah, poor Louise I 

Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft! 
I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift; 
But miser/ is all that's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succour have ! 
>he will not long your bounty crave. 
Or tire the gay with warning slave— 
For Heaven lias grace, and earth a grave. — 
Poor poor Louise. 
Chap X. 



whose composrlion, to say nothing of her singing, might 
make any poet [rouil of his versrs, Mrs. Bobcrl Aikwiighl, 
born Mias Kemblv. 



V 



f 604 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



■^ 



X 



(2.) — DEATH CHANT. 

— " Ere he piipssed where he was sninj, 
Ihe leech was.liurrietl iiii<i thi^ house of tlie 
late Oliver Proiiilfute, from which he heard 
the chant, of the women, as they swathed and 
dressed the corpse of the iimqiihilK Boimet- 
maker, for the ceremony of next morning; of 
which chant, the following verses may be 
received as a modern imitation :" — 

1. 
Viewless Essence, thin and bare, 
Well niffh melted into air; 
Still with fondness hoverin? hear 
The earthly form thou once did wear; 



Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or riglit; 
Be thou doom'd to soar or sink, 
Pause upon the awful brink. 



To avenge the deed expelling 
Thee untimely from thy dwelling, 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain. 



When the form thou shalt espy 
That darken'd on thy closing eye ; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear, 
That Ihrill'd upon thy dying ear; 



Then strange svinpathies shall wake. 
Tlie flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall 

quake; 
The wounds renew their clotter'd flood. 
And every drop cry bhiod for blood. 

Chajt. xxii. 



(3.) — SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN. 

" She sung a melancholv dirge In Norman 
French ; the words, of which the foUoW'ins is 
an imitation, were united to a tune as doleful 
as they are themselves." 

1. 

Yes, thou mayst sigh. 
And look once more at all around. 
At stream and bank, and sky and ground. 
Thy life its final course has found, 

And thoQ must die. 

2. 

Yes, lay thee down. 
And while thy struggling pulses flutter. 
Bid the grey monk his soul-mass mutter. 
And the deep hell its death-tone utter — 

Thy life is gone. 

1 Tliese Btanias, aicompanying an engraving from Mr. 
Cooper's subject, " The Death of Keeldar," appeared in ThK 
Otm of lt(29. a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, 
Ksq. In th< acknowledgment to his contributors. Mr. 
Hood says, " To Sir Walter Scott — not merely a literary 
feather in niy tap, but a whole plume of them— I owe, and 



Be not afraid. 
'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a chill; 
And then an eiiil of human ill, 

For thou art dead. Chav- xix. 



(4.) — MOTTOES. 

(1.) — INTRODUCTORY. 

The ashes here of miirder'd Kings 

Beneath my footsteps sleep; 
And yonder lies the scene of death. 
Where Mary learn "d to weep. 

Captain Marjoribanks. 
(2) —CHAP. I. 

" Behold the Tiber!" the vain Roman cried. 
Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side; 
But Where's the Scot that would the vaunt, 

repay. 
And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay 7 

Afionymous. 

(3.) — CHAP. XI. 

Fair is the damsel, passing fair- 
Sunny at distance gleams her smile ! 

Approach— the cloud of woeful care 
Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 

Lucinda, a Ballad. 

(4.) — CH.\P, XV. 

O for a draught of power to steep 
The soul of agony in sleep ! Bertha. 

(5) — CHAP. xxm. 
Lo ! where he lies ernbalm'd in gore, 

His wound to Heaven cries ; 
The floodgates of his blood implore 
For vengeance from the skies 

Uranus and Psyche. 



©je 20catl) of ^cellrar. 



1828. 



Percy or Percival Rede of Trochend. in 
Redesdale. Northumberland, is celebrated in 
tradition as a huntsman and a soldier He 
was, upon two occasions, singularly unfortu- 
nate ; once, when an arrow, which he had 
discharged at a deer, killed his celebrated 
dog Keeldar; and again, when, being on a 
hunting party, he wa>- betrayed into the hands 
of a clan called Crossar, bv whom he was 
murdered. Mr. Cooper's [tainting of the first 
of these incidents, suggested the following 
stanzas.! 

Up rose the siin, o'er moor and mead ; 
Up with the sun ro.se Percy Rede ; 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, 
Career'd along the lea ; 

with the hand of my heart acltnowledge, a deep obligation. 
A poem from his pen is likely lo confer on Ihe hook that 
co'i'ainsit. if nol perpetuity, at least a very Old Mortality " 
—Preface, p. 4. The original painting by Cooper, remains- 
at Abbottford.— £U. 



^ 



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LYRICAL AND MIS CELLANEOUS PIECES. 605 

Ttie Pill trey sprung with sprishtly bound, 
A> if to iimtcli the g.miesKiiie hdiind ; 
Ills liorii the g:allaiit huiusiuau wound : 
I h^y were a jovial three ! 



Man hniiTiil, or horse, of hisjher fame, 
'Id wake th wi d deer never oanie, 
Sitii r Al wick's Eari puisued the game, 

On Gi« villi's rueful day; 
Kee dar was matchless in his speed, 
'I han T.irras, ne'er was siaiincher steed, 
A (jet-riess arciier, Percy Rede : 

And risht dear friends were they. 

'Ihe ch;<se engross'd their joys and woes, 
Toireih- r at ihe dawn they rose, 
'log-ther si ared the noon's repose. 

By f 'U tain or by stream ; 
And ofi. «hen evening: skies were red. 
The he;ither was their comrnoii bed, 
VV i.ere each, as wildeiing liancy led, 

Still hunted m his dream. 

Now is the thrillmg moment near. 

Of sylvan hope and sylvan lenr. 

Von ttiicket holds the harbour'd (leer, 

'! he signs the hunters know ;— 
With eyes of flame, and guivering ears. 
The brake sagacious Keeldar iiears; 
The restless palfrey paws and rears; 

'I'he archer si rings his bow. 

The game's afoot !— Halloo ! Halloo ! 
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue; — 
But woe the shaft that eniiig flew— 

That e'er it left the string ! 
And ill betide the faithless vew ! 
The stag bounds scatheles^'o'er the dew. 
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true 

Has dreiich'd the grey-goose wing. 

The noble hound — he dies, he dies, 
Death, death has slazed his fixed eyes. 
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies. 

Without a groan or quiver 
Now d;iy may break and bugle sound 
And whoop and hullow ring around. 
And o'er Ins couch the stag may bound. 

But Keeldar sleeps for ever. 

Dilated nostrils, staring eves, 

Mark the poor palfrey's niute surprise. 

He knows not that his comrade dies. 

Nor what IS death— but still 
His aspect hath expression drear 
Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear. 
Like siartled children when they hear 

Some mystic tale of ill. 

But he that bent the fa'al bow. 
Can well the sum of evil know, 
And o'er his favourite, beniliiig low. 

In speechless grief recline ; 
Can think he hears the senseless clay, 
III unreproachful accents say, 
'The hand that took mv life away. 

Dear master, was it thine? 

"And if it be, the shaft be bless'd. 
Which sure some erring aim address'd. 
Since in your service prized, caress'd 

I in ymir service die ; 
And you may have a fleeter hound, 
I'o match the dun-deer's merrv bound, 
But by your couch will ne'er be found 

So true a guard as I. 



And to his last stout Percy rued 
The faial chance, for when he stood 
"Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud. 

And fell amid the fray. 
E'en with his dying voice he cried. 
'■ Had Keeldar but been at mv side, 
Your treacherous ambush had been spied— 

I had not died to-day !" 

Remembrance of the erring bow 

Long since had join'd the tides which flow, 

Conveying human bliss and woe 

Down dark oblivion's river; 
But Art can lime's stern doom arrest. 
And snatch his spoil from I eMie's breast, 
And, in her Cooper's colours drest. 

The scene shall live for ever. 



Jfrom 



(1.)— THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 

"Philipson could perceive that the 

lights proceeded from many torches, borne by 
men muffled in black cloaks, like mourners at 
a funeral, or the Black Fiiars of Saint Francis's 
Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their 
heads, so as to conceal their features. "I'liey 
afipeared anxiously engaged in measuring off 
a portion of ttie apartment; and. while occu- 
pied in that eiiipiovment, they sung, in the 
ancient German language, rhyrnes more rude 
than Philipson could well understand, but 
which may be imiiated thus:" — 

Measurers of good and evil. 

Bring the square, the line, the level,— 

Hear the altar, dig the trench. 

Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. 

Cubits six. from end to end. 

.Must the fatal bench ex'end. — 

Cubits SIX, from side to side. 

Judge and culprit must divide 

On the east the Court a.sseiiihles. 

On the wes' the Accused trembles — 

Answer, brethren, all and one. 

Is the ritual rightly done? 



On life and soul, on blood and bone, 
One for all. and all for one. 
We warrant this is rightly done. 

How wears the night ?— Doth morning shine 
In early radiance on the Rhine ? 
What music floats upon his tide? 
Do birds Ihe tardv morning chide ? 
Brethren, look out from lull and height. 
And answer true, how wears the night ? 

The night is old ; on l>hme's broad breast 
Glance drowsy stars which Umg to rest. 

.\'o beams are fwiiikliiii m the east. 
There is a vo.ce upon "Jie flood. 
The stern still call oJ blood for blood ; 

'Tis time we listen the behest. 



N; 



V 



51 



/: 



7 



606 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Up. then, up ! When day's at rest, 
'lis iiiin) UiHt such as we aie watchers; 

Rise to jiHlgmeiit, brethren, rise! 

VenReuiice knows nui slee[)y eyes, 
He and uiglit ure matchers. 

Oiap. XX. 



MOTTOES. 



(1) — CHAP. III. 

Cursed be the ^joUl and silver, which persuade 
Weak man to follow far f:itii;iimg: trade. 
The hly. peace, outshines the silver store. 
And life is dearer than ihe irolden ore. 
Yet money tern (its u> o'er tiie desert brown, 
To every dislani mart and wealthy lowtj. 

Hassan, or the Camel-driver. 

(2.)— CHAP. V. 

I was one 

Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing 

herd. 
The russet prize, the lowly peasant's life, 
Season'd with sweet conient, mure than the 

lialls 
Where revellers feast to fever-height. Be- 
lieve me. 
There ne'er was poison mix'd in maple bowl. 
A7ionymous. 
(3)-CHAP. VI 

When we two meet, we meet like rushing 

torrents ; 
Like warring winds, like flames from various 

points. 
That male each other's fury— there is nought 
Of elemental strife, were tieiids to guide it, 
Gail match tlie wrath of man. 

Frenaud. 
(4.) -CHAP. X. 

We know not when we sleep nor when we 

waUe 
Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye. 
Which to the sluml)erer seem realities ; 
And while they waked, some men have seen 

such sights 
As set at iKiuaht the evidence of sense. 
And left them well persuiided they were 

(Ireamaig. 

Anonymous. 

(5) -CHAP XI. 

These be the adept's d(K3trines— every element 
Is [)eopled with its separate race of smrits. 
The any ."■ylnhs on the blue ether flout ; 
Deep III the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
Trie sea-2reen Naiad skims the ocean-biUow, 
And the tierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its peculiar sprite— the Salamander 

Anoni/tnoHS. 
(6) — CHAP. xvni. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster. 

The grapes of juice divine. 
Which make the soldier's jovial courage mus- 
ter. 
O, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Drinking Song.'^ 

(7.)— CHAP. XXII. 

Tell me not of it— I could ne'er abide 
1 he inumniery of all that forced civility. 



" Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing 

hams 
The speech is spoken, and with bended knee, 
Heard by the smiling courtier. — " Before you, 

sir? 
It must be on the earth then " Hang it all ! 
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor 

fashion 
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 

Old Play. 

(8.) — CHAP. XXVIII. 

A mirthful man he was — the snows of age 
Fell, but they did not cliill him. Gaiety, 
Even in life's closing, louch'd liis teeming 

brain 
With such wild visions as the setting sun 
Rai.ses m front of some hoar glacier, 
Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. 
Old Play. 

(9.) -CHAP. XXX. 

Ay. this is he who wears the wreath of bays 
Wove by Apollo and the Sisters .\liie. 
Which Jove's dread lightning scathes not. He 

hath doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside 
The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 
While, with a leafy circlet round his brows. 
He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. 

(10.)— CHAP. XXXI. 

Want you a man 

Experienced in the world ami its affairs? 
Here he is for your purpose— He's a monk. 
He hath forsworn the world and all its work— 
The rather that he knows it passing well, 
'Special the worst of it, for he's a monk. 

OUL Play. 

(U) — CHAP. XXXIII. 

Toll, toll the bell! 

Greatness is o'er. 

The heart has broke, 

To ache lu) more; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral pall. 
Old Puevu 

(12) — CHAP. XXXV. 

Here's a weapon now. 

Shall shake a C4)nqueriiis general in his tent 
A monarch on his throne, or reach a prelaie. 
However holy be his oflfices. 
E'en while he serves the altar. Old Play. 



2r|)c J^oraj. 



SET TO MUSIC BY JOHN WHITEFIELD. MUS. 
DOC. CAM. 

1S30. 

The last of our steers on the board has been 

spread. 
And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red ; 
Up! up, my brave kinsmen! Iielt swords and 

begone. 
There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to 

he won. 




y 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 601 



'I'lie eyes, that so lately niix'd glances witii 

ours. 
For a space must he dim, as they gaze from 

the towers. 
And strive to distinguish through tempest and 

gloom. 
The prance of the steed and the toss of the 

pinine. 

Tiie ram is descending; the wind rises loud; 
And the moon her red beacon has veil'd witli 

a cloud ; 
'Tis the belter, my mates! for the warder's 

dull eye 
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are 

nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my blithe 
Grey ! 

There is hie in his hoof-clang, and hope in his 
neigh ; 

Like the Hash of a meteor, the glance of his 
m:iue 

Shall marshal your march through the dark- 
ness and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has 

blown ; 
One pledse is to quaff yet — then mount and 

begone i — 
To their honour and peace, that shall rest 

witli the slain ; 
To their health and their glee, tliat see Teviot 

again ! 



given hini much pain, as well as inconvenience 
Mr Fortune produced a clever piece of handi- 
work, and Sir Walter felt at liisi, meat relief 
from the use of it: inasmuch that bis spiriis 
rose to quite the old pitcli, and his letter to 
me upon the occasion overflows with merry 
applicaiions of sundry maxims and verses 
about Fortune. " Fortes Forluiia adjuiiat " — 
he says — " never more sing 1 !" 

Fortune, my Foe, why tlost thou frown on 

nie ? 
And will my Fortune never better be? 
Wilt tliou, I say, for ever breed my pain ? 
And wilt thou ne'er return my joys again? 2 

No— let my ditty be henceforth — 

Fortune, my friend, how well thou favourest 

me ! 
A kinder Fortune man did never see ! 
Thou propp'sl my thigh, thou ndd'st my knee 

of pain, 
ni walk, I'll immnt— I'll be a man again.— 
Lite, vol. X., p. 38. 



jFrom (amount Hotrrt 
oi Claris. 



fiiiscrtptioii 

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE 
SCOTT. 1 



To youth, to Hse, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent ? Keverence this bier, 
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here. 
Art thou a youtli. prepared on life to start. 
With opening lalents and a generous heart, 
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine 

own ? 
Lo! here their end— a monumental stone. 
But let submission tame each sorrowing 

thought, , 
Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight 

was fouglil. 



Sines on jfortune. 

18.31. 

" By the advice of Dr. Ebenezer ClarKson. 
Sir Waller consulted a skilful mechanist, by 
name Fortune, about a contrivance for the 
support of the lame limb, which had of late 

1 ThiH young gentleman, a son of the autlior'g friend and 
rrlatioo, Hugh Stoil, E.sq.. of Harden, (now Lord Pol- 
wurth,) became Reclor of KenliKbeire, in Devonshire, in 
1KJ8, and died there the 9ih June, 1*0. This epitaph 
atJiieara on hiii tomb in the chancel there. 



1831. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.) — CHA.P. II. 

Othtcs. This superb successor 

Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly 

speakest. 
Stands 'midst these ages as, on the wide 

ocean, 

The last spared fragment of a spacious laml. 
That in some grand :md awful ministration 
Of mighty nature had ensulfed been. 
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky clifl!s 
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns 
In lonely majes'y. 

Constantine Paleologus, Sce7ie I. 

(2)— CHAP. III. 

Here, youth, thy foot unlirace. 

Here, youth, "thy brow uiibraid, 
Each tribute that may grace 

The threshold here be ptiid. 
Walk with the stealthy pace 

Which .Nature teaches deer. 
When, echoing in the chase, 

i'he hunter's horn they hear. 

The Court. 

(3.) —CHAP. V. 

The storm increases —'tis no sunny shower, 
Foster'd in the moist bretisi of March or 

April, 
Or such as parched Summer cools his lip 

with; 

a '• I believe this is the only verse of the old song (often 
alluded to by Shakspeare and his contemporarieN) thai has 
ai' yet been recovered. "^LocAAari, Lz/e, vol. x., p. 36. 



^ 



"^ 



^ 



608 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



Heaven's windows are flung wide ; the inmost 

deeps 
Call in hoarse ereetins; one upon another ; 
On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 
And Where's the dike sliall stop it ! 

The Ddxuje, a Poem. 
See Life, vol. X. , p. 37. 

(4.) — CHAP. VI. 

Vain man ! thou mayst esteem thy love as 

fair 
As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. 
She may be all that's matchless in her 

person, 
And all-divine in soul to match her body ; 
But take this from me — thou shalt never call 

her 
Superior to her sex, while one survives. 
And 1 am her true votary. Old Play. 

(5.) — CHAP. VIII. 

Throuffh the vain webs which puzzle sophists' 
skill. 
Plain sense and honest meaning: work their 
way ; 
So sink the varying clouds upon the hill. 
When tlie clear dawning brightens into day. 
Dr. Watts. 

(6)— CHAP. IX. 

Between the foaming jaws ot the white 

torrent. 
The skilful artist draws a sudden tnonnd ; 
By level h»ng he subdivides their strength. 
Stealing the waters from their rocky bed, 
First to diminish what he means to conquer ; 
Then, for the residue he forms a road, 
Easy to keep, and painful to de.sert, 
And guiding to the end the planner aim'd at. 
Tlie Enymeer. 

(7.) — CHAP. X. 

These were wild times — the antipodes of 

ours : 
Ladies were there, who oftener saw them- 
selves 
In the broad lustre of a foeman's shield 
Than in a nurror, and who rather sought 
To match themselves in battle, than in 

dalliance 
To meet a lover's onset.— But though Nature 
Was outraged tlius, slie was not overcome. 
Feudal Times. 

(8 ) — CHAP. XI. 

Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cimihrous. 

Within it was a little panidise. 

Where Taste had made her dwelling. — 

Statuary, 
First-born of human art. moulded her images, 
And bade men mark and worship. 

Anonymous. 

(9) — CHAP. XII. 

The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 
Weighmg each word, and canvassing each 

syllable; 
Kvadiiig, arguing, equivocating. 
And the stern Frank came wiih his two-hand 

sword, 
Watching to see which way the balance 

sways. 
That he may throw it in, and turn the scales. 
PaUslvie. 



(10.) — CHAP. XVI. 

Strange ape of man, who loathes tliee while 

he s(M)rns thee ; 
F^alf a reproach to us and half a jest. 
What fancies can be ours ere we have 

pleasure 
In viewing our own form, our pride and 

passions. 
Reflected in a shape grotesque as t bine ! 

Anonyn^ous. 

(11.)— CHAP. XVII. 

'Tis strnnge that, in the diirk sulphureous 

mine. 
Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 
Of slumbering thunder. Love will iiiierpose 
His tiny lorch. and cause the stern ex(ilosion 
To burst, when the deviser's least aw;ire 

Anonymous. 

(12)— CHAP. XXIV. 

All is prepared— the chambers of the mine 
Are cramm'd with the combustible, which, 

harmless 
While yet unkindled. as the sable sand. 
Needs "but a spark to clianse its nature so. 
That he who wakes it from its slumbrous 

mood. 
Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who 

knows 
That 'tis his towers which meet its fury. 

Anonymous. 

(13.) — CHAP. XXV 

Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its 

billet. 
Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose ; 
The fated beasts of .Nature's lower strain 
Have each their separate task. Old Play. 



iPront 
Castle Banserous- 



51 T T E S . 

(1.)— CHAP. V. 

A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep; 
A tale of honor, for your HhsIi may tiiit;le; 
A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows nrcli. 
And the flesh curdles if you read it nglitlv. 
Old Ptay. 

(2.) -CHAP. XI. 

Where is he ? Has the deep earth swallow'd 

him ? 
Or hath he melted like some airy phantom 
That shuns the approach of morn and the 

young sun? 
Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, 
And pass'd bevond the circuit of the sight 
With things of the night's shadows? 

Anu7iymous. 

(3.)— CHAP. XIV. 

The way is long, my children, long and rough — 
The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark ; 



z 



7^ 



HALIDON HILL. 



609 > , 



Bur he that creeps from craille on to srave. 
L'liskiU'd ^ave in the velvel course of foriuiic. 
Hatli iiiiss'd the discipline of noble heuri^i 
Old Flay. 

(4)— CHAP. XVIII. 

His talk was of another world— his hodenients 
Strange, douhlful, and mysterious; those who 

heard him 
Listen'd as to a man in feverish dreams, 
Who s(ieaks of other objects than the present. 
And mutters like to him wlio sees a virion. 
Old Play. 



(6.) -CHAP. XX. 

rry the wild war-note, let the champions p;is9 

l>o bravely each, and God defend the riijhr; 

Upon 5>aiiit Andrew thrice can they thus cry. 

And thrice they shout on heislit. 

And then marked them on the Englishmen, 

As I have told you right. 

Saint George the brisht. our ladie.V knight, 

I'o name they were full fain ; 

Our EiiKlishmen they cried on height. 

And tlirice they shout again. 

OldBaUad. 



DRAMA'JIC PIECES 



HALIDON HILL; 
A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY. 



P R E F A C R. 

Thoiish the Public seldimi feel iiiiinh in- 
terest in such foinmiinicat ions, (nor is there 
any reason why they should.) the Auihor takes 
the liliertv of stating, that these scenes were 
commenced with the purpose of contributing 
to a miscellany projected by a much-esteemed 
friend.! But instead of being confined to a 
scene or two. as intended, the work sraduallv 
swelled to the size of an independent publica- 
tion. It is designed to i liisirate military ;in- 
tiquities. and the maimers of r.liiViilry 'Ihe 
drama (if it can lie lenned one) is. in no par- 
ticular, either designed or calculated lor the 
stage 2 

The subject is to be found in Scottish his- 
tory; but not to overload so slight a piihlica- 
lion with antiquari.in research, or quotations 
from obscure chronicles, may be sulficiently 
illustrated by the following passage ir<>\\\ Pm- 
ktrlon's Wtilory of Scollaiid, vol. i , p. 72. 

"The G<ivernor (anno 1402) dispatched a 
considerable force Under Murdac. his eldest 
8on ; the Earls of Angus and Moray also joined 
Douglas, who entered England with an army 
of ten thousand men, carrying terror and de- 
vasta'ioii to the Walls of .Newcastle. 

"Henry IV. was now engaged in the, Welsh 
war against Owen Glendour; but the Earl of 

1 Thf autlior alludes to a collection of 8m:ill piccea in 
xrzftr, edited, f'.r a charitable purpose, bv Mrs. Joanna 
Buill.e.— See Life of ScoU, vol vii., pp 7, 18, 169 70. 

2 In the fir.-t edition, the text added, " In case any at- 
tempt shall be made to produce it in action, (ao has hap- 
peiie.1 in similar cases,) the author take.'i the present np- 
portiiiiity If. iiilimate, that it shall be at the peril of those 
who niiiVe such an experiment." Adverting to this pass- 
»6e. Uie Stj> Edinburgh Retiem (July, l&ii) said,—- We, 



Northumberland, and his son, the Hotspur 
Percv. with the Earl of .March, coll.-cted a 
numerous array, and awaited the leturn of 
the Scots, impeded with spoil, near .Milfieid, 
:n the north part of Northumberland. Doug- 
las had reached Wooier. in his return; and, 
perceiving the enemy, seized a strong (lost be- 
tween ttie two armies, called Homildon-hill. 
In this method he rivalled his predecessor at 
the battle of Olterburn. hut not with like 
success. The English advanced to the assault, 
and Henry Percv was about to lead them up 
the hill, when .March caught his bridle, and 
advised him to advance no farther, but to pour 
the dreadful shower of English arrows into 
the enemy. This advice was followeil by the 
usual fortune ; for in all ages the how was the 
English instrument of victory ; and though 
the Scots, and perhaps the French, were su- 
perior in the use of the spear, yet this weapon 
Was useless after the dlstan* bow had decided 
the combat. Robert the Gr^at, sensible of 
this at the battle of Baiiiiockbuni, ordered a 
prepared detachment of cav:ilry to rush among 
the English archers at the commencement, 
totally to (lisiierse them, and slop the deadly 
effusion But Douglas now used no such pre- 
caution; and the consequence was. that Ins 
people. (Jrawn up on the face of the hill, pre- 
sented one general mark to ihe enemy, none 
of whose arrows descended in vain. The 



nevertheless, do not believe th;it any thing more essen- 
tially dramatic, in so far as it goes', more . apable of stage 
erteci, has appeared in England since the days of her 
greatest genius; and giving Sir Walter, therefore, fnH 
credit for his coyne.ss on the present oci-asion, we ardently 
hope that he is but trying his strength in the mogt arduous 
of all literary enterprises, and that, ere long, he will de- 
monstrate his right to the highest honours of the ;ragic 



V- 



Z 



7 



^ 



610 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Scots fell without fig:lit. ami imreveng^ed, till ii 
spirited kn.gtil, >vviiifoii, exclaimed aioud, "O 
my hr^ve couiitryciien ! wliat fascination has 
seized you to-tlay, iliat you stand like deer to 
be iliot, instead of iiidulKiiiu your ancient 
courage, and ineetins ymir enemies hand to 
hand ? Let those who will, descend with ine, 
that we may (jam victory, or life, or fall like 
men.' This lieing heard by Adam Gordon, 
l)et»veen whom and Suinton there remained 
an ancient deadly feud, attended with the 
mutual slaughter' of many followers, he in- 
stantly fell on his knees before Swinton. 
he^jfed his pard<tn. and desired to be dubbed 
a kiiiiiht by him whom he must now regard as 
the wisest" and the boldest of that order in 
Britain The ceremony (lerformed, Swinion 
and Gordon descended the hill, accompanied 
only by one hundred men; and a desperate 
valour led the whole body t<i death. Had a 
similar spun been shown by the Scottish army, 
it, i.s piobable that the event of the day would 
have been ditferent. Douglas, who was cer- 
tainly dehcient in the most iinporlant qualities 
of a fjeneraj. seeing his army heKin to dis- 
perse, at leiiglli al templed lo desreiul the hill ; 
but the tniilish archers retiring a little, sent 
a flight of arrows so sharp and strong, that no 
armour could wnhstand; and the Scottish 
leader himself, whose pannply was of remark- 
able temper, fell under live" wounds, though 
not moriai 'I'he Engl sh men-of-arms, knigtiis. 
or squires, did not strike one blow, but re- 
mained spectators of the rout, which was now 
complete. Great numbers of the J^cols were 
slam, and near five hundred perished in the 
river 1 weed U|)on their flight. Among the 
illustrious captives was Douglas, whose chief 
wound ileprived him of an eye ; Murdac, son 
of Albany; the b-'arls of Moray and Angus; 
and about twentv-four gentlemen of eminent 
rank and power. The chief slain were. Swin- 
ton, Gordon. Livingston of Calendar. Ramsay 
of Dalhousie, Walter Sinclair, Koger Gordon. 
Walter .Scott, and others Such was the issue 
of the unfortunate b.itlle of Homildon " 

It may be proper to observe, that the scene 
of action has, in the folljwing pages, been 
transferred frmn Homildon to Halidon Hill. 
For this there was an obvious reason;— for 
who would again venture to introduce upon 
the scene the celebrated Hotspur. who(om- 
inanded the English at the former battle? 
There are. however, several coincidences 
which may reconcile even the severer anti- 
quary lo the substitution of Halidcn Hill for 
Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by 
the English on both occasions, and under 
nearly the same circumstances of address on 
the part of the viciors. and mismanagement 
on that of the vanquished; for the English 
long-how decided the day in both cases In 
boih ca.'^es. also, a G<irilon was left on the 
field of battle; and at Halidon. as at Homil- 
don, the Scots were commanded byan ill-fa'ed 
representative of the great house of Douglas. 
He of Homildon was surnamed 'I'lnrman, i. e. 
Losrman, from his repeated defeats and mis- 
carriages; and. with all the personal valour 
of his race, seems lo have enjoyed so small a 
portion of their sagacity, as to be unable lo 
learn military ex[)erience iVom reiierated cala- 
mity. I am far. however from iiitimaflns. 
lliat the truits of imbecilily and envy atlii- 



buted to the Regent in the following sketch, 
are to be hisioricallv ascribed either to the 
elder Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to him called 
Tinemaii. who seems to have enjoyed the re- 
spect of his countrymen, luil withstanding 
thai, like ttie celebrated Anne de Montino 
rency, he was either defeated, or wouniled, or 
made prisoner, in every batile which he 
fought. The Regent of the sketch is a cha- 
racter purely ima^iinary. 

The traditKUi of the Swinton family, which 
still survives in a lineal descent, and to which 
the author has the lionour to he related, avers, 
that the Swinton who fell at Homildon in the 
manner relaied in the [irecedmg extriict. had 
slam Gordon's father ; which seems sufficient 
ground for adopting that cir('um>tance into 
the following dramatic sketch, though it is 
rendered improbable by other authorities. 

[f any reader will take the trouble of look- 
ing at Froissart, Forduii. or other historians 
of the period, he will find, that the chaiac-ter 
of the Lord of Swinton, for strength, courage, 
and conduct, is by no means exaggerated 

W. S. 

Abbots/Old, 1822. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^.. 



SCOTTISH. 
The Regent of Scotland. 
Gordon, ") 

Swinton, 
Lennox, | 

suiherland, 
Ross. 
Maxwell, 
Johnstone, 
Lmdesav, 



Scotlish Chiefs and Nobles. 



Adam de Vipout. a Kmaht Templar. 

The Piior of Maison-Dieu. 

Keynald. SwintorVs Squire. 

Hob H .ttely, a Border Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King Edward II L 
Chandos, ^ 

Percy. i English and Norman Nobles. 

Kihaumont. ) 
The Abbot of Walthamstow. 



?QnIflion WI. 



ACT I.-SCKNE I. 

The northern side of the eminence of Halidon. 
The back Scene represents the summit of the 
ascent, occupied bv the Rearauard of the Scot- 
tish army. Bodies of armed men ajipear us 
advanciiKj from different points, to join the 
vinin body. 

Enter De Vipont and the Prior of Maison Dieu 
Vip. No farther. Father — here I need no 
guidance — 
f have already brought your peaceful step 
I oo near the verge of battle. 



y^ 



HALIDON HILL 



611 



Pn. Faiii would 1 see you jniii some Baron's 

banner. 
Before I sav farewell. The honoiir'd sword 
That fouslit so well in Syria, should not wave 
Anild the isnobie crowd. 

Vip Karh spot is noble in a pitched field. 
So tliat a man lias room to fiijhtand fdl on't. 
But I shall lind out friends, "lis scarce 

twelve years 
Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, 
And then the l^ow, r of all the Scottish nobles 
Were known to nie ; and I, m my degree, 
Not all unknown to them. 
Pri. Alas ! there have been changes since 

that time ! 
The Koyal Bruce, with Randolph, Dougla-S 

Grahame, 
Then .>>h(K)k in field the banners which now 

niiHiuler 
Over their graves i' the chancel. 

Vip And thence comes it, 
'I'hai Willie I louk'd on many a well-known 

crest 
And bl.izon'd shield, as hitherward we came, 
Tlie faces of the Barons who display'd them 
Were all uiiKiiown to nie. Brave youths they 

seem'd ; 
Vet, surely, fitter to adorn the tilt-yard. 
Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers. 
Young like themselves, seem like themselves 

unpractised— 
Look at their battje-rank. 

Pri. I cannot gaze out with undnzzled eye. 
So thick tlie rays dart back from sbield and 

helmet. 
And sword and battle-a.te, and spear and 

pennon 
Sure 'tis a gallant show ! The Bruce himself 
Hath olten conquer'd at the head of fewer 
And wor.>e appointed followers. 

Vip. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. 

Reverend Father. 
H'is not tlie falchion's weight decides a combat ; 
It IS the strong and skilful hand that wields it 
III fate, that we should lack the noble King, 
And all his ciiampioiis now! Time call'd 

them not. 
For when I parted hence for Palestine, 
The throws of most were free from grizzled 

hair 
Pri Too true, alas ! But well yt)U know, 

in Sr-olland 
Few hairs aresilver'd underneath the helmet; 
'lis cowls like mine wnicli iiule Ihein. 

'.Mongst the laity. 
War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his 

sickle 
Before the grain is while. In threescore 

years 
And ten. which I have seen, I have outlived 
V\ ellnish two generations of our nobles 
I'he race which holds you sumiiul is the 

third. 
Vip. Thou mayst outlive them also. 
Pn. Heaven forfend ! 

My prayer shall be, that Heaven will close my 

eyes. 
Btfore they look upon the wrath to con.e 
Vip Retire, retire, good Faciier! — Pray for 

Scotland— 

l"The armorial bearings of the ancient family of 
Swiuton are tMe, a chewron, or, between three boars' 
beadif erased, argent. Crest — a boar rhaineit to a tree, and 



Think not on me. Here comes an ancient 

friend. 
Brother in arms, with whom lo-day I'll join 

me. 
Back toyourclioir, assemble all your brnther- 

hoiKl. 
And weary Heaven with prayers for victory. 

Pru Heaven's blessing rest with thee. 
Champion of Heaven, and of thy suffering 

country ! 

[Exit Prior. Vipont draws a little aside 
and lets down tlie beaver of his helmet. 

Enter Swm\m\, followed hy Keynald and others, 
to whom he speaks as he enters. 

Stoi. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till 

the Regent, 
Assisrn our baud its station in the host. 
Rey "Ibat must be by the Standard. We 

have had 
That right since good Saint David's reign at 

least 
Fain would I see the Marcher would dispute it. 
Swi. Peac*. Keynald! Where the general 

plants the soldier. 
There is his place of honour, and there only 
His valour can win worship. Thou'rt of those. 
Who would have war's deep art bear the wild 

semblance 
Of some disorder'd huntins, where, pell-mell, 
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse. 
Gallants press on to see the quarry fall. 
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Keynald, are no 

deer; 
And England's Edward is no stag at bay. 
Vip. (advannny.) There needed iiot, to 

blazon forth the Swinton, 
His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar 
Chain'd to the gnarl'd oak, i — nor his proud 

step. 
Nor giant stature, nor the ponilerous mace. 
Which only he, of Scotland's realm, can 

wield: 
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader. 
As doth his frame the champion. .*iail, brave 

Swinton! 
Swi. Brave Templar, thanks! Such your 

cross'd shoulder speaks you : 
But the clos'd visor, which conceals your 

features. 
Forbids more knowledge. L'mfraville, per- 
haps— 
Vip {unclosing his helmet.) No; one less 

worthy of our sacred Order. 
Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my 

features 
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton 
Will welcome .'^yrnon Vipont. 

Swi. (embracing him ) As the blithe reaper 
Welcomes a practised mute, when the ripe 

harvest 
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high ! 
Thou'lt follow ymi old pennon, wilt thou not ? 
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the 

Boar-heads 
Look as if brought from off some Christmas 

board. 
Where knives had notch'd them deeply. 

Vip. Have with them, ne'ertheless. The 

Stuart's Chequer, 

above, on an estroll, J'espere. Supporters — tw 
standing on a compartment, whereon are the w 
Pense."—Dougliis'i Baronage, p. i'M. 



\ 



z 



^ 



612 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 




The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Ross's 

I .ymphads, 
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion. 
Rampant in golden treasure, wins me from 

•them. 
We'll hack the Boar-heads hravely. I see 

round them 
A chosen hand of lances — some well known 

to me. 
Where's the main body of thy followers? 
Swi. Symon de Vjrjont, thou dost see them 
all 
7'hat Swinton's bug:le-horn ran call to battle. 
However loud it. riiiss. There's not a boy 
Left in my halls, whose arm has strenfith 

enough 
To bear a sword— there's not a man behind, 
However old. who moves without a staff. 
Striplings and greybeards, every one is here. 
And here all should be — Scotland needs 

them all; 
And more and better men. were each a 

Hercules, 
And yonder handful centuplied. 

Vip. A thousand followers — such, with 

friends and kmsmen. 
Allies and vassals, thou wert wont to lead — 
A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances 
In twelve years' space? — And tliy brave sons, 

Sir Alan ? 
Alas! I fear to ask. 

Swi. All slain, De Vjpont. In my empty 

home 
A puny babe lisps to a widow'd mother. 
" Wliere is my grandsire ! wherefore do you 

weep ?" 
But for that prattler, Lyulph's house is heir- 
less. 
I'm an old oak, from which the foresters 
Have hew'd four goodly boughs, and left 

beside me 
Only a saphng, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs over it. 
Vtp. All .slain ?— alas ! 

Swi. Ay, ail, De Vipont. And their attri- 
butes, 
John with the Long Spear— Archibald with the 

Axe- 
Richard the Ready— and my youngest darling, 
My Fair-hair'd Wilham— do but now survive 
In mea^ures which the grey-hair'd minstrels 

sing. 
When they make maidens weep. 

Vip. These wars with England, they have 

rooted out 
The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who 

might win 
The sepulchre of Christ from the rude hea- 
then. 
Fall in unholy warfare! 

Swi. Unholy warfare? ay, well hast thou 

named it ; 
But not with England— would her cloth-yard 

shafts 
Had bored their cuirasses! Their lives had 

been 
Lost like their grandsire 's. in the hold defence 
Of their dear country — but in privare feud 
With the proud Gordon, fell my Long-spear'd 

John, 
He with the Axe, and he mencall'd the Ready, 
Ay, and my Fair-hair"d Wjll — the Gordon's 

wrath 
Devour'd my gallant issue. 



Vip. Siiice tlioii dost weep, their death is 

unavenged ? 
Swi. 'Templar, what think'st thou me ?— See 
yonder rock. 
From which I he fountain. gushes — is it less 
Cfunpact of adamant, though waters flow 

from It ? 
Firm hearts have moister eyes — They are 

avenged ; 
I wept not till they were — till the proud 

Gordon 
Had wiih his life-blood dyed my father's 

sword. 
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's 

lineage, 
And then I wept my sons; and. as the Gordon 
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him. 
Winch mingled with the rest. We had been 

friends. 
Had shared the banquet and the chase toge- 
ther. 
Fought side by side, — and our first cause of 

strife. 
Woe to the pride of boih. was but a light one ! 
Vip. You are at feud, then, with the mighty 

Gordon ? 
Swi At deadly feud. Here in this Border- 
land, 
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the 

son. 
As due a part of his inheritance. 
As the strong castle and the ancient blazon. 
Where private Vengeance holds the scales of 

justice. 
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously 
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence. 
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and Saint 

Abb's, 
Rages a bitterer feud than mine and theirs, 
The Swiiiton and the Gordon 

Vip. You, with some threescore lances — 
and the Gordon 
Leading a thou.sand followers. 
Swi. You rate him tar too low. Since you 
sought Palestine. 
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships 
In the far-distant North. A thousand horse 
His southern friends and vassals always 

numher'd 
Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dey and 

Spey. 
He'll count a thousand more— And now, De 

Vipoiit. 
If the Boar-heads seem in your eyes less 

worthy 
For lack of followers— seek yonder standard — 
The bounding Stag, with a brave host around 

it; 
There the young Gordon makes his earliest 

field. 
And pants lo win his spurs. His father's 

friend. 
As well as mine, thou wert — go, join his 

pennon. 
And grace him with thy presence. 

Vtp. When you were friends. I was the 
friend of both. 
And now I can be enemy to neither; 
But my poor person, ttioiigh hut slight the aid, 
Joins on this field the haiiner of the two 
Which hath the smallest following 

Swi. Spoke like the generous Knight, who 
eave up all. 
Leading and lordship, in a heathen land 



V 



7^ 



HA LIDO N HILL. 



To fight, a Chrislian soldier ! Yet. in earnest, 
1 pray, De Vipont. you would join the Gordon 
Iti this hi?h battle, '['is a noble youth, — 
So fame doth vouch him, — amorous, quick. 

and valiant; 
Takes kmshtliood. too, this day, and well may 

use 
His spurs too rashly in the wish to win thetn. 
A friend like thee beside him in ttie fight. 
Were worth a hundred spears, to rem his 

valour 
And temper it with prudence : — 'tis the aged 

easle 
Teaches his hriMKi to gaze upon the sun, 
With eye undazzled. 

Vn). Alas! brave Swinton ! Would'st thou 

train the hunter 
That soon must bring thee to the bay? Your 

custom, 
Your most unchristian, savage, fiend-like 

custom, 
Uinds Gordon to avenge his Tailier's death. 

Swi. Whv, be it so! I look for nothing else: 
My oart whs acted when I slew his father. 
Avenging my four sons — Young Gordon's 

sw.ird. 
If it should find my heart, can ne'er inflict 

there 
A pang so poignant as his father's did. 
But \ would perish by a noble hand. 
And such will his be it he bear him nohlv. 
Nobly and wisely on this field of Halidon. 

Enler a Pursuivant. 

Put. Sir Knights, to council ! —'tis the 
Regent's order. 
That kmgtiis and men of leading meet him 

instantly 
Before ihe royal standard. Edward's army 
Is seen from the hill summit. 

Swi. Say to the Regent, we ohev his orders. 

\_Exa Pursuivant. 
\To Reynald.] Hi-ld thou my casque, and 
furl my (pennon up ^ 
Close to the siatf I will not show my crest. 
Nor standard, till the common foe shall chal- 
lenge I hem. 
I'll wake no civil strife, nor tempt the Gordon 
With aught tliMt's like defiance. 

yip. Will he not know your features? 
Swi lie never saw me. In the distant 
North. 
Against his will, 'tis said. Ins friends detain'd 

him 
During Ins nurture —caring not, belike. 
To trust a pledge so precous near the Boar- 
tusks. 
It was a natural but needle.ss caufi.in : 
I wage no war with ohiidreii. for I think 
Too deeply on my own. 

Vip. I have thought on it, and will see the 
Gordon 
As we go hence to council. I do bear 
A cross, which binds me to lie a Christian 

priest, 
As well as Christian champion. God may 

grant. 
That 1. at once his father's friend and yours, 
May make some peace hetwrxt you. 
Hwi When that your priestly zeal, and 
knightiv valour. 
Shall force llie grave to render up the dead. 
[Eieunt severally. 



613 ^ ^ 



SCENE II. 

Thfi summit or Hnlulon Hill, he fore, the Rfofmt's 
TfJit. The Rogiil SlamUird of Sr'ollnnd is 
seen in Ihr barhirouml. with the Pf-nnnns and 
Banners of the prmriiinl Nobl'S around it. 

Council of .'Srotli.th Nobles and Chirfs. Sulher- 
land. Ross, Lftino.x, Ma.Kwell, and othrr 
Nobles of the hi(jhest rank, are close to the 
Regent's person, ami in th" act of keen debate. 
Vipont with Gordon and others, remain oroiiped 
at some distance on the noht-hand of thf Staoe. 
On the left, slnndinu also apart, is Swinton. 
cilo7ip and bare-hfoded. The Nobles are dressed 
in Hijjhl/ind or Lowland habits, as historical 
costume requires Trumpets, Heralds, ^c, 
are in attendance. 

Len. Nay, Lordings, put no shame upon my 
counsels. 
I did hut sav. if we retired a little. 
We should have fairer field ami better 

vantage. 
1 've seen King Robert — av. The Bruce him- 

self- 
Retreat six leagues in length, and think no 
shame on t. 
Reg. Ay. but King Edward sent a haughty 
message. 
Defying us to battle on this field, 
'I'liis very hill of Halidon ; if we leave it 
tlnfought withal, it squares not with our 
honour. 
Swi- {apart.) A perilous hcmour. that allows 
the enemy. 
And such an enemv as this same Edward, 
To choose our field of battle ! He knows h.ow 
To make our Scottish pride betray its master 
Into the Ditfall. 

[Durina this speech the debate among the 
Nobles is continued. 
Suth. (aloiut.) We will not back one furlong 
— not one yard, 
No, nor one inch ; where'er we find the foe. 
Or where the foe finds us. there will we fighf 

him. 
Retreat will dull the spirit of our followers. 
Who now stand ()rompt to battle. 
Ross. My Lords, methinks great Morarchat ' 
has doubts, 
That, if his Northern clans once turn the seam 
Of their check 'd hose behind, it will be hard 
'I'o halt and rally them. 

Suth. Say'st thou, MacDimnell? — Add 
another falsehood. 
And name when Morarchat was coward or 

traitor I 
Thine island race, as chronicles can tell. 
Were off afllanced to the Southron cause ; 
Loving the weight and temper of their gold. 
.More than the weight and temper of their 
steel. 
Rerj. Peace, my Lords, ho! 
Ross (throwiwj down his Glove). MacDnnnell 
will noi peace ! There lies mv pledge. 
Proud Morarchat, to witness thee a liar. 
Max Brought I ail Nithsdale fnmi the 
Western Border ; 
Left I my towers exposed to foraying Eng- 
land. 
And thieving Aiinandale. to see such misrnleT 



of the 



"V 



A 



V. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



614 



John. Who speaks of Annandale? Dare 
Maxwell slander 
The setitle House (if Looliwood ? i 

Re.ij. Peace. Lordinsis, once affain. We re- 
present 
The Majesty of Scotland —in our presence 
Brawlina is treason. 
Suth. Were it in the presence of the Kins 
111 nisei f. 
What should prevent my sayin? 

Enter Lindesay. 
Lin Yon must determine quickly. Scarce 

a mile 
Parts our vansuard from Edward's. On the 

plain 
Brisht eleams of armour flash through clouds 

of dust. 
Like stars thronsh frost-mist —steeds neigh. 

and weapons cla'-h — 
And arrows soon will whistle — the worst 

sound 
That waits on Enslish war. —You must de- 
termine. 
Rftg. We are determined. We will spare 

proud Edward 
Half of the ground that parts us —Onward. 

Lords ; 
Saml Andrew strike for Scotland ! We will 

lead 
The middle ward ourselves, the Royal .'Stand- 
ard 
Display'd beside us : and heneath its shadow 
Shall the vonng gallants, whom we knight 

this day. 
Fight for their golden spurs.- Lennox, thou'rl 

wise. 
And wiU obey command— lead thou the rear. 
Len. The rear? — why I the rear? The van 

were filter 
For him who fought abreast with Robert 

Bruce. 
Swi. {apart.) Discretion h.ath forsaken Len- 
nox too ! 
The wisdom he was fortv years in patherin? 
Has left him in an instant. 'Tis contagious 
Even to wittiess frenzy. 

Suth. The Regent hath determined well. 

The rear 
Suits him the best who councill'd our retreat. 
Len. Proud Northern 'I'hane, the van were 

soon the rear. 
Were thv disorder'd followers planted there. 
Sttth Then, for that very word. I make a 

vow. 
Bv my broad Earldom, and mv father's soul, 
That, if I have not leading of the van, 
I will not fisht to-day! 
Ross. Morarchat! thou the leading of the 

van! 
Not whilst MacDonnell lives. 

Swi. (apart.) Nay. then a stone would speak. 
[Addresses the Regent.] May 't please your 

Grace, 
And yon, great Lords, to hear an old man's 

counsel. 
That hath seen fights enow. These open 

bickerings 
Dishearten all our host, [f that vour Grace, 
With these great Earls and Lords, must needs 

debate. 



^ 






Let the closed tent conceal your disagree- 
ment : 
Else 'twill be said, ill fares it with the flock. 
If shepherds wranale. when the wolf is niirli. 
Reg. The old Knight counsels well. Let 

every Lord 
Or Chief who leads five hundred men or 

more. 
Follow to council — others are excluded — 
We'll have no vulgar censurers of our cor- 

diict— [Tjookim] at ^wn\\i>n. 

Young Gordon, your high rank and numerous 

fol lowing 
Give you a seat with us, though yet tin- 

knlghted 
Gor. 1 pray you, pardon me. My youth's 

unfit 
To sit ui council, when that Knight's grey 

hairs 
And wi.sdom wait without. 
Reg. Do as you will ; we deign not bid you 

twice. 
[T/)c Regent. Ross. Sutherland. Lennox. 

Maxwell, cfr. enter the Tent. The rest 

reni'iin urovped aljoitt the Staue. 
Gor. {n>)s>-rvin(j Swi.) That helmet less old 

Kriisht. his giant stature. 
His awful accents of rebuke and wi.sdom. 
Have caught my fancy strangely. He dotli 

seem 
Like to some vision'd form which 1 h<vve 

dreani'd of, 
But never saw with waking eyes till now. 
I will accost him. 

Vip. Prav you, do not so ; 
A turn I'll give you reason why you should not. 

There's other work in hand 

Gor. I will but ask his name. There's in 

his presence 
Something that works upon me like a spell. 
Or like the feeling made my childish ear 
Dote upon tales of superstitious dread. 
Attracting while they chill'd my heart with 

fear. 
Now, born the Gord(m. I do feel right well 
I'm bound to fear nought earthly — and I fear 

nought. 

I'll know who this man is 

[Accosts Swinfon. 
Sir Knight. I pray you, of your gentle courtesy, 
To tell your honour'd name. I am ashamed, 
Being unknown to arms, to say that mine 
Is Adam Gordon. 

Swi. (shows emotion, hut instanlli/ subdues it. ) 
It is a name that soiindeih in my ear 
Like to a death-knell — ay. and like the call 
Of the shrill trumpet to "the mortal lists; 
Yet, 'lis a name which ne'er hath been dis- 

honour'd. 
And never will, I trust — most surely never 
By such a youth as thou. 

Gor. There's a mysterious courtesy in this. 
And yet it yields no answer to my question. 
I trust you hold the Gordon not uti worthy 
To know the name he asks ? 
Swi. Worthy of all that openness and 

honour 
May show to friend or foe— hut. for my name, 
Vipont will show it you ; and, if it sound 
Harsh in your ear, remember that it knells 

there 
Rut at your own request. This day. at least. 
Though seldom wont to keep it m conceal- 

nient, 



z 



HALIDON HILL. 



As there's no cause 1 sliould, yoti had not 
heard it. 

Gor. Thissinmge 

Vip. 'I'he mystery is needful. Follow me 

[ The'ti retire bfhmd the side scene. 
Swi {tonkimj after them.) 'lis a hrave youth. 
How hlusli'd (lis iKihle cheek. 

While youthful modesty, and the embarrass- 
ment 

Of cunosiry, combined with wonder. 

And half su-ipirion of .some -slislil mtended. 

All mnigled in the flush; but soon 'twill 
deepen 

Into revenge's slow. How slow is Vipont ! — 

I wail the issue, as I've seen spectators 

Suspend the moiinn even of the eyelids. 

V\ tien the slow gunner, with his lighted 
inaicli. 

Appmacli'd the char^'ed cannon, in the act 

'I'd waken ils dread slumbers —Now "tis out; 

lie draws Ins sword, and rushes towards nie, 

V\ ho will not. seek nor shun him. 

Enter Gordon, withheld by Vipont. 

Vip. Hold, for the sake of Heaven! 'or 
the sake 

Of your dear country, hold! — Has Swinton 
slain your father. 

And must you, therefore, be yourself a parri- 
cide. 

And stand recorded as the selfish traitor. 

Who, in her hour of need. Ins country's cause 

Deseris. that he may wreak a private wrongT 

Look to yon banner — that is Scotland's sian- 
dai-d ; 

look to the Regent— he is Scotland's general ; 

Look to the English— they are Scotland's foe- 
men ! 

Bethink tiiee, then, thou art a son of Scotland. 

And think on nought beside. 

Gor. He hath come here to brave me !— Off ! 
unhand me ! — 

'I'hou canst not be my father's ancient friend. 

That siandst 'twixl me and him who slew my 
father. 
Vip You know not Swinton. Scarce one 
passing thought 

Of his high mind was with you; now, his soul 

Is fix'd on this day's battle. You might siuy 
him 

At unawares before he saw your blade 
drawn — 

Stand still, and watch him close. 

Enter Maxwell from the tent. 

Swi. How go our councils, Maxwell, may I 

ask? 
Max. As wild, as if the very wind and sea 
Willi every breeze and billow battled 
For their precedence. 
Swi. Most sure they are possess'd ! Some 
. evil spirit, 

' To mock their valour, robs them of discretion. 
Fie, fie upon't!— I) thai Dunfermline's tomb 
Could render up The Bruce ! that Spain's red 

shore 
Could give us back the good Lord James of 

Douglas! 
Or that fierce Randolph, with his voice of 

terror. 
Were here, to awe these brawlers to submis- 
sion I 



^ 



Vip. to Gor Thou hast perused liini at more 

leisure now. 
Gor. I see the giant form which all nien 
speak of. 
The stately port— but not the sullen eye. 
Not the blooilthnsty Iciuk, that should belong 
To him that made me or[)han. I shall need 
To name my father twice ere I can strike 
At such grey hairs, and face of such com- 
mand : 
Yet mv hand clenches on mv falchion hilt. 
In token he shall die. 

Vip. .Need 1 again remind you, that the 
place 
Permits not private quarrel ? 
Gor. I'm calm. I will not seek— nay, I will 
shun It — 
And yet metlnnks that such debate's the 

fishion 
You've heard how taunts, reproaches, and the 

The lie itself, have flown from mouth to 

mouth; 
As if a band of peasants were disputing 
About a foot-hall match, rather than Chiefs 
Were ordering a battle. I am young. 
And lack experience; tell me, brave De 

Vipont, 
Is such the fashion of your wars in Palestine ' 
Vip. Such it at times hath been ; and then 

the Cross 
Hath sunk before the Crescent. Heaven's 

cause 
Won us not victory where wi.sdom was 

not. — 
Behold yim K'nglish host come slowly on. 
With equal front, rank marshail'd upon rank. 
As if one spirit ruled one moving body ; 
The leaders, in their places, each prepared 
To charge, support, and rallv. as the fortune 
Of changeful battle needs : then look on ours. 
Broken, disjoinied, as tlie tumbling surges 
Which the winds wake al random. Look on 

both. 
And dread the issue; yet there might be 

succour. 
Gor. We're fearfully o'ermatch'd in dis- 

ciphne ; 
So even my inexperienced eve can judge. 
What succour save in Heaven ? 

Vip Heaven acts by human means. The 



615 >. 



tisf 



:kill 



Supplies in war, as in mechanic crafts. 

Deficiency of tools There's courage, wisdom, 

And skill enough, live in one leader here. 

As, flung info the balance, might avail 

To counterpoise the odds 'iwixt that ruled 
host 

And our wild multitude. — I must not name 
him. 
Gor. I guess, but dare not ask. — What band 
is yonder. 

Arranged so closely as the English discipline 

Hath marshail'd their best files? 
Vip. Know'st thou not the pennon ? 

One day, perhaps, ihou'lt see it all too 
closely ; — 

It is Sir Alan ."Swinton's. 
Gor. These, then, are his, — the relics of his 
power ; 

Yet worih an host of ordinary men — 

And I iiiiisl shiy mv country's sagest leader. 

And crush hv numfieis thai deteriimiLd hand- 
ful. 



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When most my country needs their practised 

aid, 
Or men will say, " There goes degenerate 

Gordon : 
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword, 
Ami his is ill his scabbard ! " {Muses 

Vip. (apart.) Hish blood and mettle, niix'd 

wiih early wisdom, 
Sparkle in tliis br;ive youth. If he survive 
This evil-onien'il day, I pawn my word, 
Tliat in the ruin which I now forhode. 
Scotinnd has treasure left — How close he 

eves 
Kach look and step of Swinton ! Is it hate, 
Or is it admiration, nr are both 
Conmiingled strangely in that steady gaze ? 

[Swinton and Maxwell return from the 
bottom, of the staxje. 
Max. The storm is laid at length anioiigst 

these counsellors ; 
See. thev come forth 

Sivi And It IS more than time. 
For I can mark tlie vansuard archery 
Handling their quivers — bending up their 

bows. 

E7iter the Re?etit and Scottish Lords 

Reg. Thus shall it be, then, since we may 
no better. 
And. since no Lord will yield one jot of way 
To tliis his:li urgency, or give the vansruard 
I'p to another's smdance. we will abide them 
Even on this bent; and as our troops are 

rank'd. 

So shall they meet the foe. Chief, nor Thane, 
Nor Noble, can complain of the precedence 
Which chance has thus assign'd him. 

Swi. (apart) O. sage discipline. 
'I hat leaves to chance the marshalling of a 
b;iti le ! 
Gor. Move him to speech. De Vipont. 
Vip. Move /iwi.'— Move whom ? 
Gor. Even liim. whom, but brief space 
since. 
My hand did burn to pur to utter silence. 
Vip I'll move it to Inm.— Swrnlon, speak to 
them. 
Thev lack thy counsel sorely. 

Sivi. Had 1 the thousand spears which once 
1 led, 
1 had not thus been silent But men's wisdom 
Is rated by their means. From the poor 

leader 
Of sixty lances, who seeks words of weight? 
Gor. (steps t'onvord.) Swmton, there's that 
of wisdom on thy brow. 
And valour in thine eye, and that of peril 
In tins most ureent, hour, that bids me s;iy, — 
Bids me, thv morial foe, sav.— Swinton, speak, 
For Kill!; and Country's sake! 

Swi Nav, if that voice commands me, 
speak 1 will ; 
It sounds as if I he dead lays charge on me. 
Rey. {To l.eimox, with whom he has been 
nnistilliiK} 
'Tis better than you think. This broad hill- 
side 
Affords fair compass for onr power's display, 
Kaiik above rank risim; in seemly tiers; 
So that the rearward stands as fair and 

open 

Swi As e'er stood mark before an English 
archer. 



Reg. Who dares to say so? — Who is't dare 
impeach 
Our rule of discipline? 

Hwi. A poor Knight -of these Marches, gooa 
my I ord ; 
Alan of Swinton, who hath kept a house 

here. 
He and his ancestrv. since the old days 
Of Malcolm, called the Maiden. 
Reg You have brought here, even to this 
pitched field, 
Tn which the Royal Banner is displav'd, 
I think some .^ixty spears, Sir Kni?ht of 

Swinton; 
Our mn.sters name no more. 

Swi I brought each man I had ; and Chief, 
or Karl, 
Thane. Duke, or disnitary. brings no more : 
And wiih them brought' I what may here be 

useful — 
An aged eye; which, what in England, .Snot- 
land. 
Spain. France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty 

battles. 
And ta'en some judgment of them ; a stark 

hatid too. 
Which [days as with a straw with this same 

mace, — 
Which if a young arm here can wield more 

lightly, 
I never more will offer word of counsel. 
Len. Hear him, my Lord ; it is the noble 
.^wintoM — 
He hath had high experience. 

Max. He is noted 

The wisest warrior 'twixt the I'we.ed and 

Solway — 
I do beseech you. hear him. 
John. Av. hear the Swinton— hear stout old 
Sir Ah.n; 
Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once. 

Reg. \^ here's your impatience now ? 
I, ate you were all for battle, would not hear 
Ourself pronounce a word — and now you gaze 
On yon old warrior, in his aiiiique ariiiour 
As if he were arisen from the dead. 
To bring us Bruce's counsel for the battle. 
Swi. 'Tis a proud word to speak ; but he 
who fought 
Long under Robert Bruce, may something 

guess, 
Witliout communication with the dead. 
At what he would have counseli'd. — Bruce 

had hidden ye 
Review your baltle-order, marshall'd broadly 
Here on the bare hill-side, and bidden you 

mark 
Yon cloinis f>f Southron archers, bearing down 
To the green meadow-lands which stretch tie- 

neath— 
Tiie Bruce had warn'd yon, not a shaft to day 
But shall tind mark within a Scottish bosom. 
If thus our field be order'd. The callow hoys. 
Who draw but four-foot bows, shall gall our 

front. 
While on our mainward. and upon the rear. 
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's 

own darts. 
And, though blind men discharge them, find a 

mark. 
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd 

<leer. 
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease 
By boys and women, while they loss aloft 



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All idly and in vain their branchy horns, 

As we shiill shake our uiiavaihns spears. 
Rtii lush, tell not nie ! If their shot fall 
like h:al. 

Our men have Milan coats to hear it out 
Swi. Ni^ver did armourer temper steel on 
stiihy 
That made sure fence against an English ar- 
row ; 

A cohweb gossamer were guard as good 

AijaiDSt a wasp-stins. 
Rtg Who fears a wasp-stin? ? 
A'(w 1, my Lord, fear none ; 

Yei should a wise man brusli the insect otf, 

Or he may smart for it. 
Ef.g. We'll keep the hill ; it is the vantage- 
ground 

When ilie main battle joins. 
Swi. It ne'er will join, while their light ar- 
chery 

Can foil our spearmen and our barbed horse. 

To hope Plantauenet would seek close combat 

V\ hen he can conquer nskless, is to deem 

."^agacious Edward suiipler than a babe 

In baitle-kiiowledije. Keep the hill, my Lord, 

With the main body, if it is your pleasure; 

But let a body of your chosen horse 

Make exec itioii on yon waspish archers. 

I've done such work l)efore, and love it well ; 

If 'tis your pleasure to give me the leading, 

'I'he dames of Sherwood, Inglewood, and 
Weardale. 

Shall sit in widowhood and Iimg for venison. 

And long in vain. Whoe'er remembers Ban- 
nockburn,— 

And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud 
trumpet. 

Forget that siirring word ! — knows thai great 
bat lie 

Even thus Wiis fought and won. 
i>«. This IS the shortest road to bandy 
blows ; 

For when the bills step forth and bows go 
back. 

Then is the moment that our hardy spearmen. 

With their strong bodies, and their stubborn 
hearts. 

And limbs well knit by mountain e.xeroise. 

At tlie close tug shall foil the short-brealh'd 
Southron. 
Swi. 1 do not say the field will thus be won ; 

The Enslish host is numerous, brave, and 
loyal ; 

Their Monarch most accomplish'd in war's 
art. 

Skill'd. resolute, and wary 

Rfg. And if your scheme secure not victory, 

What does it promise us ? 
Smi. This much at least, — 

Darklins; we shall not die : the peasant's shaft. 

Looseii'd perchance without an aim or pur- 
pose. 

Shall not drink up the life-blood we derive 

From those famed ancestors, who made their 
breasts 

This frontier's barrier for a thousand years. 

We'll meet these Southnm bravely hand to 
hand, 

And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon ; 

Each man wlio falls shall see the foe who 
strikes him. 

While our good blades are faithful to the hilts. 

And our good hands to these good blades are 
faithful, 



Blow shall meet blow, and none fall una- 
venged — 
We shall not bleed alone. 

Rjtg. And this is all 

Your wisdom halh devised? 
Hwi. Not all; for 1 would pray you, noble 
LoriU. 
(If one. among the guilty guiltiest, might,) 
For this one day to charm to ten hours' rest 
The never-dying worm of deadly feud. 
I'hat gnaws our vexed hearts — think no one 

foe 
Save Edward and his host : — days will re- 
main, 
Ay, days by far too many will remain, 
To avenge old feuds or struggles for prece- 
dence ; — 
I^t this one day be Scotlanil's.— For myself, 
If there is any here may claim from me 
(As well may chance) a debt of blood and 

hatred. 
My life is his to-morrow unresistins, 
So he to day will let me do the best 
That my old arm may achieve lor the dear 

country 
That's mother to us both. 

[Gordon shows much eviotion during this 
and the preceding spf-ech o/Swintoii. 
Reg. It IS a dream— a vision !— if one troop 
Rush down upon the archers all will follow. 
And order is destroy'd — we'll keep the battle- 
rank 
Our fathers wont to do. No more on't —Ho ! 
Where be those youths seek knighthood from 
our sword ? 
Her. Here are the Gordon, SomerviUe, and 
Hay, 
Anil Hepburn, with a score of gallants more. 
Rrg. Gordon, stand forth. 
Gor. I pray your Grace, foreive me. 

Reg. How ! seek you not for kniehlhooil ? 
Gor. 1 do thirst for't. 

But„ pardon me — 'tis from another sword. 
Reg. It is your Sovereign's — seek you for a 

worthier? 
Gor. Who would drink purely, seeks the 
secret fountain. 
How small soever— not the general stream. 
Though it be deep and wide. My Lord, I 

seek 
The boon of knighthood from the honour'd 

weapon 
Of the best knight, and of the safest leader. 
That ever graced a ring of chivalry. 
— I'herefore, I beg the boon on bended knee. 
Even from Sir Alan Swiiiton. [Kiuels 

Reg. Degenerate boy ! Abject at oni^e and 
insolent ! — 
See, Lords, he kneels to him that slew his 
father ! 
Gor. (starting up.) Shame be on him, who 
speaks such shameful word ! 
Shame be on hiin, whose tongue would sow 

disiseiision. 
When most the time demands that native 

Scotsmen 
Forget each private wrong ! 
Sun. (inltrrupting him.) Youth, since you 
crave me 
To be youi sire in chivalry, I remind you 
War has its duties, Office has its reverence ; 
Who governs m the Sovereign's name is Sove- 
reign ;— 
Crave the Lord Regent's pardon. 



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Gor. N'nii task nie justly, ami 1 crave his 
pardon, [Bows to the Regent. 

His and tliese noble Lords'; ;iud pray them all 

Bear witness to rny words. — Ye noble pre- 
sence. 

Here I remit unto tlie Knisht of Swiiiton 

All bitter memory of my father's slaiishter. 

All thoughts of malice, hatred, and revenge; 

By no base fear or composituui moved. 

But by the thought, tliat in our country's 
battle 

All hearts should be as one. I do forgive him 

As freely as 1 pray to be forgiven. 

And once more kneel to him to sue for knight- 
hood 
Swi. (offected. and drawimj his sword. ) 

Alas! brave youth, 'lis 1 should kneel to you. 

And, tendering thee the lull of the fell sword 

'I'liat made tliee fatherless, bid thee use the 
point 

After thine own discretion. For thy boon — 

Trumpets be ready— In the Holiest name. 

And in Our I ady's and Saint Andrew's name, 
[ TouchiriQ his shoulder with his sword 

I dub thee Kmghi !— Arise. Sir Adam tiordmi ! 

Be faithful, brave, and O. be fortunate, 

Should this ill hour permit ! 

[The tnimjifis sound; the Heralds cry 
'■ Largesse." and the Allendanls shout 
" A Gordon ! A Gordon !" 
Reg. Beggars and flatterers! Peace, peace, 
1 say ! 

We'll to the Standard ; knights shall there be 
made 

Who will with better reason crave your cla- 
mour. 
Len. What of Swinton's counsel ? 

Here's Maxwell and myself thmk it worth 
noiiiig. 
Reg. (with concentrated indig^iation) 

T.et the best knight, and let the sagest leader. — 

.So Gordon quotes tlie man who slew Ins fa- 
ther.— 

With his old pedigree and heavy mace, 

Kssay the adventure if it pleases him. 

With his fair threescore horse. As for our- 
selves. 

We will not peril aught upon the measure. 
Gor. Lord Regent, you mistake ; for if Sir 
Alan 

Shall venture such attack, each man who calls 

The Gordon chief, and hopes or fears from him 

Or good or evil, follows Swinton's banner 

In this achievement. 
Reg. Why, God ha' mercy! This is of a 
piece. 

Let young and old e'en follow their own coun- 
sel. 

Since none will list to mine. 
Ross. I he Border cockerel fain would be 
on horseback ; 

'Tis safe to be prepared for fight or flight : 

And this comes of it to give Northern lands 

To the false Norman blood. 

Gor. Hearken, proud Cliief of Isleff! With- 
in my stalls 

I have two'hundred horse ; two hundred riders 

Mount guard upon my castle, who would tread 

Into the dust a thousand of your Redshanks, 

JSor count It a day's service. 
Swi. Hear I this 

From thee, young man, and on the day of 
battle? 

And to the brave MacDonnell ? 



Gor. 'Twas he that urged me; but I am re- 
buked. 
Reg. He crouches like a leash-hound to his 

master! 
Swi. Each hound must do so that would 
head the deer — 
'Tis mongrel curs that snatch at mate or 
master. 
Reg. Too much of this. Sirs, to the Royal 
Standard ! 
I bid you, in the name of good l^ing David 
Sound trumpets — sound for Scotland and King 
David ! 
I'l'he Resent and the rest go off, and the 
Scene closfS. A/ow?)/ Gordon Swin- 
ton. und Vipont, with Heynald n»d 
followers Leiino.'C fol'ows the Re- 
gent ; but returns, and addresses 
Swinton. 
Len O, were my western horsemen but 
come up, 
I would take part with you ! 

Swi. Better that you remain. 

They lack discretion ; such grey head as 

yours 
May best supply that want. 
Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honour'd 

lord. 
Farewell, I think, for ever ! 
Len. Farewell, brave friend!— and farewell, 
noble Gord(»ii, 
Whose sun will be eclipsed even as it rises ! — 
The Regent, will not aid you. 

Swi. We will so bear us, that as soon the 
bloodlioiHid 
Shall halt. :iiid lake no part, what time his 

comrade 
Is grap[ilmg with the deer, as he stand still. 
And see u^ overmatch 'd. 
Len. Alas! thou dost not know how mean 
his pride is. 
How strong his envy. 
Swi. Then we will die, and leave the shame 
with him. [Exit Lennox. 

Vip. (to Gor ) What ails thee, noble youth? 
What means this pause ? 
Thou dost not rue thy generosity? 

Gor. I have been hurried on by strong 
impulse. 
Like to a bark that scuds before the storm. 
Till driven upon some strange and distant 

coast. 
Which never pilot dream'd of. — Have I not 

forgiven ? 
And am I not still fatherless? 

Swi. Gordon, no ; 

For while we live I am a father to thee. 
Gor Thou. Swinton? — no! — that cannot, 

cannot be. 
Swi. Then change the phrase, and say. that 
while we live, 
Gordon shall be my son. If thou art father- 
less. 
Am I not childless too? Bethink thee, 

Gordon, 
Our death-feud was not like the household 

(ire, 
Which the poor peasant hides among its 

embers. 
To smoulder (m. and wait a time for waking. 
Ours was the conflagration of the forest. 
Which, in its fury, spares nor sprout M>r 

stem. 
Hoar oak, nor sapling— not to be extinguish'd. 



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Till Heaven, in mercy, sends ilown all her 

waters; 
Cut, once siilKlued, its flame is queuch'd for 

ever; 
And spring shall hide the tract of devastation. 
With lolijiKe and with flowers.— Give me thy 

hand. 
Got. My hand and heart ! — And freely now ! 

-t<i fisht ! 
\ip. H iw will you act T [To Swiiiton ] The 

Gordon's hand and thine 
Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn — 
III post for them who wish to charge the fore- 
most ! 
Swi. We'll turn that scorn to vantage, and 

descend 
SideliPiis the hill — some winding path there 

must be— 
O, for a wellskili'd guide! 

[Hob Hatteiy starts up from a ThichH. 
Hob. ^l) here he stands — An ancient friend, 

Ssir .\\-M\. 
Hob Haitely. or, if yon like it betier, 
Hob ot the Heron Fiuiiie, here stands your 

guide. 
Svoi An ancient friend? — A most notorious 

knave. 
Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'il 

oak 
Before my castle, these ten months and more. 
Was It ni)t you who drove from Simprim- 

mains. 
And Swiiiton-Quarter, sixty head of caitle ? 
Hob What then, if now I lead your sixty 

lances 
Upon the English flank, where they'll find 

spoil 
Is worth SIX hundred beeves T 
Swi. Why, thou Ciinst do It, knave. I would 

not trust thee 
With one poor bullock ; vet would risk my 

life. 
And all my followers, on thine honest 

guidance. 
Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet 

one, 
(I've trod each step by starlight,) that sweeps 

round 
The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly 
Upon tlie archers' flank —Will not that serve 
Your present turn, sir Alan? 
Swi. Bravely, bravely ! 

Gor. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan 
Let all who love the Gordon follow me! 
Swi. Ay. let all follow — but in silence 

follow. 
Scare not the hare that's couchant on her 

form- 
The cushat from her nest — brush not, if 

possible. 
The <iew-drop from the spray — 
Let no one wlusper. until I cry. '• Havoc !" 
Tlien shout as loud's ye will. —On, on, brave 

Hob; 
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful 

Scotsman! [Exeunt. 



ACT II. — SCEXE I. 

A nsiiio (jruund immtdiitely in front of the 
Position of thr Rnulish Main Body. Percy. 
Cliaiidiis. Kihauiiiont, aiul otaer English and 
Norman Nob/es, are grouped on the Stage. 



Per. The .-^cots still keep the hill — the sun 
grows high. 
Would thai the charge would sound. 
Cha. Thou scent'st the slaughter, Percy. — 
Who comes here? 

[Enter the Abbot of Walthamstow. 
Now, by my life, the lioly priest of Waltham- 
stow, 
Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves ! 
See. he's about to bleat. 
Ab. The King, methinks, delays the onset 

long. 
Cha. Your general, Father, like your rat- 
catcher. 
Pauses to bait his traps, and .«et his snares 
Ah. The metaphor is decent. 
Cha. Keverend sir, 

1 will uphold it just Our good King Edward 
Will presently come to this battle-field. 
And siieak to you of the last lilting match. 
Or ol some feat he did a twenty year- since; 
But not a word of the day's work beloie 

him 
Even as the arti>t, sir. whose name ofTends 

you, 
Sits ppising o'er his can, until the trap fall. 
Announcing that the vermin are secured. 
And then 'tis up. and on Iheni. 

I'er. Chandos.you give your tongue too bold 

a license 
Cha. Percy. I am a necessary evil. 
King b'dward would not wani nie. if he could. 
And could not, if he would. I kno.v my 

value. 
My heavy hand e.xcuses my light tongue. 
So men wear weighiy swords in their defence. 
Although they may offend the tender slim, 
When the steel-boot is doff'd. 

Ab. My Lord of Chandos, 

I'his is but idle speech on brink of battle. 
When Christian men should think upon their 

sins; 
For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie. 
He It for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee. 
Thou hast withheld from our most reverend 

house. 
The tithes of Everingham and Settleton; 
Wilt thou make satisfaction to the Church 
Before her thunders strike thee ? 1 do warn 

thee 
In most paternal sort. 

Cha. I thank you. father, filially. 
Though but a truant son of Holy Church, 
I would not choose lo undergo her censures. 
When Scottish blades are waving at my 

throat 
I'll make fair composition. 
Ab. No composition; I'll have all, or none. 
Cha. None, then — 'lis soonest spoke. I'll 
take my chance. 
And trust my sinful soul to Heaven's mercy, 
Kather than risk my worldly goods with thee — 
My hour-may intt lie come. 
Ab. impious— impenitent— 
Per. Hush! the King— the King! 

Enter King Edward, attended by Baliol and 
others. 

King {apart to Cha ) Hark hither, Chandos I 
Have the Yorkshire archers 
Vet join'd the vanguard ! 
Cha. 'They are maiching thither. 



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K. Ed. Bid ilietti make haste, for shame — 
send a quick rider. 
The loitering knaves ! were it to steal my 

venison. 
Their steps were liglit enough.— How now, Sir 

Alibot ' 
Say, is your Reverence come to study with us 
Tlie pniictily art of war? 
Ab. I've had a lecture from my Lord of 
Chandos, 
In which he lerm'd your Grace a rat-catcher. 
K. Ed. Chandos, how's this? 
Cha. O, 1 will prove it, sir!— These skipping 
Scots 
Have chaiiijed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and 

Bahol. 
Quitting each House as it began to totter; 
They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, 

as rats, 
And we. as such, will smoke them in their 
fastnesses. 
K. Ed. V\wse rats have seen vour back, my 
Lord of Chandos, 
And noble Perry's too. 
Fer. Ay ; but the mass whicli now lies 
welrerin? 
On yon side hill. like a leviathan 
That's stranded on the shallows, then had 

soul in't. 
Order and discipline, and power of action. 
Now 'tis a headless corpse, which only shows 
By wild C(invulsions, that some life remains 
in't. 
K Ed. True, they had once a head ; and 
'twas a wise. 
Although a rebel head. 
Ab (bdwmy to the King ) Would he were 
heie ! we should find one to match 
him. 
K. Ed. There's something in that wish 
which wakes an echo 
Within my bosom Yet it is as well. 
Or better, that The Biure ts in his grave. 
We have enough of powerful foes on earth.— 
No need to suinnion tliem fiom other worlds. 
Fer. Your Gr;ice ne'er met The Bruce? 
K. Ed. Never himself; but in my earliest 
field, 
I did encounter with his famous captains, 
Douglas and Randolph. Faith ! they press'd 
me hard. 
Ab. My I. lege, if I might urge you with a 
question. 
Will the Scots fight to-day ? 
K. Ed. {sluin'/y ) Go look your breviary. 
Cha. {opart ) The Abbot has it — Edward 
will not aiLswer 
On that nice point. We mu.st observe his 
humour. — [AddressfS the King. 

Your first campaign, my Liege ?— I'liat was in 

Weaidale, 
When Douslas gave our camp yon midnight 

ruf!le. 
And tuiii'd men's beds to biers ? 
K Ed. Ay, by iaint Edward! — I escaped 
riffht nearly. i 

1 was a soldier then for holidays. 
And slept not in mine armour; my safe rest 
Was startled by the cry of " Douglas ! Doug- 
las!" 
And by my couch, a grisly chamberlain, 
Sio(h1 Alan Swinton. wiih his bloody mace. 
It was a churchman saved me — my stout 
chaplain, 



Heaven <iuit his spirit! caught a weapon up. 
And f;r;ii)[)ied with the guiiit. — How nuw, 
Louis ? 

E7tter an Officer, who whispers the Kinir. 

K. Ed. Say to him,— thus— and thus 

[ Whispers. 
Ab. That Swinton's dead. A monk of ours 
reported. 
Bound homeward from St. Mnian's pilgri- 
mage. 
The Lord of Gordon slew him. 
Per. Father, and if your house stood on our 
borders. 
You might have cause to know that Swinton 

lives. 
And IS on horseback yet. 

Cha. He slew the Gordon, 

That's all the diflference— a very trifle. 
Ab Trifling to those who wage a war more 
noble 
Than with the arm of flesh. 

Cha (apart ) The Abbot "s vex'd, I'll rub the 
sore for him. — 
(Aloud.) 1 have seen priests that used the arm 

of flesh. 
And used it sturdily.— Most reverend Father. 
Wliat say you to the chaplain's deed of arms 
In the King's tent at Weaidale ? 
Ab It was most sinful, being against the 
canon 
Prohibiting all churchmen to bear weapons; 
And as he fell in that unseemly guise. 
Perchance his soul may rue it. 
K. Ed. (overhearing the last words) Who 
may rue it ? 
And what is to be rued ? 

Cha. (apart.) I'll match his Reverence for 
the tithes of Everingham. 
—The Abbot «ays, my Liege, the deed was 

sinful. 
By which your chaplain, wielding secular 

weapons. 
Secured your Grace's life and liberty. 
And that he suffers for 't in purgatory. 
K. Ed. (to the Abbot.) Say'st thou my chap- 
lain IS in purgatory ? 
Ab. It IS the canon speaks it, good my 

Liege. 
K. Ed In purgatory! thou shall pray him 
out on't. 
Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him. 
Ab. My Lord, perchance his .soul is past the 
aid 
Of all the Church may do — there is a place 
From which there's no redemption. 
K. Ed. And if I thought my faithful chap- 
lain there. 
Thou shouldst there join him, priest I — Go, 

watch, fast, pray, 
And let me have such prayers as will storm 

Heaven — 
None of your maim'd and mutter'd hunting 
masses. 
Ab. (apart to Cha.) For God's sake take him 

off. 
Cha. Wilt thou compound, then. 
The tithes of Evermsham ? 
K. Ed I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys 
of Heaven, 
Abbot, thou shalt not turn a l)olt with them 
'Gainst any well-deserving English subject. 
Ab. (to Cha..) We will compound, and grant 
thee, too, a share 



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HALIDON HILL. 



621 \ 



r the next iiidukeiice. Thou ilosl need it 

much, 
And sreatly 'twill avail thee. 

Cha Enough— we're friends, and when 
occasion serves, 

I will strike in 

[Loo/cs as if towards the Scottish Army. 
K. Ed. Answer, proud Abbot ; is my chap- 
lain's soul. 
If thou knowest au?rht on 't. in the evil 
place ? 
Cha My Lieq:e, t!ie Yorkshire men have 
iraiii'd the ineadnw. 
I see the pennon srecn of merry Sherwood. 
K. Ed. Then give the signal insiaiit! V\'e 
have lost 
But too much time already. 
Ab My Lie?e, your holy chaplain's blessed 

soul — 
K. Ed. I'o hell with it and thee ! Is this a 
time 
To sfieak of monks and chaplains? 

[F'ouruh of Trumprls. answered hy a 
dis'nnt sound of Bmles. 
See, Chandos. Percy — Ha, Saint George ! Saint 

Edward ! 
See it de-iceiiding now, the fatal hail-shower. 
The storm of England's wrath— sure, swifc, 

resistless. 
Which no mail-coat can brook. — Brave English 

hearts ! 
How close they shoot together! — as ime eye 
Had aim'd five thousand shafts— as if one 

hand 
Hail loosed five thousand bow-strings ! 

Per. The thick volley 

Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. 
k. Ed. It tails on those shall see the sun no 
more. 
The winged, the resistless plague is with 

them 
How their vex'd host is reeling to and fro. 
Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in 

him. 
They do not see, and cannot shun the wound. 
The storm is viewless, as death's sable wing., 
Unerrin? as his scythe. 
Per. Horses and riders are going down 
tosether. 
'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall. 
And by a peasant's arrow. 

Bal. I could weep them. 

Although they are my rebels. 
Cha. (aside to Per.) His conquerors, he 
means, who cast him out 
From ins usurped kingdom.— (,4toK(Z.) 'Tis the 

worst of it. 
That knights can claim small honour in the 

field 
Which archers win, unaided by our lances. 
K. Ed The battle is not ended. [Looks 
towards the field. 
Not ended !— scarce begun! What horse are 

these. 
Rush fniin the thicket underneath the hill 1 
Fer. They're Haiiiaulters, the followers of 

Queeii Isabel. 
K. Ed. (hastily.) Hainanlters! — thou art 
blind —wear Hainanlters 
Saint Andrews silver cross? — or would they 
charge 



1 The well-known expression by which Robert Bruce English body of cavalry lo pass i 
eji9ured the negligence of Randolph for permitting an ceding the battle of Baiinookburu. 



Full on our archers, and make havoc of 

them ? — 
Bruce is alive asain — ho. rescue ! rescue ! — 
Will) was'L survey'd the sround ? 
Riha. .Most royal Liege — 
K. Ed. A rose hath fallen from thy chap- 
let, • Ribaumont. 
Riha. I'll win it back or lay my head beside it. 
[Erit. 
K El. Saint Geoisre ! Saint Edward ! 
Gentlemen, to horse. 
And to the rescue !—Percv, lead the bill-men ; 
Chan(los,do thou bring up ihe men-at-arms. — 
If yonder numerous h4)st should now bear 

down 
Bold as their vanguard, (lo the Abbot,) thou 

inayst pray for us. 
We may need good men's prayers. — To the 

rescue. 
Lords, to the rescue ! ha. Saint George ! Snitit 
Edward! \_Extunt. 



SCENE IT. 



A part of the Field of Battle betwixt the two 
Main Armi'-s. TiimiiUs behind the scenes ; 
at/irums. and cries of •' Gordon, a Gordon," 
"Swinlon," <fc. 

Enter, as virtorioits over the Enqlish vanguard, 
Vipont, and Reynald, and others. 

Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries 
sound together,— 
Gordon and .Swiiiton. 
Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange 
withal. 
Faith, when at first I heard the Gordon's 

slogan 
Sounded so near me. I had nigh struck down 
The knave who cried it. 

Enter Swinfon and Gordon. 

Swi. Pitch down my pennon in yon holly 

bush. 
Gar. Mine in the thorn beside it; let them 

wave. 
As fonsht this morn their masters, side by 

side. 
Swi. Let the men rally, and restore their 

ranks 
Here in this vantage-sroiind— disorder'il chase 
Leads to disorder'd flight; we have done our 

part, 
And if we 're succour'd now, Plantagenet 
Must turn liis bridle .southward. — 
Reynald, spur to the Resent with the basnet 
Of stout l)e Grey, the leader of their vanguard ; 
Say, that in battle front the Gordon slew him. 
And by that token bid him send us succour. 
Gor. And tell him that when Selby's head- 
long charge 
Had wellnigh borne me down. Sir Alan smote 

him. 
I cannot send his helmet, never nutshell 
Went to so many shivers. — Harkye, grooms! 

r To those behind the scenes. 
Why do you let my noble steed stand sliflening 
After so hot a course ? 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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Svoi. Av, breathe your horses, they Ml have 

work inon. 
'For Edwards men-at-arms will he on us, 
The flower of Ensrland. Gascony and Flanders ; 
But with swift succour we will bide them 

bravely — 
De Vipont. thou look'st sad ? 

Vxx>. It is because I hold a Templar's sword 
W't to thpcrosse'l hi't with Christian hloml. 
SiDi. The blood of Eiig:lisli archers— what 

can Slid 
A Scottish blade more bravelvT 
Vvp. Even therefore grieve I for those gallant 

yeomen, 
Ensland's peculiar and appropriate sons. 
Known in no other land. Each boasts his 

hearth 
And field :ts free as the best lord his barony, 
Owin? subjection to no human vassalage. 
Save to their King and law. Hence are they 

resol ute, 
I ending: the van on everv day of battle. 
As men who know the blesslnss ttiey defend. 
Hence are they frank and eenerous in peace, 
As men who have their portion in its plenty 
No other kiiisfdoni shows such worth and 

happiness 
Veil'd in such low estate — therefore I mourn 

them. 
Smi. I'll keep my sorrow for our native 

Scots, 
Who, spite of hardship, poverty, oppression. 
Still follow to the field their Chieftain's 

banner. 
And die in the defence on't. 

Gor. And if I live and see mv halls asrain. 
They shall have portion in the sood thev fi'.;ht 

for. 
Each hardy follower shall have his fieM, 
His household hearth and sod-built home, as 

free 
As ever Southron had. They shall be happy !— 
And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it! — 
I have betray'd myself. 

Sioi. ' Do not believe it.— 

Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height, 
And see what motion in the Scottish host. 
And in Km? Edward's.^ [Exit Vipont. 

Now will I counsel thee ; 
The Temolar's ear is for no tale of love. 
Being wedded to his Order. But I tell thee. 
The brave young knight that hath no lady- 
love 
Is like a lamp unlighted ; his brave deeds, 
And its rich painting, do seem then most 

glr)rious, 
When the oure ray gleams through them. — 
Hath thy Elizabeth no other name ? 

Gor. Must I then speak of her to you. Sir 

Alan ? 
Tne thought of thee, and of thy matchless 

strength. 
Hath conjured phantoms up amongst her 

dreams. 
The name of Svvinton hath been spell suffi- 
cient 
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek, 
And wouldst thou now know hers? 

Swi. 1 would, nay must. 

Ttiy father in the paths of chivalrv. 
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy 

course by. 

Gor. Nay, then, her name is— hark 

[ Whispers. 



Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern 

house. 
Gor. (). thou shalt see its fairest grace and 
honour 

In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee • 

Swi. It did, before di.sasters liad untuned 

me 
Gor. (). her notes 
Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, 
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling. 
Tliat grief shall have it.<j sweetness. Who, 

but she. 
Knows the wild harpings of our native land T 
Whether thev lull the shepfierd on his hill. 
Or wake the knight to battle ; rouse to inerri- 

ment. 
Or soothe to sadness ; she can touch each 

rnood. 
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in 

arms. 
And givv-hair'd hards, contend which shall 

the first 
And choicest homage render to the enchant- 
ress. 
Swi. You speak her talent bravely. 
Gnr. Though you smile, 

I do not speak it half Her gift creative, 
\'ew measures adds to every air slie wakes ; 
Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness, 
l.ike the wild modulation of the lark ; 
\'(iw leaving, now returning to the strain! 
To listen to her. is to seem to wander 
In some enchanted labvrinth of romance, 
Whence nothing but the lovelv fairy's will. 
Who wove the spell, can extricate the wan- 
derer. 
Meihiiiks 1 hear her now ! — 

Swi. Bless'd privilege 

Of youth ! There's scarce three minutes to 

decide 
'Twixt death and life, 'twixt triumph and de- 
feat. 
Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, 
l.ist'ning her harping ! — 

[Enter Vipont. 
Where are thine. De Vipjont ? 
Vip On deal h — on judgment — on eternity ! 
For lime is over with us 
Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to 
our ai<i. 
Of all I hat flutter yonder! 

Vip. From the main English host come 

rustling forward 

Pennons enow— ay, and their Royal Standard. 

But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. 

Swi. {to himself.) I'll rescue him at least. — 

Young lord of Gordon, 

Spur to the Hegent— show the instant need 

Gor. I penetrate thv nurpose; but I go not. 
Swi Not^at my bidding ? 1, thy sire in chi- 
valry— 
Thv leader in the battle ?— I command thee. 
Gor No, thou wilt not command me seek 
my safety. — 
For such is thy kin<l meaning— at the expense 
Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for 

Scotland. 
While 1 abide, no follower of mine 
Will turn his rem for life : but were I gone. 
What power can stay them? and, our band 

dispersed. 
What swords shall for an instant stem yon 

host. 
And save the latest chance for victory . 



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HA LIDO N HILL. 



623 



Vip. The noble youth speaks truth; ami 
were he soiie, 

There will not twenty spears he left with us. 
iior. No, bravely as we luve begun the 
field, 

So let us fi?ht it out The Resenfs eyes, 

More rertiiin than a thousand inessa^eii. 

Shall see us stand the barrier of his host 

Asainst yon burstuig siorni. If not for ho- 
nour, 

If not for warlike rule, for shame at leaxt 

ile must bear down to aid us. 
Swi. Must it he so? 

And am 1 forced to yield the sad consent. 

Hevotiiis thy yoiiiiic life ? U. Gordon. Gordon ! 

1 do it as tlie patriarch dooni'd his issue ; 

1 at my country's, he m Heaven's command ; 

But I seek vamly some atoning sacrifice. 

Rather than such a vicLim ! — ( 7'/-JiOTpe<a.; — 
Hark, they come ! 

That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. 
Got. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it 
gaily.— 

Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, 
" Gordon ! 

Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !" 

lExeunt. Loud Alarums. 



SCENE III. 

Another part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to 
the fminer Scene. 

Alarums. Enter Swinton. followed by 
H.ib Hattely. 

Swi. Stand to it yet ! The man who flies to- 
day. 
May bastards warm them at his household 
hearth ! 
Hob Ttiat ne'er shall be my curse. My 
Maedalen 
Is trusty as my broadsword. 

Swi. Ha, thou knave, 

Art triou dismounted too? 

Hub. I know. Sir Alan, 

You want no homeward guide ; so threw my 

reins 
Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose 
V\ ithin an hour he stands before my gate; 
And Magdalen will need no other token 
To hid the Melrose Monks say masses for me 
Swi. Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, 

then ? 
Hob. It is my purpose. 

Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's 

death ; 
And never had I a more glorious chance for't. 
Swi Here lies the way to it, knave —.Make 
in, make in. 
And aid young Gordon ! 

[Exeunt. Loud and lomj Alarums After 
which the back Seme rises, and dis- 
covers Swiiiton on the ground, Gordon 
supporting him ; both much wounded. 
Swi. All are cut down — the reapers have 
pass'd o'er us. 
And hie to distant harvest.— My toil's over ; 
There lies my sickle [Dropping his sword.] 

Hand of mine again 
Shall never, never wield it ! 
Gor. O valiant leader, is thy light extin- 
guish'd I 



That only bearoii-flaine which promised safely 
In this day's deadly wr.ark ! 
Swi. My lamp hath long been dim! But 

thine, youni; Gurilon. 
Just kindled, to be quenrn'd so suddenly, 
Kre Scotland saw its splendour!-— 
Gor. Five th()usand horse hung idly on yon 

hill. 
Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one ."itirr'd to aid 

us ! 
Swi. It was the Regent's envy.— Out ! — alas ! 
Why blame 1 him I— It wa.<< our civil discord. 
Our selfish vanity, our jealous haired. 
Which framed this day of dole for our poo? 

country. — 
Had thv brave fatiier held yon leading staff. 
As well his rank and valour might have 

claini'd it. 
We had not fall'n unaided —How. O how 

Is tie to answer it, whose deed prevented 

Gor. Alas! alas! the author of the death- 
feud. 
He has his reckoi.ing too I for had your sons 
And numerous vassals lived, we had lack'd no 

aid 
Swi May God assoil the dead, and him who 

follows I 
We've drank the poison'd beverage which we 

brew'd : 
Have sown the wind, and reapd the tenfold 

whirlwind ! — 
But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of 

heart 
Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate in- 
flicted ; 
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no 

forgiveness, — 
Why should'st thou share our punishment! 
Clor. All need forgiveness— [f/z5/aw/a/or7<r«.] 

Hark, in yonder shout 

Did the mam battle's counter! 
Swi. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if 

thou canst. 
And tell me how the day goes.— But I guess, 

Too surely do I guess 

Gor All's lost! all's lost!— Of the main 

Scottish host. 
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly for- 
ward ; 
And some there are who seem to turn their 

spears 
Against their countrymen. 
Swi. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret 

treason. 
Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour. 
Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength. 
More fatal unto friends than enemies ! 
I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more 

on't — 
let thy hands close them, Gordon — 1 will 

dream 
My fair-hair'd William renders me that office ! 
[Dies. 
Gor. And, Swinton, 1 will think I do lliat 

duty 
To my dead father. 

Enter De Viponf. 
Vip. Fly, fly. brave youth ! — A handful of 
thy followers. 
The scatter'd gleaning of this desperate day, 
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue.— 
O linger not! — I'll be your guide to them. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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Gor. Look there, ami bid ine fly !— I lie oak 
has fall'ii ; 
And the young ivy bush, which learn'd to 

clmih 
By its support, must needs pariake its fall. 
ViV- Swintoiil Alas! the best, the hiaVesl, 
strongest, 
And safest of our Scottish chivalry ! 
Forgive one moment, if, to save the living. 
My tongue should wrong the dead. — Gordon, 

bethink thee, 
Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse 
Of him who slew thy lather. 

Gor. Ay, hut he was my sire in chivalry. 
He taught my youth to soar above the prompt- 
ings 
Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my 

youth 
A name that shall not die even on this death- 



Had all men fought like Swinton and like 
Gordon. [Trumpets. 

Save thee. De Vipont. — Hark ! the Southron 
trumpets. 
Vrp. Nay. without thee I stir not. 

Etiter Edward, Chandos, Percy, Baliol, <fc. 

Gor. Ay, they come on — The Tyrant and 
the Traitor, 
Workman and tool. Plantagenet and Baliol. — 
O for a moment's strength in this poor arm, 
To do one glorious deed ! 

[He rtcshes on the English, but is made 

prisoner with Vipont. 

K.Ed. Disarm them — harm them not; 

though it was they 

Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard. 

'I'hey and that bulky champion. Where is he ? 

Chan. Here lies I he giant! Say his name, 

young Knight T 
Gor. Lt-t it suffice, he was a man this 

morning i 
Cha. I question'd thee in sport. I do not 
nerd 
Thy information, youth. Who that has fought 
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows 

liis crest. 
The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak. 
And that huge mane still seen where war was 
wildest! 



1 In his narrative of events on the day after the battle 
of Shrrilfmuir. Sir Walter Scntt says, " Araonj;st the gen- 
Uemen who fell on this occasion, were several on both 
Bides, alike eminent for birth and character. The body of 
the gallant young Earl of Strathmore was found on the 
field, watched by a faithful old domeetic, who, bein° asked 
the name of the perBOU whose body he waited upon with so 



K. Ed. 'Tis Alan Swinton! 
Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Wear- 
dale. 
Stood by my startled couch with torch and 

mare, 
V^'hell the Black Douglas' war-cry waked my 
camp. 
Gor (sinlcing down.) If thus thou know'st 
him. 
Thou wilt respect his corpse. 
A'. Ed. As belied Kmght and crowned King 

I will. 
Gor. And let mine 
Sleej) at Ins side, in token that our death 
Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon. 
K. Ed. It IS the Gordon! — Is there aught 
beside 
Edward can do to honour bravery 
Even in an enemv ? 

Gor. Nolllin^ but this: 
Let not base Baliol. with his touch or look. 
Profane my coriis'j or Swinton's. 1 've some 

breath stlii. 
Enough U say— Scotland— Elizabeth ! [Dixs. 
Cha. Balioi, 1 would not brook such dying 
looks. 
To buv the crown you aim at. 
K. Ed. {to Vtp ) Vipont, thy crossed shield 
shows ill in warfllr<^ 
Against a Christian king 

Vip. I'hat Christian King is warring upon 
Scotland. 
1 was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar,^ 
Sworn to my country ere I knev.' my Order. 
K. Ed I wili hut know thee as a Christian 
charn,pion. 
And set thee free unransom"d. 

Enter Abbot of Walthamstow. 

Ab. Heaven grant your iMajesty 
Many such glorious days as this hath fieen ! 
K. Ed. It is a day of much and high ad- 
vantage ; 
Glorious It might have been, had all our foes 
Fought like these two brave champions.— 

Strike the drums, 
Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives. 
Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Bei'- 

wick's reniler'u-- 
These wars, I trust, will soon find lasting 
close. 



much care, made this striking reply, ' He was a man 
yesterday.' " — Tales of a Grandfather. 

2 A Venetian Ueneral, observing his soldiers testified 
sortie iinwillingnesB to fight against those of the Pope, 
whom they regarded as father of the Church, addressed 
Ih.m in term.s of similar encouragement.—" Fight on ! *• 
were Venetians before we were Christians.'* 




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MACDUFF'S CROSS, 



625 



MACDUFF'S Cross, 



INTRODUCTION. 

These few scf^ries had the hiiiir)nr to he 
iiicluileiJ ill a Miscellany, published in the 
Vfiir 182 <• hy Mrs Joitntia Baillie. and are 
ht-re reprinted, to unite ilieiii with the trifles 
of the same kind wiiu-h owe their hirth to fiie 
author. The .sinsriilar history of the Cross 
and Law of Clan MacDnff is eiven. at leneth 
en(»ugh to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in 
The Minstrelsy of tke Scottish Border. It is 
here only nece.ssary to slate, that the Cro.ss 
was a place of refuse to any person related to 
MacDuff, within tlie ninth decree, who, havin? 
Coniimtted homicide in sudden guarrel. should 
reach this place, prove his descent from the 
'I'hane of Fife, and pay a certain penalty. 

The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the 
Kefornialion. The hu^e hlock of stone which 
served for its pedestal is still in existence near 
tlie town of Newhursh. on a kind of pass 
winch commands the couiiiy of Fife to ihe 
southward, and to the north, the wmdingrs of 
the m.iemticeiit Tay and fertile country of 
Aiisus-shire. The Cross bore an inscription, 
winch is transmitted to us in an uniutelligible 
form by SJir Robert Sibbald. 

Abbotsford, January 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS, 
Ninian, 
VV'aldhave, 
Lindesay. 
Maurice Berkeley, 



Monks of Lindores. 

Scottish Barons. 



\ 



MRS. JOANNA BAILLIE, 

AUTH0RI5SS OF 

"THE PLAYS ON THE PASSIONS.' 



PRELUDE. 
Nay, smile not, lady, when I speak of witch- 

crai't, 
And say, that there still lurks amongst our 

KJens 
Some iouoli of strange enchantment. — Mark 

that fragment. 
I mean that rough-hewn block of massive 

stone. 
Placed on the summit of this moiiiitain-pass. 
Comuiaiiding prospect wide o'er field and 

fell. 
And peopled villase and e.ftended moorland. 
And the wide ocean and majestic Tay, 
To the far distant Grampians. — Do not 
\ deem it 

A loosen'd portion of the neis;hbourin? rock, 
Detach'd by storm and thunder, — 'twas the 

pedestal 



53 



On which, in ancient times, a Cross was 
rear'd. 

Carved o'er with words which foil'd philolo- 
gists ; 

And the events it did commemorate 

Were dark, remote, and undistinguishahle. 

As were the mystic characters it bore. 

But, mark,— a wizard, born on Avon's bank. 

Tuned but his harp to this wild northern 
theme. 

And, lo! the scene is hallow'd. Acne shall 
pass. 

Now, or in after days, beside that stone. 

But tie shall have strange visions ; thoughts 
and words. 

That shake, or rouse, or thrill Ihe human 
heart. 

Shall rush upon his memory when he hears 

The spirit-stirring name of this rude sym- 
bol ; - 

Oblivious ages, at that simple spell, 

Shall render back their terrors with their 
woes, 

Alas! and with their crimes — and the proud 
phantom 

Sliall move with step familiar to his eve. 

And accents wliich, once heard, the ear forgets 
not. 

Though ne'er again to list them. Siddons, 
thine, 

Thou matchless Siddons! thrill upon our ear. 

And on our eye thy lofty Brother's form 

h'lses as Scotland's monarch.— But, to thee. 

Joanna, why to thee s()eak of such visions? 

Thine own wild wand can raise them. 

Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine. 
Take one which scarcely is of worth enough 
To give or to withhold.— Our time creeps on, 
Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair 
Tells tlie advancing winter of our lite. 
But if It be of worth enough to please. 
That worth it owes to her who set the task ; 
If otherwise, ttie fault rests with the auttior. 



SCENE I. 
ITie summit of a Rocky Pass fiear to Newburqh, 
about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lin- 
dores, in Fife In the centre is MucDujfs 
Cross, an antique Monument; and, at a smnll 
distance, on one side, a Chaiiel, with, a Lamp 
burning. 

Enter, as having ascended the Pass, Ninian atid 
V\ aldliave. Monks of Litidores. Ninian 
crosses himself, and seems to recite his devo- 
tions. Waldhave stands yazing on ihe pros- 
pert, OS if in deep contemplation 
Nin Here stands the Cross, good brother, 
consecrated 
By the bold Thane unto his patron saint 
Magridius, once a brother of our house. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



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Canst, thou not spare an ave or a creed T 
Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you T 
You trode it stoutly, though 't was rough and 
toilsome. 
Wal. I have trode a rougher. 
jVm. On the Highland hills — 

Scarcely within our sea-girt province here, 
Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennuriy. 

Wal. 1 spoke not of the literal path, good 
father, 
But of the road of life which I have travell d, 
f;re I assumed this habit; it was bounded. 
Hedged in, and limited bv earthly prospects. 
As ours beneath was closed by dell and 

thicket. 
Here we see wide and far, and the brf)ad sky. 
With wide horizon, opens full around. 
\\'hile earthly objects dwindle. Brother 

Isinian, 
Fain would 1 hope that mental elevation 
Could raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts. 
And place me nearer heaven. 

iVm. 'Tis good morality.— But yet forget not. 
That though we look on heaven from this high 

eminence. 
Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space. 
Arch foe of man. possess the realms between. 
Wal. Most true, good brother; and men 
mav be farther 
From the bright heaven they aim at, even 

because 
They deem themselves secure on 't. 

liin. (ajifr a pause ) You do gaze — 

Strangers are wont to do so— on the prospect. 
Yon IS Mie Tay, roU'd down from Highland 

hills. 
That rests his waves, after so rude a race, 
111 the fair plains of Govvne — furtlier west- 
ward, 
Proud Sterling rises — vonder to the east, 
Dundee, the gift of God. and fair Mcmtrose, 
And si ill more northward lie the ancient 

lowers 

Wnl Of Edzell. 

Nin. How ? know you the towers of Edzell? 
Wnl. I've heard of them. 
jVm. Then yon have heard a tale. 

Which when he tells, the peasant shakes his 

head. 
And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls. 
Wal. Wliy, and by whom, deserted ] 
jVwi. Long the tale — 

Enough to sav that the last Lord of Edzell, 

Bold Louis Lindesay, had a wife, and found 

Wal. Enough is said, indeed— since a weak 
woman, 
Ay, and a tempting fiend, lost Paradise, 
When man was innocent. 

Mn. They fell at strife. 

Men say, on slight occasion ; that tierce 

Lindesay 
Did bend his sword against De Berkeley's 

breast. 
And that the ladv threw herself between; 
That then De Berkeley dealt the Baron's 

death-wound. 
Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore 
A spear in foreign wars. But, it is said, 
He hath return'd of late ; and, therefore, 

brother. 
The Prior hath ordain'd our vigil here. 
To watch the privilege of the sanctuary. 
And rights of Clan MacDuff. 

Wal. What rights are these 1 



Niri. Most true! you are but newly conne 
from Rome, 
And do not know our ancient usages. 
Know then, when fell Macbeth beneath the 

arm 
Of the predestined knight, unborn of woman. 
Three boons the victor ask'd, and thrice did 

Malcolm. 
Stooping the sceptre by the Thane restored. 
Assent to his request. And hence the rule. 
'I'lie first when Scotland's King assumes the 

crown. 
IMacDuffs descendant rings his lirow with it • 
And hence, when Scotland's King calls forth 

his host, 
MacDiiff's descendant leads the van in battle : 
And last, in guerdon of the crown restored. 
Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant, 
The right was granted in succeeding time. 
That if a kinsman of the Thane of Fife 
Gomniit a slaughter on a sudden impulse. 
And fly for refuge to this Cross MacDuff. 
For the Thane's sake he shall find sanctuary ; 
For here must the avenger's step be staid. 
And here the panting homicide find safely. 
Wal. And here a brother of your order 
watches. 
To see the custom of the place observed ? 
Nin. Even so; —such IS our convent's holy 
right. 
Since Saint Magridius — blessed \ie his 

memory ! — 
Did by a visiim warn the Abbot Eadniir. — 
And chief we watch, when there is bickering 
Among the neighbouring nobles, now most 

likelv 
From this return of Berkeley from abroad. 
Having the Lindesay's blood upon his hand. 
Wal. The Lindesay, then, was loved among 

his friends? 
Nin. Honour'd and fear'd he was— but little 
loved ; 
For even his bounty bore a show of sternness : 
And when his passions waked^ he was a 

Sathan 
Of wrath and injurv. 

Wal. How now. Sir Priest! (.ferre/y.)- For- 
give me {recolUcting himself.)— \ was 
dreaming 
Of an old baron, who did bear about him 
Some touch of your Lord Reynold. 

Nm. Lindesav's name, my brother. 
Indeed was Reynold ; — and methinks, more- 
over. 
That, as you spoke even now, he would have 

spoken. 
1 brought him a petition from our convent ; 
He granted straight, but in such tone and 

manner. 
By my good saint ! I thought myself scarce safe 
Till Tay roll'd broad between us I must now 
Unto the chapel — meanwhile the watch is 

thine; 
And, at thy word, the hurrying fugitive, 
Should such arrive, must here find sanctuary; 
And, at thy word, the fiery-paced avenger 
Must stop his bloody course — e'en as swoln 

Jordan 
ControU'd Ids waves, soon as they toucb'd the 

feet 
Of those who bore the ark. 

Wal. Is this my charge? 

Nin. Even so ; and I am near, should chanoe 
require me 



y^ 



7 



^ 



MACDUFF'S CROSS 



At midnight I relieve you on your waich 
When we may laste logeitier some refresh- 
ment: 
I have cared for it ; and for a flask of wine — 
There is no sm, so thai we drink it not 
Until the midrnght hour, when lauds have 

toird. 
Farewell a while, and peaceful watch be with 
yon I [Exit towards the Chapel. 

Wnl. It is not with me, and alas ! alas! 
1 know tiot where to seek it. This monk's 

niiiid 
Is with ins cloister match'd, nor lacks more 

room. 
Its petty duties, formal ritual. 
Its humble pleasures and its paltry troubles. 
Fill up his round of life ; even as some 

reptiles, 
They say, are moulded to the very shape, 
And all the angles of tlie rocky crevice, 
in which they live anil die. But fur myself, 
Ketued in iias^ion to the narrow cell, 
Coucliins; my tired limbs in its reces.ses, 
^o ili-adapled am J to Its limi's. 

That every altitude is asoiiy. 

How now ! what briiis:s him back ? 

Re-enter Ninian. 
Nin. Look to your watch, my brother; 

horsemen come : 
1 heard their tread when kneeling in the 

chapel. 
Wal (lookiiu) to a di.itanre.) My thoughts 

have rapt me more than thy devotion. 
Else had I heard the tread of distant horses 
Farther than thou couldst hear the sacnng 

bell: 
But now in truth they come: — flight and 

pursuit 
Are sights I 've been long strange to. 
Nin. See how they gallop down the opposing 

hill! 
Yon grey steed bounding down the headlong 

path. 
As on the level meadow; while the black, 
Urged by the rider with his naked sword. 
Stoops on his prey, as I have seen the ialcon 
Dashing upo.i the heron. — I'hou dost frown 
And clench thy hand as if it grasp'd a 

weapon ? 
Wal. 'Tis but for shame to see a man fly 

thus 
While only one pursues him. Coward, turn ! — 
Turn thee, i say ! thou art as stout as he. 
And well inay'sl match thy single swurd with 

his — 
Shame, that a man should rein a steed like 

thee. 
Yet fear to turn his front against a foe ! — 
1 am ashamed to look on them. 

Nin. Yet look again ; they quit their horses 

now. 
Unfit for the rough path: the fugitive 
Keeps the advantage still. — Tiiey strain 

towards us. 
Wal. I U not believe that ever the bold 

Thane 
Rear'd up his Cross to be a sanctuary 
To the base coward, who shunn'd an equal 

combat. — 
Hfjw's this? — that look — that mien — mine eyes 

gr.iw dizzy 1 — 
Nin. He comes ! — thou art a novice on this 



:\ 



watch, — 



Brother, I'll take the word and speak to him 
Pluck down thy cowl • know, that we spiritual 

Champions 
Have honour to maintain, and must not seem 
To quail before the laity. 

[Waldehave leta down his cowl, and 
steps back. 

Enter Maurice Berkeley. 
Nin. Who art thou, stranger? speak thy 

name and purpose. 
Bcr. 1 claim the privilege of Clan Macduff. 
My name is Maurice Berkeley, and my lineage 
Allies me nearly with the Tliaiie of Fife. 
Nin Give us to know the cause of sanc- 
tuary T 
Ber. Let him show it, 

Against whose violence I claim the privilege. 

Enter Lindesay, vxiih his sword drawn. He 
ruslies at Berkeley ; Niiiian interposes. 

Nin. Peace, in the name of Saint Magridius I 
Peace, in our Prior's name, and in the name 
Of that dear symbol, which did purchase peace 
And good-will towards man! 1 do command 

thee 
To sheath thy sword, and stir no contest here. 

Lm One charm I'll try first, 
To lure the craven from the enchanted circle 
Which he hath harbour'd in. — Hear you, De 

Berkeley, 
This is my brother's sword— the hand it arms 
Is weapiHi'd to avenge a brother's death : — 
If thou hast heart to step a furlong off. 
And change three blows,— even for so short a 

spat^e 
As these good men may say an ave-marie.— 
So, Heaven be good to me ! 1 will forgive thee 
Thv deed and all Ms consequences. 
Ber. Were not my right hanil fetter'd by 

the thought 
That slaying thee were hut a double guilt 
In which to sleep my soul, no bridegroom 

ever 
Siepp'd forth to trip a measure with his bride 
More joyfully than I, young man, would rush 
To meet thy challenge 
Lin. He quails, and shuns to look upon my 

weapon. 
Yet boasts himself a Berkeley! 

Ber. Lindesay, and if there were no deeper 

cause 
For shunning thee than terror of thy weapon. 
That idck-hewn Cross as soon should start 

and stir. 
Because a sliei)heid-boy blew horn beneath it. 
As I for brag of thine 
Nin. I charge you both, and in the name of 

Heaven, 
Breathe no defiance on this sacred .spot. 
Where (Christian men must bear them peaci- 

fully. 
On pain of the Church thunders. Calmly tell 
Your cause of difference ; and, Lord Lindesay, 

thou 
Be first 10 speak them. 
Lin. Ask the blue welkin — ask the silver 

Tay, 
The northern Grampians— all things know my 

wrongs; 
But ask not me to tell them, while the villain. 
Who wrought them, stands and listens with a 

smile. 



^27 > 



A 



^ 628 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^ 



M^. It IS said— 
Since ynii refer us thus to g;eneral fame — 
'I'liat Berkeley slew lliy brother, the Lord 

l.ouis. 

In his own halls at Edzell 

Lin. Ay, ill his halls— 
In his own halls, %w\A father, that's the word. 
In his own halls he slew him, while the wine 
Pass'd m\ the board between ! 'I'he g:allant 

Thane, 
Who wreak 'd Macheth's inluispitnble murder, 
Kear'd not yon Cross to sanction deeds like 

these. 
Ber. Thou say'st I r.anie a guest ! — I came 

a victim. 
A destined victim, train'd on to the doom 
His frantic jealousy prepared for me. 
He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought. 
Can 1 fors^et the form that came between us, 
And perish'd by his sword I 'I'was then I 

fousht 
For vengeance.— until then I g:uarded life. 
Bur then I sought to take it, and prevail'd. 
Lin. Wretch ! thou didst first dishonour to 

thy victim. 
And then didst slay him! 

Ber. There is a busy fiend tURS at my heart, 
But 1 will struggle with it 1— Youthful knight. 
My heait is sick of war, my hand of slaugh- 
ter; 
I come not to my lordships, or my land, 
But just to seek a spot in some cold cloister. 
Which I may kneel on livnis. and, when dead, 
Wliich may suffice to cover me. 
Forgive me that I caused vour brother's death ; 
And 1 forgive thee the injurious terms 
With which thou taxest me. 
Lin. Take worse and blacker. — Murderer, 

adulterer!— 
Art thou not moved yet ? 

Ber. Do not press me further. 

The hunted stag, even when he seeks the 

thicket, 
Compell'd to stand at hay, grows dangerous! 
Most true thy brother perish'd by my hand. 
And if you term it murder— I must bear it. 
Thus far mv patience can : but if thou brand 
The purity of yonder martyr'd saint, 
Whom then my sword but poorly did avenge, 
With one injurious word, come to the valley. 
And I will show thee how it shall be answer'd ! 
Mil. This heat, Lctrd Berkeley, doth but ill 

accord 
With tliv late pious patience. 
Ber. Father, forgive, and let me stand ex- 
cused 
To Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no 

more. 
I loved this lady fondly— truly loved— 
Loved her, and was beloved, ere yet her father 
Conterr'd her on another. While she lived. 
Each thought of her was to my soul as hal- 

low'd 



As those I send to Heaven ; and oti her gravei 

Her bloody, early grave, while this poor hand 

Can hold a sword, shall no one cast a scorn. 
Lin. Follow me. Thou shalt hear me call 
the adulteress 

By her right name. — I'm glad there's yet a 
spur 

Can rouse thy sluggish mettle. 
Ber. Make' then obeisance to the blessed 
Cross, 

For it shall be on earth thy last devotion. 

[ TiiPij are yonig off. 
Wal. {rushing forward.) Madmen, stand !— 

Stay but one second — answer but one ques- 
tion. — 

There, Maurice Berkeley, can'st thou look 
upon 

That blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken 
truth? 
Ber. I swear by Heaven, 

And by the memory ol that murder'd inno- 
cent. 

Each seeming charge against her was as false 

As our hless'd Lady's spotless. Hear, each 
saint! 

Hear me, thou holy rood ! hear me from hea- 
ven. 

Thou martyr'd excellence ! — Hear me from 
penal fire, 

(For sure not yet thy guilt is. expiated !) 

Stern ghost of her destroyer! 

Wat. (throws back his cowl.) He hears! he 
hears! Thy spell hath raised the dead ! 
Lin. My brother! and alive !— 
Wal. Alive, — but yet, my Richard, dead to 
thee. 

No tie of kindred hinds me to the world ; 

All were renounced, when, with reviving life, 

Came the desire to seek the sacred cloister. 

Alas, in vain ! for to that last retreat. 

Like to a pack of bloodhounds in full chase. 

My passion and my wrongs have follow'd me. 

Wrath and remorse— and. to fill up the cry. 

Thou hast brought vengeance hither. 
Lm. 1 but sought 

To do the act and duty of a brother. 

Wal. I ceased to be so when 1 left the 
world ; 

But if he can forgive as I forgive, 

God sends me here a brother in nn.ine enemy, 

To pray for me and with me. If thou canst, 

De Berkeley, give thine hand. — 
Ber. (gives his hand. ) It is the will 

Of Heaven, made manifest in thy preserva- 
tion. 

To inhibit farther bloodshed ; for De Berke- 
ley, 

The votary Maurice lays the title down. 

Go to his halls, Lord Richard, where a maiden, 

Kin to his blood, and daughter in affection. 

Heirs his broad lands ;— If thou canst luve her, 
Lindesay, 

Woo her, and be successful. 




^ 



7" 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



629 



The Doom of Devobgoil, 



PREFACE. 

The first of these dramatic pieces was Ions 
Since written, fur tlie purpose of olilism? tlie 
late Mr Terry, then Maiiaser of the Adelpin 
T.ieatre. for whom the Author had a particu- 
lar regard. The manner in which the mimic 
g.ihlins of Devoriioil are intermixed with the 
supernal urul machinery, was found to be ob- 
jeciionahle. and the production had other 
f.iuits, which rendered it unfit for representa- 
tion.' I have called the piece a .Melo-drama. 
for want of a better name ; but, as I learn from 
tlie unquestionable authority of .\lr Coliiian's 
Kandom Records, that one species of the drama 
IS termed an extravaganza, 1 am sorry 1 was 
not sooner awaie of a more appropriate name 
tlian that winch I liad selected for Devorgoil. 

The Author's Publishers thousiit it desira- 
ble, that Ilie .sceiiHS. ions; condemned to obli- 
vion, should be united to similar attempts of 
the same kind ; and as he felt inditfeient on 
the subject, tliev are printed in the same vo 
lume with Halidon Hill and MacDuff's Cross, 
and thrown off in a separate form, for the 
Convenience of lho.se who possess former edi- 
timis of the Autlior's Poetical Works. 

The aeueral story of the Doom of Devorg-oil 
is founded on an old S^cottisli tradition, the 
scene of which lies in Galloway. The crime 
supposed to have occasioned the misfortunes 
of t'lis devoted house, is similar to that of a 
Lord Hemes of Hoddam Castle, who is the 
principal personage of .Mr. Charles Kirkpainck 
SJharpe's interesting; ballad, in the .Minstrelsy 
of the Scottish Border, vol. iv . p. 307. In re- 
morse for his crime, he built the singular 
monument called the Tower of Kepeiiiance. 
ill many cases tlie Scottish superstitions allude 
to the fames, or those who, for sins of a milder 
description, are permitted to wander with liie 
"rout that never rest." as they were leriiied 
by Dr. Leyden. They imitate human labour 
and liuman amusemenis, but their toil is use- 
less, and witliout any advantageous result; 
and their gaiety is unsubstantial and hollow. 
The phantom of Lord Erick is supposed to be 
a spectre of this character. 

The story of the Ghostly Barber is told in 
many countries: but the best narrative found- 
ed on the passage, is the tale called Stumnie 
1 lebe, among the legends of Musaeus. 1 think 
it has been introduced upon the English stage 
in some pantomime, which was one objection 
to bringing it upon the scene a second time. 

Abbulsjord, April. 1830 



1 Mr. Daniel Terry, the comedian, distinguished for a 
very peculiar style of humour on the slaae, and, more- 
ov-.'r, by personal aceomplishmeuts of various sorts not 
Eenerally shared by members of his profession, was, during 
many years, on terms of intimacy with Sir Waller Scott 
He died 2^ June 1b2». 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Oswald of Devorgoil, a decayed Scottish Baron. 

Leonard, a Ranger. 

Durward. a Palmer. 

Lancelot Blackthorn, a Compamon of Leonard, 

in love with Kalken. 
Gullcrammer, a conceited Student. 
Owlspiesle and ) Maskers, reprtsented by Black- 
Cockledemoy. \ thorn and Katleen. 

Spirit of Lord Krick of Devorgoil. 
Peasants, Shephtrds, aitd Vassals of inferior 

rank. 

Eleanor. Wife of Oswald, descended of obscure 

Parentage. 
Flora. Daughter of Oswald. 
Kalleen, Niece of Eleanor 



E\te JBoom of SBcborsoiI. 

ACT I— SCENE I. 

The Sceve represents a xmld and hilly, hut not a 
mountainous ('ountry. in a fronliir District of 
S<ol/a7id. The flat Scene exhibits the Cas.tle 
of Dfvorgoil, decayed, and parVy rmnoiis, 
situated Vfion a Lake. a7id connected with the 
Land by a Drawbridge, which is lowered. 
Time — Sunset. 

Flora enters from the Castle, looks timidly 
around, then comes forward and sjteaks. 

He is not here— those pleasures are not ours 
Which placid evening brings to all things else. 



The sun upon the lake is low. 

The wild birds hush their song. 
The hills have evening's deepest glow. 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now ail whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide. 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame, on turret high, 
W ho waits her gallant knight. 

Looks to the western beam to spy 
The flush of aniH>ur bnglit. 



2 The author though 


of oi 


nitting 


in fact, abridged into o 


ne 111 


"Uu 


en 


County Uuy. fSee an 


te, p. 




J 


necessary to the sense, 


that the o 


IK 


retained here. 









nuzas shimld tx 



V 



f 630 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



X 



The village nuiid, wiUi hand on blow, 

The level ray to shade. 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colm's darkening plaid. 

Now to tlieir mates the wild swans row, 

Bv day they swam apart. 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind heside the hart. 
The woodlark. at his partner's side. 

Twitters his closing song- 
All meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries lonj. 

[Katleen has come out of the Castle 
white Flora was siwiing and sjieaks 
when tlie Sun<] is ended 

Kat. Ah. my dear coz I — if that your 

mother's niece 
May so nresnme to call your father's 

daiiirhter— 
All these fiiiil things have got some home of 

coiiiliirt 
To tempt their rovers back — the lady's 

bower, 
TTie sheplierdess's hut, the wild swan's 

(U)uch 
Among the rushes, even the lark's low nest. 
Has that of promise which lures home a 

lover. — 
But we have nought of this 
Flo How call you, then, this castle of my 

sire. 
The towers of Devorgoil ? 
Kal. Dungeons for men, and palaces for 

owls; 
Yet no wise owl would change a farmer's 

barn 
For yonder hungry hall— our latest mouse. 
Our last of mice. 1 tell you. has been found 
.Starved in the pantry; and the reverend 

sfiiiler. 
Sole living tenant of the Baron's halls. 
Who, train'd to al)stnieiice, lived a whole 

summer 
Upon a single fly. he's famish'd too : 
T'hecat IS ill the kitchen-chimnev seated 
I poll our last of fagots, de.-^tiiied soon 
To (be-s our last of sii[ipers. and. poor soul. 
Is starved with cold, and laewLng mad with 

hunger. 
Flo. D'ye mock our misery. Katleen T 
Kat. No. but I am hysteric on the subject. 
So I must laugh or cry, and laughing's 

lightest. 
B'lo Why stay you with us, then, my merry 



From 
Kal. 
^o on 
Can .1 
That c 



i^jre ran ask no filial duty. 
inks to Heaven ! 
nle Scotland, rich or poor, 
nterest in the vulgar blood 
I niv veins: and I might wed 



^ 



A forester to-morrow, nothing fearing 

T'lie wrath of high-born kindred, and far 

less 
That the dry hones of lead-lapp'd ancestors 
Would clatter in their cerements at the 

tidings. 
Flo. My mother, too, would gladly see you 

placed 
Beyond the verge of our unhappiness. 
Which, like a witch's circle, blights and 

taints 
Whatever conies within it. 



Kat. Ah ! my good aunt ! 

She is a careful kinswoman and prudent. 
In all but marrying a ruin'd baron. 
When she could take her choice of honest 

yeomen ; 
And now, to balance this ambitious error. 
She presses on her daughter's love the suit 
Of one, who hath no touch of nobleness. 
In manners, birth, or mind, to reconmiend 

iiim,— 
Sage Master Gullcrammer, the new-dubb'd 

preacher. 
Flo. Do not name him, Katleen ! 
Kal. Ay, but I must, and with some grili- 

tude. 
I said but now. 1 saw our last of fagots 
Destined to dress our last of meals, but said 

not 
That the repast consisted of choice dainties, 
Sent to our larder by that liberal suitor. 
The kind Melcliisedek. 

Flo. Were famishing the word, 

I'd famish ere I tasted them — the fop, 
T'he fool, the low-born, low-bred, pedant 

coxcomb ! 
Kat. T here spoke the blood of long-de- 
scended sires ! 
My cottage wisdom ought to echo back.— 

the snug parsonage! the well-paid stipend ! 
T'he yew-hedged garden! beehives, pigs, and 

poultry I 
But, to speak honestly, the peasant Katleen. 
Valuing these good things justly, still would 

scorn 
To wed. for sucti. the paltry Gullcrammer. 
As much as I.ady Flora. 
Flo. Mock me not with a title, gentle 
cousin. 
Which poverty has made ridiculous — 

[ Trumpets far off. 
Hark ! they have broken up liie wea()on- 

shawing; 
The vassals are dismiss'd, and marching 
homeward. 
Kat. Comes your sire back to night ? 
FU). He did purpose 

To tarry for the banquet. This day only, 
Suinuion'd as a king's tenant, he resumes 
T'he right of rank his birlh assigns to him. 
And mingles with the proudest. 

Kat. To return 

T'o his domestic wretchedness to-morrow— 

1 envy not the privilege. Let us go 

T'o yonder height, and see the marksmen 

practise : 
They shoot their match down in the dale 

bevond. 
Betwixt "the Lowland and the Forest dis- 

I net. 
By ancient custom, for a tun of wine. 
Let us go see which wins 
Flo. That were too forward. 

Kat. Why. you may drop the screen before 

your face. 
Which some chance breeze may haply blow 

aside 
Just when a youth of special note takes 

aim. 
It chanced even so that memorable morning. 
When, nutting in the woods, we met young 

Leonard ; 
And in good time here comes his sturdy 

comrade. 
The rough Lance Blackthorn. 



V 



^ 



7" 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, 



Enter Lancelot Blacklhoni. a Forester, with 
the Carcass of a Dttr on his back, and a Gun 
m his hand. 

Bla. Save you, damsels ! 

Kat Gixlden, eood yemnati. — Come you 

from tlie Weaporisliaw ? 

Bla. Not I, indeed; tliere lies the mark I 

shot at. [Lays down the deer. 

The time has been I had not miss'd the sp(»n. 

Although LurU JNithsdale's self had wauled 

veriisou ; 
But tills same mate of mine, yuung Leonard 

Dan re. 
Makes me do what he lists; — he'll win the 

prize, though : 
The Forest district will not lose its honour. 
And that is all I care for— (sowje shouts are 
heard ) 

Hark ! they're at it. 
I'll so see the i*sue. 

Fto. Leave not here 

The produce of your huuiin^. 

Bla But I must, though. 

This IS his lair to-iiiaht. for Leonard D;icre 
Charged me to leave the stag at Devorgoil ; 
'1 hen show nie quickly where to stow the 

quarry, 
And let me to the sports — [more shots ) Come, 
hasten, d.imseis! 
Flo. It is impossible— we dare not take it. 
Bla. There lei it lie, then, and 1 11 wind my 
bugle. 
That all within these tottering walls may 

know 
That here lies venison, whoso likes to lift it. 
[About to blow 
Kat. (to Flo ) He will alarm your motlier; 
and, besides, 
Our Forest proverb teaches, tlia^ no question 
Should iisk where venistm comes from. 
Vour careful mother, with her wonted pru- 
dence. 
Will hold iLs presence plead its own apology. — 
Come, Blackthorn, I will show you where to 
stow it. 

lExttint Kasleen and Blackthorn into the 
Castle — more shooliny — then a distant 
shout — Siratjfjiers, arnied m different 
ways, pass over the Stage, as ifjrom the 
Weaponshaw. 
Flo. The prize is won ; that general shout 
proclaim'd it. 
The marksKica and the vassals are dispersing. 
[She draws bach. 
First Vassal (a peasant.) Ay, ay, — 'tis lost 
and won — the Forest have it. 
'Tis they have all the luck on't. 
Second Vas. (a shepherd.) Luck, s^'st thou, 
man? 'Tis practice, skill, ancl cunning. 
Third Vas. 'Tis no such thing. — I had hit 
the mark precisely. 
But for this, cursed flint; and, as I fired, 
A swallow cross'U mine eye, too— Will you tell 

me 
That that was but a chance, mine honest 
slie()herd I 
First Ya3. Ay, and last year, when Lancelot 
Blackthdrn won it. 
Because my powder happen'd to be damp. 
Was there no luck in that? — The worse luck 
mine. 
Seco7id Vas. Still I say 'twas not chance ; it 
might be witchcraft. 



First Vas. Faith, not unlikely, neighbours; 
for these foresters 
Oo often hauiiL about this ruin'd castle. 
I've seen myself this spark, — young Leonard 

Dacre. — 
Come stealing like a ghost ere break of day. 
And after sunset, too, along tins patli ; 
And well you know the haunted towers of 

Devorgoil 
Have no good leputatiim in the land 
SUep. That liave they not. I've heard my 
father say.— 
Ghosts dance as lightly in its moonlight halls. 
As ever maiden did at -Midsummer 
Upon the village-green. 
First Vas. Those that frequent such spirit- 
haunted rums 
Must needs know more than siniple Christians 

do — 
See, Lance this blessed moment leaves the 

castle. 
And comes to triumph o'er us. 

[Biackthoni enlers from the Castle, and 
comes forward wiulc they speak 
Third Vas A mighty tnumi)ti! What is't, 
after all. 
Except the driving of a piece of lead. — 
.4s learned Master GuLcramiiier derined it, — 
Just through the middle of a painted board. 
Bla. And if he so deline il, by your leave. 
Your learned Master Guilcraniiner's an ass 
Third Vas. (unynly.) He's a preacher, hunts- 
man, under favour. 
Secoml Vas. No quarrelling, neighbours — 
you may both be right. 

Enter a Fourth Vassal, with a gallon stoup of 

wine. 

Fourth Vas. Why stand you brawling here ? 

Young Leonard Dacre 
Has set abroach the tun of wine he gain'd. 
That all may drink wlio list. Blackthorn, I 

sought you; 
Your comrade prays you will bestow this 

flagon 
Where you have left the deer you kill'd this 

morning. 
Bla.. And that I will ; but first we will take 

toll 
To see if it's worth carriage. Shepherd, thy 

horn. 
There must be due allowance made for 

leakage. 
And that will come about a draught a-piece. 
Skmk it about, and when our throats are 

liquor'd. 
We'll merrily trowl our song of weaponshaw. 

[They'drmk about out of the Shepherd's 
horn and then sing. 

SONG. 

We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's 

rattle. 
They call us to sport, and they call us to 

battle; 
And old JScotland shall laugh at the threats of 

a stranger. 
While our comrades in pastime are comradea 

in danger. 
If there's mirth in our house, 'tis our n^^igh- 

bour that shares it— 
If peril appr(»ach, 'tis our neighliour t 

it; 



631 > 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



And when we lead off to the pipe and the 
tabor, 

The fair hand we press is the hand of a neigh- 
bour. 

Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands 
ihat combine them. 

Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, join'd to 
entwine them ; 

And we'll laugh at liie threats of each inso- 
lent strajig;er. 

While our comrades in sport are our comrades 
in danger. 

Black. Well, I must do mine errand. Master 
flagon [Shakt/iy it. 

Is too consumptive for another bleeding. 
Skep. I must to my fold. 
Third Vas. I'll to the butt of wine, 

And see if thnt has given up the ghost yet. 
First Vas. Have wilh you, neighbour. 

[Blackthorn enteis the Cuslle, the rest 
exeunt severally. Melcliisedek Gull- 
crammer watches them off the sloye, 
and then enters from the side-scme. 
His costume is a Geneva cloak and 
band, with a hiuh-crowned hat ; the 
rest of liJS dress in the fashion of 
James the First's time. He looks to 
the wi7idows of the Castle, then draws 
back as if to escape otjservation, while 
he brushes his cloak, drives the while 
threads from his waistcoat with his 
wetted thumb, and dusts his shoes, all 
with the air of one who would not wil- 
linuly be observed enuayed m these 
offices. He then adjusts his collar and 
band, comes forward and speaks. 
Gull. Right comely is tliy garb, Melchisedek ; 
As well beseeineth one, whom good Saint 

Mungo. 
The patron of our land and university. 
Hath graced wiih license bolli to teach and 

preach — 
Who dare opine thou hither plod'st on foot 1 
Trim sits thy cloak, unruffled is thy band, 
And not a speck upon thine outward man 
Bewrays the labours of thy weary sole. 

[Touches his shoe, and smiles complacently 
Quaint was that jest and pleasant! — JNow 

Willi 

Approach and hail the dwellers of this fort; 
But specially sweet Flora Devorgoil, 
Ere her proud sire return. He loves me not, 
Mocketh my lineage, flouts at mine advance- 
ment — 
Sour as the fruit the crab-tree furnishes, 
Ami hard as is the cudgel it supplies; 
But Flora— she's a lily on the laKe, 
And I must reach her, though 1 risk a ducking. 
[As Gullcrammer moves towards the 
drawbridfje, Bauldie Durwjird rnlers, 
and interposes himself betwixt him 
and the Castle. Gullcrammer stops 
and speaks. 
Whom have we here?— that ancient fortune- 
teller, 
Papist and sorcerer, and sturdy hegsar. 
Old Bauldie Dui ward ! Would 1 were well 
past him ! 

[Durward advances, partly in the dress 
of a palmer, partly in that of an old 
Scottish mendicant, havimj coarse blue 
cloak and badge white beard, tj-c 



Dur. The blessing of the evening on your 
worship. 
And on your taff'ty doublet. Much T marvel 
Your wisdom chooselh such trim garb, when 

tern [jests 
Are gathering to the bursting. 
Gullcrammer (looks to his dress, and then to the 
sky, with some apprehension ) 

Surely, Bauldie, 
Thou dost belie the evening— in the west 
The light sinks down as lovely as tins band 
Drops o'er this mantle— Tush, man ! 'twill he 
fair. 
Dur. Ay, but the storm I bode is big with 
blows. 
Horsewhips for hailstones, clubs for thunder- 
bolts ; 
And for the wailing of the niidnis:ht wind. 
The unpitied howling of a cudgell'd coxcomb. 
Come, come, 1 know thou seek'st fair Flora 
Devoreoil. 
Qui. And if 1 did, I do the damsel grace. 
Her mother thinks so, and she has af'ce|>ted 
At these poor hands gifts of some consequence, 
And curious dainties for the evening cheer, 
To which I am inviled— ^he respects me. 
Bur. But not so doth her father, haughty 
Oswald. 

Bethink thee, he's a baron 

Gui. And a liare one; 

Construe me that, old man! — Ttie crolis of 

Mucklewhanie — 
Destined for mine so soon as heaven and earth 
Have shared my uncle's soul and bones be- 
tween them — 
The crofts of Mucklewhame. old man, which 

nourish 
Three scores of sheep, three cows, with each 

her follower, 
A female palfrey eke — I will he candid. 
She IS of that ineek tribe whom, in derision. 
Our wealthy southern neighbours nickname 

donkeys 

Dur. She hath her follower too, — when 

thou art there. 
Gul. 1 say to thee, these croft.« of Muckle- 
whame, 
In the mere tything of their stock and pro- 
duce. 
Outvie whatever patch of land remains 
To this old rugged castle and its owner. 
Well, therefore, may Melchisedek Gullcram- 
mer. 
Younger of Mucklewhame, for such I write 

me. 
Master of Arts, by grace of goo-1 Saint An- 
drew, 
Preaciier, in brief expectance of a kirk. 
Endow'd with ten score Scottish pounds per 

annum, 
Being eight pounds seventeen eight in sterling 

coin- 
Well then. I say, may this Melchisedek, 
Thus hishly graced by fortune — and by na- 
ture 
E'en gifted as thou seest — aspire to woo 
The daughter of the begyar'd Devorgoil. 
Dur. Credit an old man's word, kind Master 
Gullcrammer, 
You will not find it so — Come. sir, I've known 
The hospitality of Mucklewhame ; 
It reach'd not to profuseness — yet, in grati- 
tude 
For the pure water of its living well, 



z 



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THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL 



G33 > 



And for the barley loaves of its fair fields. 
Wherein cliopp'd straw contended with tlie 

grain 
Which best should satisfv the appetite, 
1 would not see the hopeful heir of Atuckle- 

whiinie 
Th'is fliiiif himself on daiisfer. 

Gul. Danffer! whatdanger? — Kiiow'st Ihou 

not. old Oswald 
This day attends the muster of the slnre. 
Where the crown- vassals meet to show their 

arms, 
And tlieir best horse of service ?— 'Twas good 

sport 
(An if a man had dared l)ut laugh at it) 
i'o see old C)sw;ild wiili Ins rusty morion. 
And iiuse two-handed sword, that niiglitliave 

seen 
The fuilil of Bannock hum or Chevy-Clia*e, 
Without a squire or vassal, page or srooiii. 
Or e en a single pikeman at his heels. 
Mix with the proudest iiohles of the county. 
And claiin prei^edeiice for Ins talterVi person 
O'er armours double gilt and ostrich pluma-e. 
Dur. Ay ! 'twas the jest at whicti fools laugh 

the h>udest. 
The downfall of our old noliility— 
Which may forerun the rum of a kingdom. 
I ve seen an idiot clap Ins hands, and shout 
'I'o see a tower like you {pumts to a. part of the 

C'isllt) stoop ti) lis base 
In headlong ruin; wliile the wise look'd 

round. 
And fearful sought a distant stance to watch 
What fragment of the fabric next should fol- 
low ; 
For when the turrets fall, the walls are tolter- 

Gul. (after pondering.) If that means aught. 
It means thou saw'st old Oswald 
E.Vfielld from the a.ssembly. 

Dur. Thy sharp wit 

Hath glanced unwittingly risht nigh the truth. 
Expell'd he was not, but. his claim denied 
At some contestei point, of ceremony. 
He left the weaponsliaw in higli dl^ple:lsure, 
And liillier comeN — his WDiited bitter temper 
Scarce sv\eeteird by tlie c.liances of the ilay. 
'1 weie mui:h like rashness stiould you wait 

his coming. 
And thiiher tends my counsel. 

Gut. And I'll takp it; 

Good Bauldie Durward, I will ta^e ii.y coun- 
sel, 
And will requite it with this minted farthinsr. 
'1 hat bears our sovereign's head in purest 
copper. 

Dur. i hanks to thy bounty — Haste thee, 
good young masier; 
Oswald, besides the old two-handed sword. 
Bears III his hand a staff of potency. 
To charm intruders from hisca-.tle purlieus. 

Old. 1 do abhor ail cliarins. nor will abide 
To hear or see. far less lo feel their u>e. 
Behold, 1 liave departed. [Exit tiaslily. 

Manent Durwa'd. 

Dur. Thus do I play the idle part of one 
Who seeks lo save the niolli from scorching 

In the bright taper's flame — And Flora's 

beauty 
.Must, hii; unlike that taper, waste away. 
(Jddiii^ ilie rugged walls that saw it kindled. 



This was a shard-born beetle, heavy, drossv. 
Though boasting his dull drone and gildeO 

wing. 
Here comes a flulterer of another stamp, 
W lioin the same ray is charming to Ins ruin. 

Enter \ .eitimrd. dressed ns a huntsman ; he pauses 
before the Tower, and wliistl.es a note or (wo at 
tnlervals— draw my back a.i iffeurlutol obser- 
vation — yet waitiiiij. as if expect i no some reply. 
Durward, w'lom he had not observed, mores 
round, so as to front Leonard unexpectedly. 

Leon. I am too late — it was no easy task 
To rid myself from yonder noisy revellers. 
Flora ! — I fear she's angry —Flora — Flora ! 

SONG. 

Admire not that I gaiii'd the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with h;md or eyes, 

Wlien heart and faith were true ? 

And when in Hoods of rosy wine 
My comrades drown d their cares, 

I thought hut that thy heurt was inme, 
My own leapt light as theirs. 

My brief delay then do not blame. 

Nor deem your swam untrue ; 
My form but liiiger'd at the game, 

My soul was still with you. 

She hears not ! 
Dur. But a friend hath heard — Leonard, I 

pity thee. 
Leo7i (starts, but recovers himself ) Fity. gnod 

father, is for those in want. 
In age. in .voirow. m distress of mind. 
Or agony of body. Fm in health- 
Can match niy limbs against ttie st;i2 in chase. 
Have means enough to meet my simple wants. 
And am so free of soul that I can carol 
To woodland and to wild in notes as lively 
As are my jolly bugle's. 
Dur. Even therefore dost thou need my 

pity. Leoinrd, 
And therefore 1 bestow it. paying thee. 
Before thou feel'st the need, my mite of pity 
Leonard, thou lovest ; and in tllai little witid 
1 here lies enough to claiiii the sympalhy 
Of men who we^r sncli hoary Iocks as niine. 
And know what misplaced love is sure lo end 

in. 
Leon. Good father, thou art old, and even 

thy youth. 
As thou hast told me, spent in cloi.>.ter'd cells. 
Fits thee but ill to judge the pa.-sions. 
Which are the joy and ch .im of social life. 
Press me no lailiier, then, nor waste those 

moments 
V\ h()se worth thou canst not estimate. 

\_As turnmij Jiom him. 
Dur. (detains him.) ."^tay, young man ! 
'Tis seldom that a begaar claims a debt; 
Yet I bethink nie of a gay younsj stripling, 
I'liat owes to these while locks and hoary 

beard 
Somettiing of reverence and of gratitude 
More than he wills to pay. 
Leon. Forgive nie, father. Often hast tliou 

told me. 
'I hat in the ruin of my father's house 
You saved the inlarit Leonard in his cradle ; 
And well I know, that to thy care aloae 



fv 



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^ 684 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 




Care sccondetl hv means heyoiul Ihy seeming— 
I owe wtiiite'er of niirlure I can hoast. 

lyiir. Then for tliv life pieserv"il. 
And fur the means of kiiowleJse I have 

furinsh'il. 
(Which lacKiiis. mail is levell'd with the 

hriiies.) 
Grant me tUi.s hooii :— Avoid these fatal walls I 
A curse is on them, hitter, deep, and heavy, 
Ot* power to split the massiest lower lliey 

boast 
From pinnacle to dnn?eon vanlt. It rose 
Upon the say honz^a of proud Devor^oil, 
As nnresarded as the flt>ecy clond. 
The first forerunner of the hurricane. 
Scarce seen amid the welkin's shadeless hlue. 
Darl< grew it, and more dark, and still the 

fortunes 
Of this dooniM faniilv have darken'd with it. 
Ir hill I heir sovereign's favnnr. and ohscured 
i'he lustre of their service eender"d hate 
Betwixt them and the tiii?hly of the land ; 
Till liy dei;iees the waxiii? tempest rose. 
And stripp'd the goodly tree of fruit and 

flowers. 
And buds, and bou°;hs. and branches. There 

remains 
A riigsed trunk . dismeniher'd and unsightly, 
Waiting the bursting of the final holt 
To splinter it to shivers. Now. go pluck 
Its smirle tendril to enwreath thy brow. 
And resi beneath its shade— to share the ruin ! 

Lum. Ttiis anathema. 
Whence should it come! — How merited I — 

and when ? 
T>ur. 'Twas in the davs 
Of Oswald's srandsire,- 'mid Galwegian chiefs 
The fellest foe, the fiercest champion. 
His bl i-red pennons scared the Cumbrian 

coasts. 
And wasted towns and maiiore niark'd his 

progress. 
His gallevs stored with treasure, and their 

decks 
Crowded with English cajitives. who beheld. 
With weepius eyes, their native shores retire 
He bore them homeward ; but a tempest 

rose 

Leon So far I 've heard the tale. 
And siiare thee the recital,— The srim chief. 
Marking his vessels ialiour on the sea. 
And loth to lose his treasure, gave comiiiaiid 
To plunge Ins captives in the raging d^ep 
Dar. I'liere sunk ttie lineage of a noble 

name. 
And the wild waves boom'd over sire and son 
Mother and nursling, of the House of Aglionbt 
Leaving hut one frail tendril.— Heiipe the fate 
That iiovers o'er these turrets, — lieiice the 

peasant, 
Belated, hying homewards, dreads to cast 
A glance upon that portal, lest he see 
The unsiirouded spectres of the murder'd 

dead ; 
Or the avenging .\ngel, with his sword. 
Waving destruction ; or the grisly pliantom 
Of that fell Chief, the doer of the deed. 
Which still, they say, roams through h.s empty 

halls. 
And mourns their wasteness and their loneli- 

hood. 
l^on. .'siK'.h is the dotage 
Of superstition, fjther. ay. and the (taut 
Of hoodwink'd pre.;udice.— .Vol for aioiieineni 



Of some foul deed done in the ancient warfare. 
When war was butchery, and men were 

wolves. 
Doth Heaven consign the innocent to suffering. 
I tell thee. Flora's virtues might atone 
For all the massacres her sires have done. 
Since first the Pictish race llieir stained liml» 
Array'd in wolf's skin. 
Bxir. Leonard, ere yet this beggar's scrip and 

cloak 
Supplied the place of mitre and of crosier. 
v\ Inch in these alter'd lands must not be woin, 
I was superior of a brotherhood 
Of holy men.— the Prior of Lanercost. 
Nobles then sought my footstool many a 

league. 
There to unload their sins — questions of con- 
science 
Of deepest impiort were not deem'd too nice 
For mv decisKm. youth.— But not even then. 
With mitre on mv brow, and all the voice 
Which Rome gives to a fat her of her church, 
Dared I pronounce so boldly on the ways 
Of hidden Providence, as thou, young man. 
Whose chiefest knowledge i« to track a stag. 
Or wind a bugle, hast presumed to do. 

Lfon. Nay, I pray forgive me, 
Father; thou know'st I meant not to pr«- 

suiiie 

Dur. Can I refuse thee pardon ? — Thou art 

all 
That war and change have left to the poor 

Durward. 
Thy fatlier, too, who lost his life and fortune 
Defending Lanercost, when its fair isles 
Were spoil'd by sacrilege— I bless'd his banner, 
And yet it prospered not. But— all 1 could— 
Thee from the wreck I saved, and for thy 

sake 
Have s ill dragg'd on my life of pilgrimage 
And penitence upon the hated shores 
1 else had left for ever. Come with me. 
And 1 will teach thee there is healing in 
The wounds which friendship gives. 

lExtunt. 



SCENE II. 

ThF. Scene rhnnyes to the inferior of the Castle. 
An apartment is dismveird, in uhtch there is 
much appenriince of presmt pmerly, mixed 
wilh some relics of former grnmleiir. On the 
wall hangs, amo/iusl other llimus, a suit of 
ancient armour; by the tnhle is n covered 
basket ; behind, and concealed by it. the carcase 
of a roe-deer. There is a small latticed window, 
which, appearing to perforate a vxill of great 
thickness, is supposed to look out towards the 
drawbndge. It. i.s in the shape of a loop-hole 
for musketry ; and. as is not unusual m okl 
biiilduKjs. is placed so high up m the loall. that 
It is only approached by five or six narrow stone 
steps. 

Eleanor the wife o/ Oswald o/Devorgoil, Flora 
and Ka'leen. her D i lighter and Nvce. are <tis- 
cirvered at work The former sinus. Un Intttr 
are embriiidcrmg. Eleanor guils her own 
labour to examine the manner in which Flora 
IS exrcultng her task, aiul shukis lur luail us 
if dissatisfied. 

Eie. Fy on it, Flora; this hotch'd work of 
thine 

Shows that thy mind is distant from thy task. 



Z 



7^ 



^ 



THE DOOM OF D E V R (i 1 L , 



G35 



\ 



Ttie finest tracery of our old c iiliedrnl 
Had iKit a rioiier, freer, hnider [)atleiii, 
'1 hail Flora onre could trace, 'lliy lliougbls 

are wander mg:. 
Flo I'liCy're wiui my father. Broad upon 

the lake 
The tveuins sun sunk down; liuge piles of 

c:<nids. 
Criins-o.i an 1 sable, rose upon his d sk. 
And qiient-iiM linn ere his senilis, like some 

('iiaii|i n 
In his hist coiiriict. loshi? all h s glory. 
Sure signals ihuse of storm. And if my 

la her 

Be on Ins Immeward road ■ 

Ee Bu- that lie w.li n^t. 
IVuon ut Uev.ir^ciil, this day at least 
lie bangue s with the n ihles. who the next 
W'liulii x-iice vdiiciis.ife an alms to save his 

From want or famine. Thanks to a kind 

friend. 
For one hrief space we shall not need their 

aid 
Flo. (joyfuly ) What! knew you then his 

Kift ? 
How silly 1 that would yet durst not tell it ! 
I ft^ar my latiier will con.lemn us both, 
'i hat ea.slly uw^epted such a present. 

Km. Now, lieie's the game a hys aiider sees 

lieiier 
'I'han lliose who play it. — .My go.)d aunt is 

pondering 
On the good clieer which Gii.lcrammer has 

sent lis. 
And Flora thinks upon the forest venison. 

[Aside. 
Ele. (to Flo ) Thy father need not know 

on't — 'lis a bomi 
Comes timely, when frugality, nay. abstinence, 
Mlgni. scarce avail us looser. 1 iiad hoped 
Kre now a visit, t'roiii tne youthful donor. 
Tliai we might thank ins bounty ; and piu- 

haps 
My Flora thought the same, when Sunday's 

kentliief 
And the best kirtle were sought out, and 

donn'd 
To grace a work-day evening 

Flo. iNay. mother, that is judging all loo 

close ! 
My worK-dav gown was torn— niv kerchief 

sullied; 
And thus— But, think you, will the gallant, 

come ! 
Ele He will, for with these dainties came a 

iiies>age 
From gentle Master GuUcramjiie'', to 

inlimate 

Flo. (yrtalLy disairpoinled.) Gnllcraminer ! 
KaL. I'liere burst the bubble — down fell 

house of cards. 
And cousin's like to cry for 't! [Aside. 

Ele. G'lllcrammer? ay. Gullcrarnmer — lliou 

scmn's; not at him ? 
'Twere soineMniig sno.t of wisdom in a 

maiden. 
Who, liKe the poor hat in the Grecian fable. 
Hovers betwixi two classes in the wond. 
And isdlsclaiiii'd by both the mouse and bird. 

Kut. 1 am the poor mouse. 

Ami in.iy go creep into vvhut hole I li.-t, 
A.iil no one heed me— Yet I'll waste a word 
Oi (vunsel on iny betters.— Kind my aunt, ' 



And you, my gentle cousin, were 't not better 
V\ e ihonglii of dressing ihis same gear for 

supper. 
Than quarrelling about the worthless donor ? 
Ele Feace, minx! 

Flo. Thou hasi no feelin?, cousin Kaileen. 
Kal. !>oli ! I have brought them boih on my 

poor shoulders; 
So meddling peace-makers are still rewarded : 
U'en let tnem to 'C again, ainl ti^ht it out. 
Flo. .Mother, were I disclaimd of every 

class, 
I would not therefore so disclaim myself. 
As even a passing thought of scorn to waste 
On cloddish Gullcraminer. 

Ele List to ine, love, and let adversity 
Incline thine ear to wisdom. Look around 

thee — 
Of the gay youths who boast a noble name, 
Which will inciine to wed a dowerless 

damsel ? 
And of the yeomanry, who think'st thou, 

Flora. 
Would ask to share the labours of his farm 
An high-born beggar ?— ihis young man I8 

modest 

Fio. Sillv. good mother; sheepish, if you 

wiil'it. 
ELe. \l.\m call it what you list — the softer 

temper. 
The filter to endure the bitter sallies 
Of one whose wit is all too sharp for mine. 

Flo. Mother you cannot mean it as you say; 
You cannot bid me prize conceiteij folly ? 
Ele. Content thee, child— each lot has its 

own blessings. 
This youtti, wiili his plain-dealing honest suit, 
Proffers thee quiet, peace, and compeieiice, 
Kedeinption from a home, oer which fell Fate 
Sloops like a falcon — O, if thou couldst choose 
(As no sucn ciioice is siven) 'iwi.xt sucli a mate 
And some proud noble ! — VV'^o, m .sober judg- 
ment. 
Would like to navigate the heady river, 
Da-hing in fury iroin lis paient mountain, 
.More man the waeis of the quiet lake ? 
Kat. Now can I hold no longer— j.ake, good 

aunt I. 
Nay, in the name of truth, say miU-pond 

horse-pond ; 
Or if there be a pond more miry. 
More sluggish, mean-derived, and base than 

either. 
Be such Giillcrammer's emblem— and his por- 
tion ! 
Flo. 1 vvould that he or I were in our grave, 
Rather than thus his suit should goad me I— 

Mother, 
Flora of Devorgoil, thoiieh low in fortunes. 
Is still too high in mind to join her name 
With such a base-born churl as Gullcraminer. 

Ele You are trim maidens both ! 
{To Flora.) Haie you forgotten. 

Or did you mean to call to my remembrance 
Thy father chose a vviie of peasant blood ? 
Flo. Will you speak thus to me, or think 

the stream 
Can mock the fountain it derives its source 

from I. 
.My venerated mother, in that name 
I les all on earth a cnild should chiefest ho- 
nour; 
And with that name to mix reproach or taunt. 
Were only short of blasphe.iiy to Heaven. 



"T 



/. 



7 



636 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



\ 






£te. Tlicn listen, Flora, to tliat mother's 

counsel. 
Or rather profit by th:it mother's fate. 
Your father's fortunes were but bent, not 

broken. 
Until he listen'd to his rash affection. 
Means were afforded to redeem Ins house. 
Ample and large— ihe hand of a r.cii heiress 
Awaited, almost, courted, his acceptance ; 
He saw my beauty— such it then was call'd. 
Or such at least he thought it — the wither'd 

bush, 
Whate'er it now may seem, had blossoms 

then, — 
And he forsook the proud and wealthy heiress, 

To wed with me and ruin 

Kal. {aside. ) The more fool. 

Say I, apart, the peasant maiden then, 
Wiio nnsht have chose a male from her own 

hiimlet, 
Ele. Friends fell off. 
And to his own resources, his own counsels. 
Abandon 'd. as Ihey said, the thoughtless pro- 
digal. 
Who had exchanged rank, riclies, pomp, and 

honour, 
For the mean beauties of a cottage maid. 

Flo. It wiis done hke my father, 
Wiio scorn'd to sell what wealth can never 

buy — 
True love and free affections. And he loves 

you ! 
If you liave suffer'd in a weary world. 
Your sorrows have been jointly borne, and 

love 
Has made the load sit lighter. 
Ele. Ay, but a misplaced match halh that 

deep curse m'l. 
That can embitter e'en the purest streams 
Of true affection. Tliou hast seen me seek. 
With the strict caution early habits taught 

me, 
To match our vC-ants and means— hast seen 

thy father 
With aristocracy's high brow of scorn. 
Spurn at economy, liie coti;ige virtue. 
As best befilling her whose ^ires were pea- 
sants; 
Kor can 1, when I see my lineage scorn'd, 
Aivvays conceal in what coiilempt I liolii 
'1 he fancied claims of rank lie (lings to fondly. 
Fio. Wliy will you do so? — well you know 

it chafes hiin. 
Ele. Flora, thy mother is but mortal woman. 
Nor can at all times check an eaeer tongue. 
Kal. (aside ) Thai's no new iidmgs to her 

niece and daughter. 
Ele. O niaysl thou never know the spited 

feelings 
That gender discord in adversity 
Betwixt the dearest friends and truest lovers ! 
In the chill damping gale of poverty. 
If Love's lamp go not out, ii gleams but palely. 
And twinkles in the socket. 
Flo. But tenderne.ss can screen it with her 

veil. 
Till it revive again. By gentleness, good mo- 
ther, 
How oft I've seen you soothe my father's 

mood ! 
Kal. Now there speak youthful hope and 

fantasy ! [Aside. 

Ele. That is an easier task in youth than 

age; 



Our temper hardens, and our charms decay, 

And both are needed in that art of soothing. 

Kal. And tliere speaks sad exper.eiice. 

[Aside. 
Ele. Besides, since that our state was utier 
des[ierate. 
Darker Ins brow, more dangerous grow his 

words; 
Fain would I snatch thee frotn the woe and 

wratti 
Whtch daiken'd long my life, and soon must 
end it. 
[A knocking withoiil ; Eleanor shows alarm. 
It was thy father's knock, haste to tlie gate. 

[Exeunl Flora and Kat een. 
What can have happ'd ?— he thought to stay 

the night. 
This gear must not be seen. 

[As she is about to remove the basket, 

she sees the body of the roe-drir 

What have we here ? a roe-deer !— as 1 fear it. 

This was the gift of which poor Flora thnuiihr. 

The young and handsome hunter ;— but lime 

pres.ses. 

[She removes the basltet and the roe into 
a closet. As she has dune- 
Enter Oswald of Devorgoil, Flora, and Kath'en. 
[He IS dressed m a scarli-l cloak, which 
shmikl seem worn and old— a headpiei e, 
and olil-.lash'oned sword — the rest of his 
dress that of a jiensunl. His counle- 
nunre and manner should ixiiriss the 
moody and irritabk hauyhliwss of a 
■proud man involved in calainily, and 
who has been exposed lo recent insult. 
Osw. (addressing his wi(e.) The snn hath set 

— why is the draw bridge lower'd ? 
Ele. The counterpoise has fail'd.aiid Flora's 
strength, 
Katleen's. and mine united, could not raise it. 

Osw. Flora and thou ! A Koodly g crnson 
To hold a ca.stle, which, if fame say true. 
Unce foiPd the King of Morse and all his 
rovers. 
Ek. It might be so in ancient limes, hut 

now 

Osw A herd of deer might storm pioud De- 
vorgoil. 
Kat. (aside to Flora.) Y'ou, Flora, know full 
well one deer already 
Has enter'd at the breach ;'and. what is worse. 
The escort is not yet maich'd off, for Black- 
thorn 
Is still within the castle. 

Flo. In Heaven's name, rid him out on 't. ere 
my father 
Discovers he is here! Wliy went he not 
Before ? 
Kat. Because I staid him on some little 
business ; 
I had a plan to scare poor paltry Gulicram- 

mer 
Out of his paltry wits. 

Flo. Well, haste ye now. 

Ami try to get him off. 

Kal. I will not promise that. 

1 would not turn an honest liuiuers dog, 
^o well I love the woodcraft, out of shelter 
In such a iiiglit as this — far le>s his master: 
But III do tins. I'll try to liule him lor you. * 
Osw. (whom his wife has assistid lo take ojf his 
cloak and feathered cap ) Ay, take iheui 
off, and bring my peasant's bonnet 



7^ 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



And peasant's plaid— I'll tuihle it no fartlier. 
Lei them erase my n;ime fnwn lioridur's lists, 
And dras niy sriitclieon at tlieir horses' heels ; 
I h;ive deserved it all. for I am poor. 
And poverty hath neither ri?hl of birth, 
Nor rank, relation, claim, nor privileere. 
To match a new-coin'd viscount, whoso good 

srrandsire. 
The Lord be with him, was- a careful skipper. 
And sleer'd his paltry skilf 'twixt Leith and 

Campvere — 
Marry, sir. he could buy Geneva cheap, 
And knew the coast hv moonlight 
Flo Mean you the Viscount Eihmdale, my 
fa' her? 
What strife has been between you ? 

Osw. O. a trifle ! 

N'oi worth a wise man's 'hinkins twice about — 
Precedence i-; a toy — a supers! itioii 
Alioiii a table's end. joint-stool, and trencher, 
ijomethinir was once thouftht due to Ion? de- 
scent. 
And soiiieihiiiK to Galweffia's oldest baron.— 
15u' let that pa^s — a dream of the old time. 
F.k Ji is iiidned a dream. 
Osw (turnnuj upmi }ier ralhir quirktu) Ha! 
said ye ! let me hear these words more 
plain. 
Ele. Alas! they are but echoes of your own. 
Matcli'd with the real woes that hover o'er us. 
V\hat are the idle visions of precedence. 
But, as vou term tiiem. dreams, and toys, and 

trifles. 
Not worth a wise man's thinkins twice upon ? 
Osw Ay, 'twas for you 1 framed thai conso- 
lation. 
The true phihisophv of clouted shoe 
And liii.sey-woolsey kirtle I know, that n>inds 
Of nobler stamp receive no dearer motive 
Tiian what is link'd with honour. Ribands. 

tassels. 
Which are but shreds of silk and spangled 

tinsel — 
The rishf of place, which in itself is moment- 
ary — 
A word, which is but air— may in themselves, 
And to the nobler tile, be steep d .so richly 
In that eli.vir. honour, that the lack 
Of ihmis so very trivial m themselves 
Shall he mi«;for:iine One shall seek for them 
O'er the wilii waves— one in the dearliv breach 
And battle's lieailloii? front— one in the paths 
Of midiiiy-!it ^ludy ; and. in saiiiiiiff these 
Kinl)leois iif honour, each will hold himself 
Ke[iaid for all Ins labours, deeds, and dan- 

sers. 
What tiien should he think, knowin? them 

his own. 
Who sees what warriors and what sases toil 

for. 
The formal and e.stablisn'd marks of honour, 
Usurp'd fnmi him by upstart insolence ? 
Ele. (mho hns listnmi to the Inst xprerh with 
some tmpntifncf ) This is but empty de- 
clamation. Oswald 
The iVa-ait-nts left at yonder full-spread ban- 

qo.l. 
Nay. even the poorest crust swept from the 

table. 
On^bt to he far more precious to a father. 
v. liose family lacks food, than the vain boast. 
.He sate ;it ttie hoard-head 

Osuj Thoii'lt drive me frantic! — I will tell 
thee, woman — 



Yet why to thee ? There is another ear 
Which that tale belter suits, and he shall 
hear it. 

[Looks fit his sword, which he has nn- 
burklfil. and addresses the rest of the 
speech to it. 
Yes, trusty friend, my father knew thv worth, 
And often proved it— often told me of it— 
Tlioilsch thou and 1 he now held liehtlv of. 
And want the silded hattrhments of the time, 
I thmk we botti mav prove true metal still. 
' I'ls ihoii shall tell this story, right this wrons:: 
Rest thou till time is fittma'. 

[Hangs vp the sword. 
[The womr-n look at each other xmth 
anxiety during this speech, which Ih/y 
pnrtli/ oivrhear. Tiiey both approach 
Oswald 
F.le. Oswald— my dearest husband ! 
Flo. Mv dear father! 

Osw. Peace, both ! — we speak no more of 
this. [ ?.» 
To heave the drawbridse up. [Exit. 

Kall^eii mounts the steps towards the loop-hole, 
looks out. awl spenks. 
The stom is gathering fast; broad, heavy 

drops 
Fall plashins on the bosom of the lake, 
.And dash its inkv surface into circles; 
I he di.stant hills are hid m wreathes of dark- 
ness. 
'Twill be a fearful night. 

Oswald re-enters, and throws himself into a 

seat. 
Ele. More dark and ilreadfiil 

Than is our des'inv. it cannot be. 

Osw {to Flo.) Such IS Heaven's will — it is 
our part to bear it. 
We're warranted, my child, from ancient 

story 
And blessed writ, to say. that sai\s assuaees 
I'he gloomy cams that prey iinon our reason, 
.And wake a strife hetwixt our better feeliiiss 
And the fierce dictates of the headlonsj pas- 
sions. 
Sing, then, my love; for if a voice have influ- 
ence 
To me<liate peace hetwi.xt me and mydestinv. 
Flora, it must he thine. 
Flo. My best to please you ! 

SONG. 

When the tempest's at the loudest. 

On its gale the eagle rides ; 
When the ocean rolls the proiiriest. 

'rhiough the foam the sea bird glides- 
All the rage of wind and sou 
Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pining, 

All the ills that men endure ; 
E:ich their various pangs combining, 

Constancy can find a cure— 
Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, 
Are subdued by conslancy. 

Bar me from each wonted pleasure. 
Make me abject, mean, and poor; 

Heap on insults without measure, 
Cliain me to a dungeon floor — 

I'll be happy, rich, and free. 

If enduw'd with constancy. 



637 > 



k^ 



A 



^ 688 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



"^ 



All 



ACT II— SCENK T. 

A Chnmhn m a lUstant pnrt of the Caslle. A 
large Window in the finl. sane, supposed to 
look on the Luke, whirh is orrnaioHnllif illumi- 
tuited bu liijklnini). 'Dure is n Coudi-bed in 
the Room, and an antique Cabinet. 

Enter Katleen, introducing Blackt.liorn. 

Kal. This was the destined scene of aotion, 
Blanktiinrn, 
And here our properties. Rut all in vain. 
For of Gnllcraninier we'll see ikmiuIiI to-nighf, 
Excffil the dainties that I told ymi of. 

Bin. O. if he's left that same hog's face and 
sausaees. 
He will trv hack upon them, never fear it. 
The cur will open on the trail of liacon, 
Like niv old hrach-hound. 

Knt.' hud should that liap, we'll play our 
oomedv,-- 
Shall we not. Blacklliorn ? Thou shall lie 

Owlspiesle 

Bla. And who may tiiat hard-named person 

he? 
Kat. I've told yon nine times over. 
Bla. Yes, pretty Katleen, but my eyes were 
busy 
III lookins at you all the time you were talking ; 
And so I lost the tale. 
Kat. Then shut your eyes, and let your 
eoodly ears 
Do their good office. 

Bl/i. That were too hard penance. 

Tell hut thy tale once more, ami I will hearken 
As if 1 were thrown out, and listening for 
My bloodhound's distant hay. 

Knt. A civil simile! 

Then, for tlie tenth time, and t he last— be told, 
()wlspie;?le was of old llie wicked barber 
To Enck. wicked Lord of Devorffoil. 
Bla. 'I'he chief who drown'd his captives in 
the Solway — 
We all have heard of him. 

K'lt. A hermit hoar, a venerable man— 
So eoes the legend— came to wake repentance 
In the fierce lore, and tax'd him with his guilt; 
But he. heart-harden'd, tuni'd into derision 
The man of heaven, and, as his dianity 
("onsisted much in a lonsr reverend beard. 
Which reached his girdle, Enck caused his 

l)arber. 
This same Owlspiegle, violate its honours 
With sacrilegious razor, and clip his hair 
After the fashion of a roguish fool. 
Bla. This was reversing of our ancient pro- 
verb. 
And shaving for the devil's, not for God's sake. 
Kat. True, most grave Blackthorn ; and in 
punishment 
Of this foul act of scorn, the barber's ghost 
Is said to have no resting after death. 
But haunts these halls, and chiefly this .same 

chamber, 
Where the profanity was acted, trimming 
And clipping all such euests as sleep within it. 
Such is at least the tale our elders tell. 
V\ ith many others, of this haunted castle. 
Bla.. And you would have me take this shape 
if ()vvlsf)ieKle. 
And trim the wise Melcliisedek ! — I wonnot. 
Kat. You will not ? 
Bla. No — unless )'ou bear a part. 



Kat What! can vou not alone play such a 

farce ? 
Bin. .Not 1— I'm dull Besides, we foresters 
■^till hunt our game in couples. Look yon, 

Kat leen. 
We danced at Shrovetide — then you were my 

pari lie r; 
We sung at Christmas — you kept tinie with 

me; 
And if we go a mumming in this business. 
By heaven, you must he one, or Master Gull- 
crammer 

Is like to rest unshaven 

Kat. Why, you f..ol. 

What end can this .serve ' 

Bin Nay, I know not. 1 

But if we keep this wont of being partners, 
V\ hy. use makes perfect — who knows v\hp.t 
may happen ? 
Kat. Thou art a foolish patch— But sing our 

Clldl. 

As 1 have aller'd it. with some few words 

To suit the characters, and I will bear 

\_Groes a paper. 
Bla. Part in the gambol. I'll go study 

quickly. 
Is there no otherghost, then, haunts the castle. 
But this same barber shave-a peiiny goblin ? 
I thouu'ht they glanced in every beam of 

moonshine. 
As frequent as the bat. 
Kat. I've heard my aunt's high iiusband tell 

of prophecies. 
.And fates impending o'er the house of Pevor- 

goil ; 
Legends first coin'd by ancient superstition. 
And render'd current hy credulity 
Ami pride of lineage. Five years liave 1 dwelt, 
And ne'er saw any thing more mischievous 
Than wliat I am niyself. 

Bla. And that is quite enough,! warrant you. 
But, stay, where shall 1 find a dre.ss 
To play this — whatd'yecall him— Owlspiegle ? 
Kat (takes dresses out of the cabinet.) VV hy, 

there are his own clothes. 
Preserved with other trumpery of tjie sort. 
For we have kept nought but what is good for 

nought. 
[She drops a cap as she draws out the clolhes. 

BInrklhorn lifts it, and gives it to her. 
Nay, keep it for thy pains— it is a coxcomb ; 
So call'd in ancient times. in ours a fool's cap; 
For you must know they kept a Fool at Devor- 

goil 
In former days ; but now are well ciuitented 
To play the fool themselves, to save expenses ; 
Yet give it me, FN find a worthy use for'l. 
I'll take this page's dress, to play the page 
Cock ledemoy,wh') waits on ghostly Owlspiegle; 
And yet 'lis needless, for Gullcranimer 
Will scarce be here to-night. 

Bla. I tell you that he will— I will uphold 
His plighted faith and true allegiance 
Unto a .sows'd sow's face and sausages. 
And such the dainties that you say he sent you. 
Against all other likings whatsoever. 
Except a certain sneaking of affection. 
Which makes some folks I know of play the 

fool. 
To please some other f(dks. 
Kat. Well. I do hope he'll come — ihcMirs 

first a chance 
He will he cudgell'd by my noble uncle— 
I cry his mercy — by my good aunt's husliand, 



2i 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, 



OJi'J 



\ 



Who dill vow vengeance, know in;; iiouglit of 

him 
Hut by report, and by a limping sonnet 
Which he liad iHshioii'd ti> my cousins s'orv. 
And forwarded bv bhiid T<iui Lonsr th*^ ca rer; 
So there's the chKuce. first of a heariy beai ins, 
VVliioh failing, we ve this aitei-plot of ven- 
geance. 
BlJt. Kind damsel, how considerate and 
mi-rciful! 
But how shall we get off.our par's being plav'dT 
Kat. For that we are well, filled; here's a 
trap-door 
Sinks v\iih a counterpoise— you shall go that 

way. 
I'll make niy exit yonder — 'iieath the window, 
A balcony communicates with the tower 
'1 lia' overhauls llie lake. 
Bill. "I'were a rare place, this house of De- 
vorgoii. 
To play at hide-aiid-seek in— shall we try. 
One dav. tnv pretty Katleen ? 

/I'ai. Hands olT.' rude ranser ! I'm no ma 
naged hawk 
To stoop to lure of yours.— But bear you gal- 
lantly ,• 
This Gullcrammer hath vex'd my cousin much, 
I lam wciuld have some vengeance. 
Bla. I'll bear my part willi glee;— lie spoke 
irreverently 
Ot" practice at a mark ! 

Kat. That cries for vengeance. 

But I must go ; I hear my aunt's shrill voice ! 
My cou>in anil her father will scream next. 
Ele {at a distance.) Kaileen! Katleen! 
Bla. Hark to old Sweellips ! 

Away wiih you before the lull cry open — 
But stay, what have you there? 
Kut. (wttfi a bundle sUe has taken from tlw 
loardrobe ) 
My dress, my page's dress — let it alone. 
Bl)t Your tirmg-room is not, 1 hope, far 
distant ; 
You're inexperienced iu these new habili- 
ments — 
1 atii mo~t ready to assist your toilet. 
Kal. t)u!,you great ass! was ever such a 
fool ! IRuiis off. 

Bla. (sings.) 
O, Ri>bin Hood was a bowman good, 

.Anil a bowman gmid vvas he. 
Anil he met wiih a ma. den in merry Sherwood, 

All under the greenwood tree. 

Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, 

Now give me a kis^, said he. 
For there never came maid into merry Slier- 
wood. 

But she paid the forester's fee. 

I've coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, 

Katleen, 
And she lias dodged me, turn'd beneath mv 

nose. 
And flung me out a score of yards at once ; 
If this same gear fadge right, I'll cote and 

mouth her. 
And then, whoop! dead! dead! dead! — She 

is the metal 

To make a woodman's wife of! 

iPuicses a moment. 
Weil— I can find a hare upon her foim 
Willi any man in Nitlisdale— sIuIk a d.er, 



Run Reynard to the earth for all his doubles. 
Reclaim a haggard hawk that's wild and way- 
ward. 
Can bait a wild-cat,— sure tiie devil's in't 
But I can match a woman— I'll to study. 
llSils down on llie couch to examine the paper. 



SCENE IT. 

Scene changes to the inhabited apartment of the. 
Castle, as in the last Scene of the preceding 
Act. Afire is kindled, by which Oswald siis 
in an alli/nde of deep and inelancholu thonijhi. 
without paymoallenlion to what passes aroimd 
him. Eleanor is busy in coveriwj a table. 
Flora </oes out and re-enters, as if busied m the 
kitchen There should be some Iw-ybiy — the 
women whispering totjelher, an/I walchinii the 
state of Oswald ; then S'paraling, and seeking 
to avoid his observation, when he citsunlly 
raises his head, anil drops it again. Tins must 
be left to taste and nianauement. The Women. 
ill the first part of the scene, talk apart, and us 
it feaifuL of being overlieard ; the by-play of 
stopping occasionally, and attending to (Js- 
wald's movements, will give livtlmess to the 
Scene. 

Ele. Is all prepared ? 

Elo Ay ; but I doubt the issue 

Will give my sire less pleasure than you hope 
for. 
Etc. Tush, maid— I know thy father's hu- 
mour better. 
He was high-t'ied in gentle luxuries: 
And when our gnefs besan. I've wrpt apart. 
While lordly clieeraiid high-fiird cups of wine 
Were blinding him against the woe to come. 
He has turn'd liis back upon a princely baiiqiiet: 
We will not spread his board— this night at 

least, 
Janice chance hath better furnish'd— with dry 

bread, 
.And water from the well. 

Enter Katleen. and luars the last speech. 

Kat. inside.) Considerate aunt ! she deems 
that a Koiid siipiier 
Were not a tliiiis indifferent even to him 
Who is to hang to-morrow. Since she thinks 

so. 
We must take care the venison has due 

honour- 
So much I owe the sturdv knave, Lance Black- 
thorn. 
Flo Moiher, alas ! when Grief lurtis reveller. 
Despair is cup-bearer. What shall hap to- 
morrow ? 
Ele. I have learn'd carelessness from fruit- 
less care. 
Too long I've watch'd to-morrow ; let it come 
And cater for itself— Thou hear'si the thniuler. 
[IjiUi and distant Viunder. 
This is a gloomy nisiit — within, alas ! 

iLookinij at her Inisbaiiil 
Sril! gloomierand more Ihreaieiun^-I et, iis use 
Whatever means we have todnvi it o'er. 
And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust me, 

Flora. 
'Tis the philoso[)hy of desperate want 
lo iiialOh Itself but with the preseni evil, 



z 



/ 



f C40 

^ And f 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And face one grief at once. 
Away, I wish thine aid and not thy counsel. 
iAs Fh)ia is abuiil to go off, GiiUcrainnier's 
voice is heard behind the fiat scene, as if 
from the drawbriilye. 
GuL (behind.) Hillo— hillo— hilloa— hoa— 
hoa! 
[Oswald raises himself and listefis ; Eleanor 
yoes up the steps, and opens the ivmdow (it 
theloop-hole ; (jullcratniiier's voice %s tlutn 
heard more dislinctiy. 
Gul. Kind Lady Devorgoil— sweet Mistress 
FU)ia !— 
The night grows fearfnl. I have lost my way. 
And wander'd till the road tnrn'd round with 

me. 
And hioiight me back — For Heaven's sake. 
give tne shelter ! 
Kat (aside.) Now, as I live, the voice of 
Giillcranimer ! 
Now sl];ill mil teambol be play'd off with spirit ; 
I'll swear 1 am the only one to whom 
That .-<i-ee<'li-(ivvl whoiip w:is e'er afceptable. 
O.siv. V\ h;it bawling knave is this that lakes 
our dwelling 
For some hedjie inn, the haunt of lated drunk- 
aids ? 
Ele. What shall I say ?— Go, Katleen. speak 

to hiin. 
Kat. (aside ) The game is in my hands— I 
will say sometiiing 
Will fret the B;ir()n's pritle— and then he enters 
(She speaks from the window. ) Good sir, be pa- 
tient! 
We are poor folks— it is but six Scotch miles 
lo the next borough town, where your Reve- 
rence 
May be accommodated to your wants ; 
We arc poor folks, an't please your Heverence, 
And keep a narrow household — there's no 
track 

'I'o lead your steps astray 

Gul. Nor none to lead them right. You 
kill me, hidy. 
If you deny me harbmir. To budge from hence. 
And in my weary plight, were sudden death. 
Interment, fiiiieral-sermon.tomhslone.epita|>h. 
Osw Who's he that is thus clamorous with- 
out? 
(7W Ele.) Thnu know'st him? 
Ele. (co?ilitsed) I know him T— no- yes— 'tis 
a worthy clergyman. 
Benighted on his way ;— hut think not of him. 
Kat. The moon will rise when that the tem- 
pest's pa-t. 
And if he miss the marsh, and can avoid 
The crags upon the left, ihe road is [)lain. 

Osw Then this is all your pieiy !— to leave 
One whom the holy duties of his office 
Have sumniDn'd over moor and wilderness. 
To prav lieside some dving wretch's bed, 
W|i(, (erring mortul) sf'ill would cleave tr. life. 
Or wake some St uhborn sinner to repemance.— 
To leave him. aTer offices like tliese, 
'I'o choose his way in darkness 'twixLlhe marsh 
And dizzy precipice ? 
Ele. WhatcanldoT 

Osw. Do what thou canst— the wealthiest 
do no more — 
And if so much, 'tis well. These crumbling 

walls. 
While yet they hear a roof, shall now. as ever. 
G.ve shelter to the Wiiinlerer — Have we food ? 
He shi.ll partake it— Have wc nm;e? the faul 



Shall be accounted with the good man's ment» 

And our misfortunes 

[He yoes to the loop-huie while he speaks, and 
places himselj there in loom oj his V>'ije, 
who comes down with reluctance. 
Gid. (without ) Hillo— hoa! hoa! 
By my good faith 1 c:iniuil plod it hirlher; 
The aileiiipt were death. 
Osw. (.speaks from the window ) Patience, my 
fnuid. 
1 come to lower the drawbridge. 

[Descends, and exit. 
Ele. O, that the screaming bittern had his 
couch 
Where lie deserves it. in the dee|iest marsh ! 
Kat 1 would not give this sport for all the. 
rent 
Of Devorgoil. when Devorgoil was richest ! 
( To Ele ) But now you eluded me, my dearest 

aunt. 
For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion T 
Ele ^ es, saucy girl ; but, an it please you, 
then 
He was not fretting me ; if he h;id sense enough, 
And skill to hear him as some casual stranger, — 
But he is dull as eailh. and every hint 
l.s lost on him. as hail-shot on the cormorant. 
V\ hose hide is proof except to musket-biillels i 
Flo. (apart ) And yet to such a one would 
my kind mother. 
Whose chiefest fiiult is lovmg me loo fondly. 
Wed her poor daughter ! 

Enter Giillcrammer. his diess damaijed hit the 
sliitm ; I''.lH;inor inns to meet hvn. in onii r In 
exphiin to hiin that she wit-hid him lo behnve 
as a struiiijer. Unllciamiiier, mislakinij hir 
aiiproach for an inuilaliim lo lamiianly. ad- 
vances with the an of pulnnlic cunietl belonj- 
inii to his character, whin (isv\:ilil inlers. — 
fUeanor recovers herselj, and assumes an air 
oJ distance — Giillcrammer is conjounded, and 
docs not know what to make oj it. 

Osw. The counterpoise has clean given way; 
the liiidge 
Must e'en remain iinraised. and leave us open. 
Fur this night's couise al least, to passing 

What have we here ?— is this the revei end man? 
\_He lakes up tlie candle, and suiveys Gull- 
crammer, who strives to sustain Ihe in- 
spection with cunjid/iice. while Jear obvi- 
inisly contends with conceit and desire to 
show himself to the best advatitaye. 
Gul. Kind sir— or. good my lord— my l)aiid 
IS rnffled. 

But yet 'twas fresh this morning. Tins fell 
shower 

Hath sotiiewhat smirch d my cloak, but you 
may note 

It rates five marks per yard ; my doublet 

Hath fairly 'scaped— 'tis three-piled tatl'eia. 

[Opens hii cloak, and displays his doublet. 
Osw. A goodly inventory — Art thou a 

preacher ? 
Gul. Yea — 1 laud Heaven and good Saint 

Murigo for it. 
Osw. 'Tis the lime's plague, when those that 
should weed lollies 

Out of the common field, have theirown minds 

O'errun wiili foppery— Envoys 'iwixt heaven 
and earth. 

Example should with precept join, to show us 



^. 



7^ 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



Kuvv we may scorn the world with all its 
vanities. 
Gul. Nay, the hi^h heavens forefeiid that I 
were vain ! 
When our learnVl Principal such sounditis: 'and 
Gave to (uMie E>s:y on the hiddt-n qualiJus 
Of the sul()hiiric ninieral, I disclaim'd 
All self-exallniHiit. \\\\\ {turning to the xoomen) 

when at the dance. 
'Ihe lovely Sarctiarissa Kirkencroft, 
Danshter to Kirl<encroft of Kirkencroft, 
Graced nie with her soft hand, credit me, ladies, 
That still I felt myself a mortal man, 
Thiiujih heanty smiled on me. 

Osvo. Come, sir, enough of 'his. 
I'hat you're ourguest to-night, thank the rou^h 

heavens. 
And all our worser fortunes; be conformable 
Unto my rules; ihtse are no J^acrharissas 
To gild \Mih compliments. '1 here's m your 

priife.ssion, 
As the hest gram will have its piles of chaff, 
A ceriain wiuflfler, who iiath dared to bait 
A noble maiden with love tales and sonnets; 
And II I meet him, his Geneva nap 
May scarce; be proof to .save his ass's ears. 

kut. i'lside.) Umph— I am sinaigly tempted. 
And yet I iiunk 1 wiil he tjeiierous. 
Ami give his hrains a chance to save his bones. 
'I'hen there's more humour in our goldin plot. 
Than in a simple drubbing. 
Elc. (ai'ort lo Flo.) What shall we do ? If 
he discover him, 
He'll fling him out at window. 
Fio. My fa hers hint to keep himself un- 
known 
Is all too broad, I think, to be neglected. 
Ele But yet the fool, if we produce his 
Ijouniy, 
May claim the merit of presenting it; 
And then «eVe but lost women for accei)ting 
A gift our needs made limely. 

A'a'. Do not produce tlieni. 

E'en let the fop go supperless to bed, 
And keep his liones whole. 

Osw. {Id his Wife) Hast thou au^ht 

To place before him ere he seek repose ? 
Ele. Alas! too well you know our needful 
{.,re 
Isof ttie narrowest now, and knows no surplus. 
Osw. Shame us not with thy niggard liou.se- 
keep.ng; 
He is a stranger— were it our last crust. 
And iie the veriest coxcomb ere wore taffeta, 
A piicii he's littie short of— he must share il. 
Though all should want to-inorrow. 

Gul. (partly ovtrhtanng wluit passes between 
them ) 
Nay. I am no lover of your sauced dainties : 
Plain food and plenty is my mono ~till. 
Your mountain air is bleak, and brings an 

appt^iite : 
A soused sow's face, now, lo my modest think- 
ing, 
H;is ne'er a fellow. What think these fair ladies 
Of a sow's face and sausages? 

[Mo/cis signs to Eleanor 
Flo. Plague on the vulgar lumd, and on his 
courtesies, 
TliH whole truth will come out ! 

Osw What should they thiiiK, but that you're 
like to lack 
Vonr favourite dishes, sir, unless perchance 
\ ou bring sucli dainties with you. 




Gul. No, nor with me ; not, indeed. 
Directly wj7/i me ; but— Aha! fair ladies! 

Makes signs aonin. 

Kat. He'll draw the beating down — Were 
that the worst. 
Heaven's will be done I [Aside. 

Osw (apart.) What can he mean ?— this is 
the veriest doa-whelp — 
Still he's a stranger, and the latest act 
or hospitably in this old mansion 
Shall not be sullied 

Gul Troth, sir, I think, under the ladies' 
favour, 
W' ithout pretending skill in second si-jht, 
I hose ot my cloth benig seldom conjurers 

Osw. I'll take my Bible-oath thai thou art 

^ none. [Aside. 

Gul. 1 do opine, still with the ladies' tavoiir, 
That I could guess tlie nature of our supper: 
I do not say in such and such preceileiice 
The dishes will be phiced ; housewives, as you 

On sucli forms have their fancies ; but, I say 
still, ' 

That il sow's face and sausages 

Osw. Peace s;r! 

O'er-driven jests, (if this be one) are insoh-nt. 

Flo. (uport. seeing her moHier uneasy.) The old 

saw still holds true— a chiir.'s beuf-liis. 

Sauced vMih his lack of feeling, sense, and 

couitesy. 
Savour liKe injuries. 

[A horn is winded without: then a loud 

knorkincj ot the gate. 

LfO. (without ) Ope. for the sake of love and 

chanty ! [Oswald goes lo the loop-hoU. 

Gul. Heaven's mercy ! should there come 

aiiotliKr stranger, 

.And he half starved with wandering on the 

wolds, 
I'he sows face boasts no substance, nor the 

sau.sages, 
I'o stand our reinforced attack ! 1 jud^e. too, 
By this starved Bartm's language, there's no 

hope 
Of a reserve of victuals 

Flo. Go to the casement, cousin. 
Kat Go Yourself, 

Ana bid the gallant who that busle w'lnde.i 
Sleep 111 the storm-swept waste; as meet for 

him 
As for Lance Blackthorn.— Come, I'll not dis- 
tress you, 
I'll get admittance for this second suitor. 
And we'll play out this gambol at cross pur- 

pose.s. 
But see, your father has prevented me. 

Osw. (seems to have spoken wiih those wilhcut, 

and answers ) Well. 1 will ope I he door; 

one guest already. 

Driven by tlie .storm. has claim'd my hospitality. 

And you. if you were fiends, were scarce le.ss 

welcome 
To this my mouldering roof, than empty igno- 

And rank conceit— I hasten to admit you. 

[Exit. 
Ele. (to Flo.) The tempest thickens. By 
that winded bugle, 

I guess the guest that next will honour us 

Little deceiver, that didst mock my troubles, 
"I'ls now thy turn to fear! 

Flo. Mother, if 1 knew le.ss or more of tins 
Unthought of and most perilous visitation. 



V 



54* 



lis ^ 



f 612 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 






J would your wislies were fulfill'd on me, 
And I were wedded to a ilinig; like yon. 

Gul (approaching.) Come. l;idies, now you 

see ide jest is threailbare. 
And you must own tliat same sow's face and 

sausages 

Rr-enter Oswald icith Leonard, supportinu 
Baiitdie Durward. Oswald takt'S a tnivi of 
lhem,as lormtrlt/ o/ GuWcrvinunct.then spenks 
Osto. (to Leo.) By ihy sreeu cassock, liunt- 

ing-spear and busle, 
I pness thou art a tiuuisman ? 
Leo. (botcinif unth rcspfct ) k rane;er of the 

neiglilionrinsr royal forest. 
Under the good Lord Nitlisdale; huntsman. 

therefore. 
In time oi peace, and when the land has war. 
To mv best powers a soldier. 

Osio Welcome, as either. I have loved the 

chase. 
And was a soldier once. — This a^ed man, 
What may lie he? 
Dur. (recovering his breath ) Is but a beffsar, 

sir. an humble inendicant. 
Who fefls It passing strange, I hat from this roof. 
Above all others, he should now crave shell er. 
OsiD Why so? iou're welcome both— only 

the word 
Warranis more courtesy than our present 

means 
Permit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier 
May he a prince's comrade. much more mine; 
And for a besg^ir — friend, there little lacks, 
Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted 

pouches, 
To make us comrades too: then welcome bolii. 
And to a hesgar's feast. I fear brown bread. 
And water from the spnns:, will be the best 

on'i; 
For we had cast to wend abroad this evening. 
And left our larder empty. 

Gtd. Vet, if some kindly fairy. 

In our behalf, would search its hid recesses. — 
(Apart) We'll not go supperle^s now — were 

three to one. — 
Still do I say .that a soused face and sausages — 
Otw. (looks slernly at him. then at his wile ) 
There's simiethmg under this, but that liie 

present 
Is not a lime to question. (ToEle.) Wife, my 

mood 
Is at such a height of tide, that a turn'd feather 
V\ ould make me frantic now, with mirth or 

fury ! 
Tempt me no more — butif thou hast the things 
"1 his carrion crow so croaks for, bring them 

fort h ; 
For, by my father's beard, if [ stand caterer, 
'TwiU'ljea fearful banquet! 
Ele. Your pleasure be obey'd — Come, aid 

me. Flora. \_Extunt. 

ILurnuj the following speeches the Wor/ien 
place liis'ies on the table. 
Osw. (to Dur. ) How did you lose your path ? 
Dur. E'en when we thought to tind it, a 

wild meteor 
Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray. — 
1 give small credence to the tales of old. 
Oi P'nar's- lantern told, and Will-o'-V\ isp. 
i'.lse would 1 say. that some malirious demon 
fiuided us in a round ; for to the moat. 
SViiicii we had pass'd two hours since, were 

we led, 



.And there the gleam flickered and disappear'd. 

Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn 
dow'n. 

So broke wiili labouring through nrirsh and 
niiKir. 

That, woUl I nold I, here my young conduc or 

Would needs implore for entrance ; else, be- 
lieve me, 

I had not Iroiililed you. 

Osw And why not, father?— have you eer 
heard ausht. 

Or of my house or me, that wanderers. 

Whom or their roving trade orsudden circum- 
stance 

Obliged to seek a shelter, should avoid 

The House of Devorgoil >. 

Dur. Sir. I am Eiislisli born — 

Naijve of Cumberland Eiiouch is said 

Wliy I should -hull tliose bowers, whose Inn's 
were hostile 

To Eiislish blood, and unto Cumberland 

.Most lio.vtile and most fatal 

Osw Ay. father Once mygrandsireplough'd. 
and harrow "d, 

.And sow'd with salt, the streets of your fair 
towns ; 

But what of that? — you have the 'vantage now. 
Bur. True, Lord of Devorgoil, and well 
believe I, 

That not in vain we sought these towers to- 
niiiht. 

So strangely guided, to behold their stsiie 
Osw Ay. thou wciuldst say. 'twas tit a Cum- 
brian begaar 

Should sii an equal guest in his proud halls 

Whose father heggar'd Cumberland— Uiey 
l)e.ird. let it be so. 

I'il not dispute It with thee. 

[7'o Leo , lo'io icas speaking to Flora, but. 
on benui surprtsui. occupied himseU with 
the suit oj armour.) 

What makrsi, thou there, young man ? 

I^eo 1 inarvell'd at this harness; it !S larger 

Than arms of iiKKiern days. Hov>- riciiiy cjirved 

Wall gold inliiid on steel — how cla-e tlie 
rivets — 

How justly fit the joints ! I think the gauntlet 

V\ould swahow twice my hand. 

[He is about to take down some part oj the 
Armour ; Oswald interierts 
Osw. Do not displace it. 

.My grandsire. Erick, doubled human sireiigth. 

And almost human size— and human know- 
ledge. 

And human vice, and human virtue also. 

As storm or sunsnine chanced to occupy 

His mental hemisphere After a fatal deed. 

He hung his armour on the wall, forbidding 

It e'er should be ta'en down. There is a 
pri'phecy. 

That of iiself 'twill fall. U[)on the night 

W hen, in the tifiieth year fnun Ins decease, 

Devoi-goil's feast is fiill This is the era ; 

But, as too well you see. no meet occasion 

\\ ill do the downfall of the armour justice. 

Or grace it with a feast. Ihere let it b.de. 

I'rying its strength with the old walls it hangs 
on. 

Which shall fall soonest. 
Dur. (looking at the trophy wilh a mixture of 
fedinti ) 

Then there siern Erick's harness hangs un- 
toiich'd. 

Since his last fatal raid on Cumberland ! 



-7 



z. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



O.sw. Av, waste and want, and recklessness 
—a coniiiide 
Still yoked with waste and want — havestripp'd 

ilie^e Willis 
Of cvfiry lit her trophy. Antler'd skulls, 
Whose branches vnucti'd the tales old vassals 

told 
Of (le<f»erate chases— partisans and spears — 
Knig:hts" harred iielnis and shields— tlie shafts 

and Ixiws. 
Axes ami hreasi plates.of the hardy yeomanry— 
'I lie banners of the vanquish'd — siijus these 

arms 
Were not assumed in vain, have disappeared, 
"i't-s. one by one they all have disappear'd ; 
And MOW L(iru trick's harness hangs alone, 
'' idst implemens of vnigrar husbandry 
And mean ecoiiomv ; as some old warrior, 
Wlioiii want, hath made an inmate of an alms- 
house. 
Shows, II, i I the bessrar'd spendthrifts, base 

And bankrupt pedlars, with whom fate has 
m.x'a iii:ii 
Dur. Or raiiier like a pirate, whom the 
prisiMi house, 
Fricne levtller next the grave, halh for the 

first ume, 
Mingled with peaceful captives, low in for- 
tunes, 
But fan- 111 innorenne. 

Usw {loiikinij nt Dur. with surprise.) Friend, 

thou art bitter! 
Dur. Plain truth, sir, like the vulgar copper 
coinage, 
PfsiijseiJ ainonir the gentry, still finds value 
And currency with beggars. 

thw. Be it so. 

I will not trench on the immunities 
I soon may claim to share. 'I'hy features, 

too. 
Tlioujli weather-beaten, and thy strain of 

language, 
Keiisli of belter times. Come hither, friend, 
\_They sjjecfc apart. 
And let me ask thee of thine occupation. 

[Leonard toolis rouitd.anil sningOswaM 
ewjcyeil Willi Dnrw:ird, and (iullcram- 
tiier with Eleaiiiir. ai/proachts towards 
Flcira. who must qivt him an iijrpnrtu- 
niti/o/' r/ninij .so ivtih obvious attention 
On her part to (jive it the air of chance. 
The by-play h're wilt rest with the 
Lady wtio must enuage the attention 
of thf audience by playing off a littte 
female hypocrisy and simple coquetry. 

Jyo. Flora 

Flo. Ay. gallant huntsman, may she deign 
to question 
Why Leonard came not at the appointed 

hour; 
Or why lie came at midnight? 
Leo. Love has no certain loadstar, gentle 
Flora, 
And oft gives up the helm to wayward pilot- 
age. 
To sav the sooth— A beggar forced tne hence. 
And Will-i>'-wisp did guide us back again 
Flo. Ay, ay, your beggar was the faded 
spectre 
Of Poverty, that sits upon the threshold 
Of these our ruin'ci walls. I've been unwise, 
Leonard, to let you s(ieak so oft with me ; 
And you a fool to say what you have said 



E'en let us here break short ; and, wise at 

length. 
Hold each our separate way through life's 
wide ocean. 
Leo. Nay, rather let us join ourcour.se toge- 
ther. 
And share the breeze or tempest, doubling 

joys. 
Relieving sorrows, warding evils ofT 
With mutual effort, or enduring them 
With mutual patience. 
Flo. This is but flattering counsel — sweet 
and baneful ; 
But mine had wholesome bilter in 't. 

Kat. Ay, ay; but like the siv apothecary. 
You'll be the last to take the bitter drug 
That you pre.scnbe to others. 

i'J'hey wfiisper. Eleanor advnnns to 
interrupt thetn, followed by Uuil- 
crammer. 
Ele. What, maid, no household cares? Leave 
to your elders 
The task of filling passing strangers' ears 
V\ nil I he due notes of welcome. 

Old. Be it thine, 

O, .Mistress Flora, the more useful talent 
Of tilling strangers' stomachs with substan- 

tials; 
That is to say. — for learn'd commentators 
Do so expound substaiitials In some places, — 
With a sows'd bacon-face and sausage.s. 
Flo. (apart.) Would Ihou werL sows'd, in- 
tolerable pedant. 
Base, greedy, perverse, interrupting coxcomb ! 
Kat. Husii, coz, for we'll be well avenged on 
him. 
And ere this night goes o'er, else woman's wit 
Cannot o'ertake her wishes. 

[Hhe proceeds lo arrange seats. Oswald 
and Dur ward come forward in con- 
versation. 
Osin. I like tliine humoui well— So all mea 

beg 

Dur. Ves— I can make it good by proof. 
Your soldier 
Begs for a leaf of laurel, and a line 
In the Gnzette. He brandishes Ins sword 
I'o hack Ins suit, and is a sturdy beggar— 
The courtier begs a riband or a star, 
And, like our gentler mumpers, is provided 
Wiih false certificates of health and fortune 
Lost in the public service. For your lover, 
Who begs a sigh, a smile, or lock of hair, 
A buskin-point, he maunds upon the pad, 
V\ ith the true cant of pure mendicity, 
"The smallest trifle to relieve a Christian, 

And if It like your Ladyship !" 

[7;i a begging tone. 
Kat. {apart ) This is a cunning knave, and 
feeds the humour 
Of my aunt's husband, for I mu.st not say 
Mine hoiiDiir'd uncle. I will try a question — 
Your man of meiit, though, who serves the 
commonwealth, 

,Nor asks for a requital ? [To Durward. 

Dur. Is a dumb beggar. 

And lets his actions speak like signs for him. 
Challenging double guerdon — .Now, I'll show 
How your true beggar has the fair advantage 
O'er all the tribes of cloak'd mendicity 
I have told over to you.— The soldier's laurel. 
The statesman's riband, and the lady s lavour, 
Once won and gain'd, are not lield worth a 
farthing 




V 



z 



f 644 



V. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'^ 



"m 

\ Eke 



Bv such as longest, loudest, ranted for them ; 
Wlieieas your charitable half- penny. 
Wiiicli IS the scope of a true besgar's suit, 
Is worili Iwn fiirlhmss. and, in limes of plenty, 
Will buy a crust oi bread. 
Flo. (intrrrupling hini, and addressing her 
fal/ifr. ) 
Sir. let me be a begsar with the time, 
And prav vou coine to supper. 
Ele. (io'0:>walii, apart.) Must Ae sit with Us? 
[Looking at Durward. 
Osw. Ay, ay, what else— since we are beg:gars 
all? 
When cloaks are ragged, sure tlieir worth is 

equal. 
Whether at first they wereof silk or woollen 

F.lfi. Thou art scarce consistent. 
Tins day thou didst refuse a princely banquet, 
Becatise a new-made lord wiis placed above 
thee; 

And now 

Osui. Wife. I have seen, at public execui ions, 
A wretch that could not brook tlie hand of 

violence 
Should push him from the scaffold, pluck up 

courage. 
And. witli a desperate sort of cheerfulness, 

'laue the fell plunsje himself 

Welcome, tlien, beggars, to a beggar's feast ! 

Gul. (who has in tht meamuhile seated himself) 
But this IS more. — A better countenance. — 
Fair fall the hands that sows'd it !— than this 

hog's. 
Or prettier provender than these same sau- 
sages. 
(By wh;it good friend sent hither, shall be 

nameless. 
Doubtlf ss some youth whom love hath made 
profuse.) 
[S?nili7)g significn7illy at Eleanor and Flora. 
No prince need wish to peck at. Long, 1 

Ween, 
Since that the nostrils of this house, (by 

metaphor, 
I mean the chimneys) smell'd a steam so 

grateful— 
By your good leave I cannot dally longer 

(Helps himself 
Osw (places Durward above GuUcrammer.) 
Meanwiiile. sir. 
Please it your faithful learning to give place 
To grey h:iirs and to wisdom : and. moreover. 

If vol] had tamed for the benediction 

Gul. (somewhat abashed.) I said grace to 

myself. 
Osw. (not minding him )— And waited for the 
company of others. 
It had lieen better fasiiion. Time has been, 
1 should have told a guest at Devorgoil, 
Bearing hunself thus forward, he was saucy. 
[He stals himself, and helps the company 
and hunself in dumb-show There 
should be a contrast between the preci- 
sion of his aristocratic ciinhtt/, and 
the rude under-breeding o/ GuUcram- 
mer. 
Osw (having tasted the dish next him) Why, 

this is venison. Eleanor! 
Gul VM\ What! Let's see— 

[Pushes across Oswald and helps himself. 
It may be venison — 
m sure 'tis not beef, veal, mutton, lamb, or 
pork. 
Eke I am sure, that be it what it will. 



It is not half so good as sausages, 
Or as a sow's face sows'd. 

O.^w. Eleanor, whence all this? 

Ele Wait til! to-mnrrow, 

You shall know all. It was a happy chance 
'I hat furnish'd us to meet so many guests. 

[Fdls inne. 
Try if your cup he not as richly garnish'd 
As is your trenclier. i 
Kat. (apart ) My aunt adheres to the good 
cautious maxim 
Of,—" Eat your pudding, friend, and hold yo r 
tongue." 
Osw (tastes the wine.) It is the grape of 
Bordeaux. 
Such dainties, once familiar to my board. 
Have been estranged from 'I long. 

[He again fills his glass, and continues 
to speak as he holds it up. 
Fill round, my friends — here is a treacherous 

friend t'i<»w 
Smiles in your face, yet seeks to steal the 

jewel. 
Which is distinction between man and brute — 
1 mean our reason — this he does, ami smiles. 
But are not all friends treacherous ? — one shall 

cross you 
Even in your dearest interests — (me shall 

slander you — 
This steal your daughter, that defraud your 

pur.se ; 
But this gay flask f>f Bordeaux will but borrow 
Your sense of moral sorrows for a season. 
And leave, instead, a gav delirium. 
Methmks my brain, unused to such gav visi- 
tants. 
The influence feels already !— we will revel ! — 
Our banquet shall be loud !— it is our last. 
Katleen, thy song. 
Kat. Not now, my lord — I mean to sing to- 
night 
For this same moderate, grave, and reverend 

clergyman; 
I'll keep my voice till then. 
Ele Your round refusal shows but cottage 

breeding. 
Kat. Ay, my good aunt, for I was coltage- 
iiiirtured, 
.And tauglit. I think, to prize my own wild will 
Above all sacrifice to compliment 
Here is a huntsman— in his eyes I read it. 
He sings the marlial song my'uncle hwes. 
What time fierce Claver'se with his Cavaliers, 
Atijuring the new change of government. 
Forcing his fearless way through timorous 

friends. 
And enemies as timorous, left the capital 
To rouse in James "s cause the distant High- 
lands. 
Have you ne'er heard the song, my noble 
uncle ? 
Osw. Have I not heard, wench ? — It was I 
rode next him, 
'Tis thirty summers since— rode by his rein ; 
We marclied on through the alarm d city. 
As sweeps the osprey through a flock of 

gulls. 
Wlio scream and flutter, but dare no resistance 
Against the bold sea-empress. — They did 

murmur. 
The crowds before us, in their sullen wrath. 



Wooden treiicher.-i should be used, and tlie quanjh, a 
)ltisli driukiiig-cup. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, 



Mid lh')se whom we liad p:is-ed, gathering 

fre-h courage. 
Cried hiiVo<; in the rear— we minded them 
E'en as the brave bark minds the bursting 

billiiws. 
Which, yielding to her bows, hurst on her 

sides. 

And ripple in her wake.— Sing me that strain. 

[To Leonard 

And thou shalf have a meed I seldmn tender, 

Bec:iuse they re all [ h;ive to sive— my thanks. 

Lto. Nav, if you 'II bear with what 1 cannot- 

help. 
A voice that's rough with hollowing to the 

hounds, 
111 sins the song even as old Rowland taught 

me. 

SO NO.^ 

Air—" The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee." 
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se 

that spoke. 
Ere the King's crown shall fall there are 

crowns lo be broke; 
80 let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, 
Come follow tlie bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

" Come till np my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the West Port, and let me gang 

frt^e, 
And it's room for the bonnets of Bouiiy 

Dundee I" 
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 
The hells are rung backward, the drums tliey 

are heat; 
But the Provost, douce man, said "Just e'en 

let him be. 
The Glide Town is weel quit of that Deil of 

Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 



1 " Dundee, enraged at his enemies, aud still more at his 
friends, resolved to retire to ihe Highlands, and to make 
preparations for civil war, but with seiieiy; for he had 
been ordered by James to make no publi'- insurrection until 
assistance should be sent him from Ireland. 

'■ VVhiUt Dundee was in this temper, information w;is 
brought him, whether true or false is uncertain, ihal some 
of the Covenanlers had associated themselves to assassinal* 
h m. in revenge for his former severiiies against their 
parly. He flew to the Convention and demanded jnsiice. 
The Duke of Hamilion, who wished lo gei rid of a tiouble- 
•orae adversary, treated his "omplaint with neglect; and 
ill order to sting him in the (endere-t part, reflected upon 
thai courage which could be alarmed by imaginary dangers. 
Dundee left Ihe house in a r.ige, mounted his horse, and 
with a troop of fifty horsemen who had deserted to him 
from his regiment in England, galloped through the city. 
Being asked by one of his friends, who slopt him, ' Where 
he was going ?* he waved his hat, and i^ reported to have 
answered, • Wherever the spirit of Montrose shall d re. t 
me ' In passing under the walls of the Caslle, he stopt, 
scrambled up lbs preiipice at a place difficult and danger- 
ous, and held a i onference with Ihe Duke of G-rdon at a 
postern-gale. Ihe m irksof which are still to be seen, though 
the gate tself is built up. Hoping, in vain, to infuse the 
vigour of his own spirit into the Duke, he pressed him to 
retire with him into the HigblandB, raise his vassals there, 
who were numerous, brave, aud faithful, and leave the 
command of the Castle lo Winram, the lieutenant gover- 
nor, an officer on whom Dumlee coulJ rely. The Duke 
conceal^-d his timidity under the excuse of a soldier. • A 
soldier,' said he, • cannot in honour quit the post that is 
assigned him.' The novelty of the sight drew numbers lo 
the foot of the rock upon which the conference was held. 
These numbers every minute increased, and. in the end, 
were mistaken for Dundee's adherents. The Convention 
was then sittiDg: news were carried thither that Dundee 



As he rode down the sanctified bends of the 

Bow, 
Ilk carline was flytins and slukin; her pow; 
But the young plan's of grace, they look'd 

couthie and slee. 
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny 

Dundee ! 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket 

was cranim'd 
As if half the West had set trvst lo he 

hans'd ; 2 
There was spite in each look, there was fear 

in each e'e. 
As they waich'il for the bonnets of Bonny 

Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, <kc. 

These cowl.s of Kilmarnock had spits and had 



But they shrunk to close heads, and the cause- 
way was free. 
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

He spurt'd to the foot of the proud Castle 

rock. 
And with the say Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 

words or three. 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, &,c. 

The Gordon demands of him which way he 

goes— 
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Mon- 

Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings 

of me. 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
CiMiie fill up my cup. &c. 



645 > 



was at Ihe gates with an army, and had prevailed upon the 
governor of Ihe Castle to fire upon Ihe town. The Duke 
of Hamilton, whose intelligence wa.s better, had Ihe pre- 
sence of mind, by improving the moment of agitation, lo 
overwhelm the one parly and provoke the other, by Iheir 
fears. He ordered the doors of the house to be shut, and 
the keys to be laid on the table before him. He cried out, 
' That there was danger within as well as without doors ; 
that traitors must be held in confinement until the pre.sent 
danger was over : but that the friends of liberty had no- 
thing to fear, for that thousaniis were ready to start up in 
their defence, at the stamp of his foot.' He ordered the 
drums to be beat and the trumpets to sound through the 
city In an instant vast swarms of those who had been 
brought into town by him and Sir John Dalrymple from 
the western counties, a4id who had been hitherto hid in 
garrets and cellars, showed themselves in the streets; not, 
indeed, in the proper habiliments of war. but in arms, and 
with looks fierce and sullen, as if they felt disdain at their 
former concealment. Tiiis unexpected sight increased the 
noise and tumuli of the town, which grew loudest in the 
square adjoining lo the house where the members were 
confined, and appeared still louder to those who were 
within, because they were ignorant of Ihe cause from 
which the tumult arose, and caught contagion from the 
anxious looks of each other. After some hours, Ihe doors 
were thrown open, and the Whig members, as Ihey went 
out, were received with acclamations, and those of the 
opposite party with the threats and curses of a prepared 
populace. Terrified by the prospect of future alarms, 
many of the adherents of James quitted the Convention, 
and retired to the country; most of them changed sides; 
only a very few of the most resolute continued Iheir 
attendance."— Bairjmpic'* Memoirs, vol. ii , p. 305. 



2 Previous to 1784, Ihe Grassmarket 
plice of execution at Edinburgh. 



3mmoB 



^T 



/ 



V. 



^ 



^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



646 

"There are hills heyond Penlland, and lands 

bnyond Forth, 
If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs 

in the North; 
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand 

times three, 
Will cry hoighl for the bonnet of Bonny 

Dundee, 
Come fill lip my cup, &c. 
•' There's brass on the target of barken'd bull- 
hide; 
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles 

beside : 
The br:iss shall be burnish'd, the steel shall 

flasli free. 
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, ic. 
"Away to ihe hills, to the caves, to the 

rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the 

fox; 
And tremble, false Whig:s, in the midst of your 

glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 

nie 1" 

Come fill up my cup, &c. 
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets 

were blown. 
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen 

rode on. 
Till on Havelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's 

lee. 
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny 

Dundee, 
Come fill up my cup. come fill up my can. 
Come saddle the horses and call up the men. 
Come open your shIps and let me eae free. 
For it's up with the bonnets of Botiny Dundee ! 

Ele. Katleen, do thousing: now. Thy uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We must not let his humour ebb again. 

Kni. But I'll do better, aunt, than if I sun?, 
For Flora can sing blithe; so can this hunts- 
man. 
As he has shown e'en now; let them duet it. 
Osw. Well, huntsman, we must give to 
freakish maiden 
The freedom of her fancy. — Raise the carol. 
And Flora, if she can, will join the measure. 

SONG. 

When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near, 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drown'd ; 
When puns are made, and bumpers quaff'd, 
When wild Wit shoots his roving shaft, 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has laugh'd. 

Then is our banquet crown'd. 
Ah gay, 

Then is our banquet crown'd. 
When glees are sung, and catches troll'd, 
And baslifulness grows bright and bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold, 

And age no longer dull ; 
When chimes are brief, and cocks do crow, 
To tell us it is time to go. 
Yet how to part we do not know. 

Then is our feast at full, 
Ah gay, 

Then is our feast at full. 



Osw. (rises loi.th the cup in his hand.) Devor 
goil's feast IS full — 
Drink to the pleils;e ! 

[A tremrndoiis burst of Ihuriier followt 
these words vf the Stmo ; and the 
Liuhlnmi) should seem to strike the 
suit of black Armour, which falls with 
a crash. i All rise in surprise and 
fear except Gullcranmier. who tum- 
bles over backwards, and lies still. 
Osw. That sounded like the judgment-peal 
— the roof 
Still trembles with the volley. 

Dur. Hnppv those 

Who are prepared to meet such fearful sum- 
mons — 
Leonard, wh;it dost thou there? 

Leo. (supporiinij Flo.) The duty of a man- 
Supporting innt>cence. Were it the final 

call, 
I were not misemploy'd. 

Osw The armour of my grandsire hath 
fall'M down. 
And old saws have spoke truth. — (Musing.) 

The fiftieth year — 
Devorgoil's feast at fullest ! What to think of 

Leo. (lifting a scroll which had fallen with the 
armour. ) 
This may inform us. 

[Attetnpis to read the manuscript, shakes 
his head, and gives il lo (Oswald. 
But not to eyes uniearn'd it tells its tidinsrs. 
Osw. Hawks, hounds, and revelling consumed 
the hours 
I should have given to study. 

[Looks at the mnnuscript. 
These characters T spell not more than thou. 
They are not of our day, and, as I think, 
Not of our language. — Where's our scholar 

now. 
So forward at the banquet? Is he laggard 
Upon a point of learning^ 

Leo. Here is the man of letter'd dignity, 
K'en in a piteous rase. 

[Drags Gullcrammer/orMwrfl, 
Osw Art waking, craven? canst thou read 
this scroll? 
Or art thou only leani'd in sowsing swine's 

flesh. 
And prompt in eating it? 
Gul. Eh— ah 1— oh— ho!— Have you no better 
time 
To tax a man with riddles, than the moment 
When he scarce knows whether he's dead or 
livin-? 
Osw Confound the pedant? — Can you read 
the scioll. 
Or can you not, sir ? If you can, pronounce 
Its meaning speedily. 

Gul Can I read it, quotha ! 

When ;it our learned University. 
I snmW first premiiiin for Hebrew learning.— 
Which was a pound of high-dried Scottish 

snuflF, 
And half a peck of onions, with a bushel 
Of curious oai meal,— our learn 'd Principal 
Did say, " Melchisedek, thou canst do any 

thins!" 
Now comes he with his paltry scroll of parch 
meiit. 



1 I should tliink this may be contrived, by having » 
transparent lig-zag in the flat sreiie, immedialely abo»e 
the armour, suddenly and Tery strongly illuminated. 



y^ 




\ 



DUNDEE RIDING THROUGH THE TOWN 
lie waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown. 
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen rode nn.—Page 616. 



/- 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, 



G47 



Ami, " Can you read it ?"— After sur.h affront, 
Tiie point IS, if I loill. 

Osw. A point soon solved. 

Unless you clioo*.e to sleep iimons: the (Vo^s; 
For UM)k you. sir. there is the chamber window. 
Beneuth it lies the lake. 
Ele. Kind master Gullcrammer, beware my 
husliand. 
He brooks no contradiction — 'ti« his fault, 
And in his wia;h he's dangerous. 

Gxil. (looks fit the scroll, and mutters as if 
reatltna. ) 
Hnshgaholh hotch-potch — 
A simple matter ihis to make a rout of— 
Ten rashersen bacon, nvsh-mash venison. 
Sausagian 5o«;sfrf-/ocr—'Tis a simple catalogue 
Of our small supper— made by theijrave sage 
Wiiose pre-^cience knew this night that we 

should feast 
On venison, iiash'd sow's face, and saiisases, 
And buns his steel-coai for a supper bell — 
E'en let us to our provender again, 
For It is written we shall finish it. 
And bless oiir stars the lightning left it us. 
Osio This must be impudence or igno- 
rance I — 
The spirit of rough Erick stirs within me, 
Audi will knock thy brains out if thou pal- 

terest. ! 
Expound I lie scroll to me ! 

Gill. You're over hasty ; 

And yet you may be right too— 'Tis Samaritan, 
Now'l look clo.seron't, and 1 did take it 
For simple Hebrew. 

Dili: ' lis Hebrew to a simpleton. 
That we see plainly. friend— Give me the scroll. 
GtU. Alas, good friend! what would you do 

wit h It ? 
Diir (lakes it from him.) My best to read it, 
sir— 
The character is Saxon, 
Used at no distant date within this district; 
And thus the tenor runs— nor in Samaritan, 
Nor simple Hebrew, but in wholesome Eng- 
li>h:— 
Devorgoil. thy bright moon waneth, 
And the rust thy harness staineth ; 
Servile guests the banquet soil 
Of the once proud Devorgoil. 
But should Black Erick's armour fall. 
Look for guests shall scare you all ! 
They shall come ere peep of day,— 
Wake and waich. and hope and pray. 
Kat. {to Flo.) Here is fine foolery— an old 
wall shakes 
At a loud thunder-clap — down comes a suit 
Of ancient armour, when its wasted braces 
Were all too rotten to sustain its weight — 
A beggar cries out, .Miracle ! and your fither, 
W'eiyhiiig the importance of his name and 

lineage. 
Must needs believe the dotard ! 
Flo Mock not, I pray you; this may be too 

serious. 
Kat. And if I live till morning. I will have 
The power to tell a better tale of wonder 
Wrought on wise Gullcrammer. I'll go pre- 
pare me. [Exit. 
Flo. I have not Katleen's spirit, yet I hate 
This Gullcrammer too heartily, to stop 
Any disgrace that's hasting towards him. 
Osw. (to whom the Beggar has been again 
reodinrj the scroll ) 
'Tis a strange prophecy !— The silver moon, 



Now waning slowly, is our ancient bearing- 
Strange anil unfitting guests — 

G'tii. {i/iterri/piiw/ hirn.) Ay, ay. the matter 
Is, as yon say, all moonshine in the water. 
Osw. How mean you. sir? (threatening ) 
Out To show that 1 can rhyme 

With yonder bluegown. Give me breath'and 

time, 
I w'ill maintain, in spite of his pretence. 
Mine exposition had the better sense — 
It spoke good victuals and increase of cheer; 
And his.more guests to eat what we have here — 
An increment right needless. 

Osw. Get thee gone ; 

To kennel, hound ! 

GuL I he hound will have his bone 

[Takes tip the platter of meat, and a fltisk. 
Osw. Flora, show him his chamber — take 
him hence. 
Or, by the name I bear, I'll see his brains. 
Gnl Ladies, good night I — T spare you, sir, 
the pains. 

[Exit, lighted by Flora with a lamp. 
Osw. The owl is fled.— I'll not to bed to- 
night ; 
'('here is some change impending o'er this 

house. 
For good or ill. I would some holy man 
V\ ere here. ti> counsel us what vie should do! 
Yon witless tliiii-iaced gull is but a cassock 
StntFd out wiih chaff and straw. 
Dur. (asswning an iiir of dignity ) I have been 
wo.nt. 
In other days, to point to erring mortals 
The rock whw.li they should anchor on. 

lUf holds up a Cro.ss — the rest lake a 
posture of dcvotioii, and the Scene 
closes. 



^: 



ACT HI.— SCE.NM-; 1. 

A ruinous Anteroom m the Caslle. Enter Kat- 
leen. fantastically dr' ssid to pljii, the Character 
of Cockledemoy, with the visor in her hand. 

Kat. I've scarce had time to glance at my 

sweet person. 
Yet this much could I see. with Haifa glance, 
iMy elfish dress becomes me — Til not mask 

me 
Till I have seen Lance Blackthorn I ance ! 

I say— [Calls. 

Blackthorn, make haste ! 

Enter Blackthorn, half dressed as Owlspiegle. 

Bla. Here am I — Blackthorn in the upper 
half. 

Much at your service ; but my nether parts 

Are gohlinized and Owlspiegled. 1 liad much 
ado 

To get these trankums on. 1 judge Lord 
Erick 

Kept no go d house, and starved his quondam 
baiber. 
Kat. Pence, ass. and hide you — Gullcram- 
mer is corning; 

He left the hall before, but then took fright. 

And e'en sneak'd back. 1 he Lady Flora 
lights him— 

Trim occupation for her ladyship ! 

Had you seen Leonard, when she left the hall 

On such tine errand ! 



■^ 



hall ^ 

y4 



^ 648 



X 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Bla. 'I Ills Giillcnimnier slifill liave a bob 
extraordmarv 
For mv good comrade's sake. — But tell nie, 

katleen, 
What dress is this of yours ? 
Knt. A page's, fool '! 

Bin. Vm arconnted no preat scholar, 

But 'tis a pafje that 1 would fain peruse 
A little closer. [ApproarhfiS her. 

Kal. Put on your spectacles. 

And try if you can read it at this distance, 
For vou shall come tio nearer. 
Bla But there is nothing, then, save rank 
imposture. 
In all these tales of gohlinry at Devorsoil? 
Kill My aunt's grave lord thinks otherwise, 
supposing 
'I hat his great name so interests the Heavens. 
That miracles must needs bespeak its fall— 
I wduld that I were in a lowly cottage 
Beneath the greenwood, on its walls no ar- 
mour 

To court the levin-holt 

Bla. And a knid husband. Katleen, 

To ward such dangers as must needs come 

niKh — 
Mv father's cottage stands so low and lone. 
That you would think it solitude it.self; 
The greenwood shields it from the northern 

blast, 
And, in the woodbine round its latticed case- 
ment. 
The linnet's sure to build the earliest nest 
In all the forest. 
Kal. Peace, you fool, they come. 

Flora lirjhts GuUcrammer across the Stage. 

Kat. {when they have passed.) Away with 
you ! 
On with your cloak— be ready at the signal. 
Bla. And shall we talk of that same cottage, 
Katleen, 
At better leisure T I have much to .say 
In favour of my cottage. 

Kat. If you .will be talking. 

You know I can't prevent you. 

Bla. That's enong-h. 

{Aside.) I shall have leave, I see, to spell the 

page 
A little closer, when the due lime comes. 



SCENE II. 

Scene, chanaes to Gullcrammer's Sleeping 
Apartment. He enters, ushered in by Flora. 
who sets on the table a flask, with the lamp. 

Flo. A flask, in case your Reverence be 
athirsty : 
A lieht. in case your Reverence be afear'd ; — 
And so sweet slumber to your Reverence. 
Gtd. Kmd Mistress Flora, will you? — eh! 

eh I eh ! 
Flo. Will 1 what? 
Gtil. Tarry a lit'let 

Flo. (sniilinrj.) Kind Master GuUcrammer. 
How can you ask me aught so unbecoming? 
Gttl. Oh, fie, fie, fie ! — Believe me, Mistress 
Flora. 
'Tis not for that— but being guided through 
Such dreary galleries, stairs, and suites of 
rooms. 



To this same cubicle, I'm somewhat loth 
To hid adieu to pleasant company. 
Flo. A flattering compliment !— In plain truth 

you are frishten'd. 
Gul. What, frighten'd ? — I — I — am not 

timorous. 
Flo. Perhaps you've heard this is our haunted 
chamber ? 
But then it is our best — Your Reverence 

knows. 
That in all tales which turn upon a gl.ost. 
Your traveller belated has the luck 
To enjoy the haunted room — it is a rule : — 
To some it were a hardship, but to you, 

Who are a scholar, and not tmiorous 

Gtd. I did not say I was not timorous, 
I said I was not temerarious — 
ril to rhe hall again. 

Flo. You'll do your pleasure. 

But you have somehow moved my fatlier's 

anser. 
And you had better meet our playful Uwl- 

spieffle- 
So is our goblin call'd— than face Lord Oswald. 

Gul Owlspiegle?— 
It is an uncouth and outlandish name, 
And in mine car sounds fiendish. 

Flo. Hu.sh. hush, hush ! 
Perhaps he hears us now— (m on wider lone) — 

A merry spirit : 
None of your elves that pinch folks black and 

blue 
For lack of cleanliness. 

Gul As for that. Mistress Flora, 
My taffeta doublet hath been duly brush'd. 
My shirt hebdoininal put on this morning. 
Flo. Why, you need fear no goblins. But 
this Owlspiegle 
Is of another class ;— yet has his frolics ; 
Cuts hair, trims beards, and plays amid his 

antics 
The office of a sinful mortal barber. 
Such is at least the rumour. 

Gul. He will not cut my clotluis. or scar my 
face. 
Or draw my blood ? 

Flu. Enormities like these, 

Were never charseil a?ainsi liitii. 
Gul. And. Mistress Flora, would you smile 
on me, 
If. prick'd by the fond hope of your approval, 
I should endure this venture ? 

Flo. I do hope 

I shall have cause to smile. 

Gid. Well ! in that hope 

I will embrace the achievenienl for thy sake. 

[■She is going. 

Yet, stay, stay, stay ! — on second thouglits I 

will not — 
I've thousht on it, and" will the mortal 

cudgel 
Rather endure than face the ghostly razor I 
Your crab-tree's tough but blunt, — your 

razor's polish'd, 
But. as the proverb goes, 'tis cruel sharp : 
I'll to thy father, and unto his pleasure 
Submit these destined shoulders 

Flo. But you shall not. 

Believe me. sir, you shall not; he is desperate. 
And better far be trinim"d by ghost or goblin. 
Than by my sire in anger ; there are stores 
Of hidden treasure, too, and Heaven knows 

what. 
Buried among these ruins— you shall stay. 



-^ 



jL 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



{Avnrt ) And if indeed there lie sucli sprite as 
Owl.spiesile, 

And. lackhi]^ linn, that tliy fear plague thee 
not 

Worse than a goblin. I have iniss'd my pur- 
pose. 

Which else stands %oo\ in either case.— Gond- 
nijfht. sir 

[ EiXil, and dnuh.'f-lorlts the door. 
Gid. Nay. hol.i ye. hold '.— .Nay. gentle .Mis- 
tress Flora, 

Wherefire I his ceremony ? — She has lock'd 
trie in. 

Aiiil lefi nie to the gohliii! — {Lislcnimj) — So. 

1 hear her liuhr font t ip to snnh a distance, 
'I'iiat I bi-lieve th^ casth-'s breailth divides nie 
From hnniaii coii|):inv I'm ill ai ease — 
Btu if this cit;idel {Lnvimj his hiind on kis 

siomorh) were better victual'd, 
It would be befer mann'd 

[ Sits down and drinks. 
She has n footstep light, and taper ancle 

\_Chuckles. 
Aha! th;ir ankle ! yet. confound it too. 
But for I hose charms Melchisedek had been 
SiiiI'j: in his hed at Mucklewhame— I say. 
Cmfound her footstep and her instep too, 
'lo use a cohbler'.s phrase.- — There 1 vvas 

quaint. 
Now. what to do in this vile ciroiimsfance, 
To watch or go to bed. 1 c;in"t determine ; 
Were 1 a-hed. the ghost might catch me nap- 
ping. 
And if I watch, my terrors will increase 
As glvostly hours approach. I'U to my bed. 
E'en in mv taffet.i doublet, shrink my head 
Beneal'i the clothes — leave the lamp burning 
there, [Sets it on the table 

And trust to fate the issive 

[//e lays his cloik aside, and brushes il, 
as from habit, starling at every mo- 
ment ;' ties a napkin over his head; 
then shrinks beneath the bed-clothes. 
He starts onre or twice, and at lenuth 
seems to go to sleep. A bell lolls one 
He Irnpt up in his bed 
Gal. I had jusi coax'd myself to sweet for- 
getful ness. 
And that confounded bell— I hate all bells, 
Ex ept a dinner hell— and yet I He. too.— 
1 love the bell that soon shall tell the parish 
Of G^ihljlesnosc. Melchi.seilek's incumbent — 
And shall the future minister of Gabblegoose, 
VVh()m his parishioners will soon require 
To exorcise their ghosts, detect their witches, 
Lie shiverms in his bed for a pert eohlin. 
Whom, be he switch'd or cocktaild, horn'd or 

poll'd, 

A few tisht Hebrew words will soon send 

packineT 
Tush ! I will rouse the parson up within me. 
And bid defiance [A distant noise ) In the 

name of Heaven. 
What sounds are these!— Lord! this comes 

of rashness ! 
[ Draws his head down nndtr the bed-clothes 

Duet without, between Owlspiegle and Cockle- 
demoy. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My boy, my boy 



COCKl.EDKMOY. 

Here, father, here. 

OWLSI>IF,r.LE. 

Now the pole-star 's red and burning. 
And the witch's spindle turning. 

Appear, appear I 

Gid (who haso'jnin raised himself, and listened 
Xjoil'i i/rrnt terror to the I net.) 1 have 
heard of the devil's <lam before. 
But never of his child. iNow, Heaven deliver 

me ! 
The Papi.-ls have the better of us there.— 
They have their Latin prayers, cut and dried, 
Anil pat for such occ.ision— I can think 
Oil nought but the vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 
My boy. my hoy. 

We'll sport us here — 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Our gambols play. 
Like elve and fay ; 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

And domineer. 



Laugh, frolic, and frisk, till the morning appear 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Lift latch— open clasp- 
Shoot bolt — and burst hasp ! 
[The door opens with violence. Enter 
Blackthorn as Owlspiegle. fantasti- 
cally dressed as a Spanish Barber, 
tall, thin, emaciated, and i/hostly; 
Katleen as Cockledemoy, attends as 
his Paije. AU their manners, tones, 
and motions, are fantastic, as those of 
Goblins. They make two or three 
times the circuit of the Room, without 
seeming to see GullciammHr. The^ 
the7i resume their Chant, or Recilatiix. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy! 

My boy, my b<jy. 
What wilt Ihou do that will give thee joy! 
Wilt thou ride on the midnight owlT 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

No ; for the weather is stormy and foul. 

OWLSPtEGLS. 

Cockledemoy! 

My boy. my boy. 
What wilt thou do I hat can give thee joy ? 
VViih a needle for a sword, and a thimble for 

a hat. 
Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle catt 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Oh, no ! she has claws, and I like not thit. 

Gui. I see the devil is a dotijig father. 
And spoils his children— "lis the surest way 
To make cursed imps of them. They see me 

n t— 
What will they think on next? It must be 

own'd, 
They have a dainty choice of occupations. 



-M- 

649 \ 



X 



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^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cof'kle(]emny ! 

My hoy. itiy boy, 
What shall we do ihat'cnn eive thee joy? 
Shall we go seek for a cuckoo's nest? 

COOKLEOEMOY. 

Thai's best, that's best. 

BOTH. 

About, about. 
Like an elvish scout, 
The cuckoo's a gall, and we'll soon find him 
out. 

[ITiey search the room with mops nnd 
mows. Al lenafh Cocklpdeniov^j/wpj 
on the bed. GnWcrawiner rmses him- 
self half up, supporting himself by his 
hands. CwMsdi-viwy does the same, 
and arins at him, then skips from the 
bid, and runs to Owlspiegle. 

COCKLEDEMQ-Sr. 

I've found ihe nest. 

And in it a giust. 
With a .lable cloak and a taffeta vest ; 
He must be wash'd, and triinni'd, and dress'd. 
To please the eyes he loves the best, 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

That's best, that's best. 

BOTH. 

He must be shaved, and tirmm'd, and dress d, 
To please the eyes he loves the best. 

[Tfiey arrange shavina things on the 
table, and sing as they piepnre them. 

BOTH. 

Know that all of the humbug, the bite, and 

Ihe buz, 
Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit 

to us. 

OWLSPIEGLE {sharpening Ms Tatar.) 

The sword this is made of was lost in a 
fray 

By a fop, who first bullied and then ran 
away; 

And the strap, from the hide of a lame racer, 
sold 

By Lord Match, to his friend, for some hun- 
dreds in s:old. 

BOTH. 

For all of the humhup, the bite, and the buy. 
Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit 
to us. 

COCKLEDEMOY {placing ths napMn.) 

And this cambric napkin, so white and so fair. 
At an usurer's funeral I stole from the heir. 

[Drops something from a viol, as yoi?ig 
to make suds. 
This dewdrop I caught from one eye of his 

mother. 
Which wept while she ogled the parson with 
t'other. 

BOTH. 

For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz. 
4)f the make-believe world, becomes forfeit i 
to us. 



OWLSPIEGLE {arranging the lather and the batin.) 

!\1v snap-hall is of the mild alkali made. 
Which the soft dedicator employs in his trade; 
And it froths with the pith of a promise, tliat'a 

sworn 
By a lover at night, and forgot on the mom. 

BOTH. 

For all of the humbus, the bite, and the buz. 
Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit 
to us. 

Halloo, halloo. 
The blackcock crew. 
Thrice shriek'd hath the owl, thrice rroak'd 

hath the raven. 
Here, ho! Master Gullcrammer, riae and be 
shaven! 



Gul. (who has been observing them .) I'll pluck 

a spirit up; thev're merry poblins. 

And will deal mildly. I will sooltie their 

humour ; 
Besides, mv beard lacks trimmins. 

{He rises from his bid. aitd advances mtli 

great symptoms of trejiidaf/on, hut 

affecting an air of composure 'Hie 

Goblins receive him with fantastic 

ceremony. 

Gentlemen, 'tis yrxir will I should betrimm'd — 

E'en do your pleasure. {They point to a seat 

—he sits ) 

Think, howso'er, 
Of me as one who hates to see his blood ; 
Therefore I do beseech thee, sisnior, 
Be gentle in your craft. I know those barbers. 
One would have harrows driven across his 



Owlspiegle shaves Gullcrammer, white Cockle- 
demoy sings. 
Father never started hair, 
Shaved too close, or left too bare — 
Father's razor slips as glib 
As from courtly tongue a fib. 
Wiiiskers. mustache, he can trim in 
Fashion meet to please the women ; 
Sharp's his blade, perfumed his lather! 
Happy those are trimm'd by father! 

Gul. That's a good boy. I love to hear a 
child 
Stand for his father, if he were the devil. 

[He motions to rise. 
Traving your pardon, sir. — What ! sit again ? 
My hair lacks not your scissors. 

[Owlspiegle insists an his sittina. 
Nay, if you're peremptory, I'll ne'er dispute it, 
Nor eat the cow and nh()ke upon the tail- 
E'en trim me to your fashion. 

[Owlspiegle cuts his hair, and shaves 
his head, ridiculously. 

COCKLEDEMOY {sings ts bfforc.) 

Hair-breadth 'scapes, and hair-breadth snares, 

Hair-brain'd follies, vpiitiiips. cares. 

Part when father clips your hairs. 

If there is a hero frantic. 

Or a lover too romantic ;— 

If threescore seeks second spouse, 

Or fourteen lists lover's vow.s. 

Bring them here— for a Scotch boddle, 

Owlspiegle shall trim their noddle. 



y 



7^ 



THE DOOM OP DEVORGOIL 



[ 7Vy lake Ihf. napkin from ahnnl Gnll- 

cr:ittirTiei-'s neck Hf makes bows of 

nrk'ioto/pi/ijmenf, wfiirJ) they return 

pintiistirallg. and smi;— 

Thrifie crowd hath the hiackcdck, thrice 

rroak'd hath the raven, 
Aiiil Master Melchisedek Gullcranirner's 
^hiiveit! 
Gill. Mv friends, yon are too musical for me ; 
Bui ihi>ii?li 1 cannot cope with you in song. 
1 Would, in humble prose, inquire of you, 
If thir you will permit me to acquit 
E'en w'ltii Ihe i(ari)er"s oence the barber's 
service T [ They shake their heads. 

Or if there is aueht else th;it I can d<t for you. 
Sweet Mailer Owisp esjie, or your lovitis child, 
Tne hopeful CoChlrt'oioy? 

COCKLKDEMOY. 

S.r. you have been trimm'd of lale, 
SiMO.ith's yoiir chin, and bald your pate; 
I.est cold rheums siiouid work you harm, 
Ht^re's a cap to keep you warm. 

Gul Welcome, a.s Fortunatiis' wishing cap, 
For 'twas a cap that I was wishins for. 
(There I was quaint in suite of mortal terror ) 
[As he puts on the oip. a pair of ass's 
ears disewjage thfmsrlves 
Upon my faith, it is a dainty head-dress. 
And nnght become an alderman. — Thanks, 

sweet Monsieur, 
Thou'ri a con>iderat« youth 

[B>i!h (idhlins hnw with ceremony to 
Gnllcraniiner, who returns Ihfir salu- 
tation Owlspiesle descends hy Ihe 
trap-door. Cockledemoy sprinys out 
at witulow. 

SONG (without.) 

OWI.SPIEGLE. 

Cnrkledemov, mv hope, mv care. 
Where art thou now, O tell me where ^ 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I'p in the sky, 
On the bonny drasonfly. 
Come, father, come you too— 
She hJis four winss ;;nd slrensth enow. 
And her long body has room for two. 

Gul. Cockledemoy now is a naughty braf — 
Would have the poor old stitf-rump'd devil. 

his tather. 
Peril Ins fiendish neck. All bovs are thought- 
less. 

SONG. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Which way didst thou take T 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

f have fall'n in the lake — 
Help, father, for Beelzebub's sake. 
Gul. The imp is drown'd — a strange death 
for a devil, — 
0. may all boys take warnin?. and be civil ; 
Kespect their lovins sires, endure a chidine. 
Nor mam by nisht on dragonflies a-ridiug! 



' Cowaniii, npon necessity, assume 
i. frarful bravery ; tliiiiliing by this face 
To fasleu ID mea'« miods that they have courage." 
S'laitpsare. 




COCKLEDEMOY («i/if».) 

Nhw merrily, merrily, row I to shore. 

My bark is a bean-shell, a straw for on oar. 

OWSPIEOLE (JiTifi.) 

My life, my joy. 
My Cocklederiioy ! 

Gul. I can bear this no lonser— thus children 

are siioil'd. IStnkes into the tune. 

Master Owlspiegle, hoy ! 
He deserves to be whipp'd little CockledemnV ! 

[ Pieir voices are heard, as if dyino away 
Gul. They're gone ! — Now. am 1 scared, or 

am I not T 
I think the very desperate ecstasy 
Of fear lias given me courage ' This is 

strange, now. 
When they were here, I was not half so 

fnsiiren'd 
As now they're gone — they were a sort of 

company. 
U hat a s ran ire thing is use— A horn, a claw. 
The tip of a fiend's tail, was vvont to sc.ire me. 
Now am I with the devil hand and slove: 
His soap has lalher'd, and his razor shaved 

me ; 
I've joined him in a catch, kept time and tune. 
Could dine with him. nor ask for a long spoon ; 
And if I keep not better company 
What will become of me when I shall die ? 

[Exit. 



SCENE IIT. 

A Gothic Hall, waste and ruinous. Tin moon- 
lujht IS at limes seen Ihrnugh the shotted 
wmdotvs.^ Enter Kdliee.u and HIacklhorn — 
They have thrown q/f the more ludicrous parts 
of their disguise.. 

Kat 1 his wav— this way ; was ever fool so 

giili'd! 
Bla. I plav'd the barber better than I 
thoueht for. 
Well, I've an occupation in reserve. 
When the long-bow and merrv musket fail 

me — 
But. hark ye. pretty Katleen. 
Kat What should I liearken to t 

Bla. Art thou nm afraid. 
In these wild halls while playing feigned 

goblins. 
That we may meet with real ones ? 

Kat. Not a jot. 

My spirit is too light, my heart too bold, 
To fear a visit from the other world. 

Bla. But is not this the place, the verv hall 
In which men say that Oswalds grandfather. 
The black lord Erick, walks his peiinnce 

round? 
Credit me. Katleen, these half-moulder'd 

columns 
Have in their ruin something verv fiendish. 
And. if you'll fake an h(mest friend's advice, 
The sooner that you change their shattered 

splendour 
For the snug cottage that I told vou nf. 
Believe me. it will prove the blither dwelling. 



3 I have a notion Ihat this can be manaei-d sj aa t 
represent imperfect, or flitting moonlight, upon the pla 
of the Eidophusikon. 



V 



yA 



652 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 






Kal It" T e'er see that cottage, honest 
Blackthorn, 
BHljeVe me. it shnl! he from other motive 
Than fear of Brick's srienrre 

[A rustUng snnnd is hpard. 
Bla. I he:irtl a rUstlitia sound— 

Upon my life there's sumethins in the hull, 
Kaileen, hesides us two! 

Kat. A yeoman thou. 

A forester, and friffhten'd ! I wm sorry 
I grave the fotil's cap to poor GiiUcruninier, 
And let thy head eo bare. 

[The snntp rtishing sound in rrprnfrd. 
Bla. Wliv. are you mad. or hear you not the 

sound T 
Krtt. And if I do. T tnke small heed of it. 
Will you allow a maiden to he bolder 
I'hati vou, with beard on chin and sword nt 
eirdle T 
Bla. Nay. if 1 had my sword. 1 would not 
rare ; 
Thoush I ne'er heard of master of defence. 
So active at ins weapon as to brave 
The devil, or a shost.— See ! see ! see yonder ! 
iA Fiottre is imperfectly seen between two 
of the pillars. 
Kat. There's something moves, that's cer- 
tain, and the moonlight. 
Chased l)y the flittin? gale, is too imperfect 
To show its form ; but. in the name of God, 
I'll venture on it boldly. 

Bla. Wilt thou so T 

Were I alone, now, I were strongly tempted 
To trust my heels for safety ; but with thee. 
Be it fiend or fairy. I'll take risk to meet it. 
Kat. It stands full in our path, and we must 
pass it, 
Or tarry here all night. 
Bla. In its vile company ? 

[As they ndvnnre to\rnrds the Firjure. it 
is more plniulu distinguished, which 
might. 1 think, be contrived bu ravting 
successive screens of crape. The 
Figure is wrapped in a long robe, 
like the mantle of a Hermit, or 
Palmer. 
Pal. Ho! ye who thread by night these 
w'ildering scenes. 
In sarb of those who Ions have slept in death. 
Fear ye the company of those voU imitate ? 
BUk This is the devil, Katleen. let us flv ! 

[Runs off. 
Kat. I will not fly— why should H My nerves 
shake 
To look on this stranse vision, hut my heart 
Partakes not the alarm.— If thou dost come in 

Heaven's name. 
In Heaven's naine art thou welcome! 
Pal 1 come, by Heaven permitted. Quit 
this castle : 
There is a fate on't— if for eood or evil. 
Brief space shall soon determine. In that 

fate. 
If ffood. by lineage thoti canst nothing claim ; 
if evil, much mayst suffer. — Leave these 
precincts. 
Kat. Whaie'er thon art, be answer'd — 
Know. T will not 
Desert the kinswoman who train'd my youth : 
Know, that I will not quit my frienil, my 

Flora; 
Know that I will not leave the aged man 
Whose roof has shelter'd me. This is my 
resolve— 



If evil come. 1 aid niv friends to bear it; 
If good, mv part shall he to see them prosper, 
A portion in their happiness from which 
No fiend can bur me. 

Pal. Maid, before thy coiirRge, 

Firm built on innocence, even helnas of nature 
More powerful far than thine, give place and 

Take then this key, and wait the event with 
CoUrase. 
[He drops the hey — He disappears 
grndunlly— the moonlight failing at 
the same lime. 
Kat. {after a pause.) Whate'er it was, 'ti* 
gone ! .Mv head turns round— 
The blood that latelv fortified my heart 
Now eddies in full torrent to my brain, 
And makes wild work with reason. I will 

haste. 
If that my steps can bear me so far safe. 
To living company. What if I meet it 
Asain in the long aisled or vaulted passage T 
And if I do. the stri>ng support that bore me 
Through this appalling interview, again 
Shall strensthen and uphold me. 
[As she steps forward she stumbles over the hey. 
What's this T The key ? — there may be mys, 

tery in't. 
I'll to my kinswoman, when this dizzy fit 
Will give me leave to choose my way arieht. 
[She sits down exhaustea 

Re-enter Blackthorn, with a drawn sword and 
torch. 

Bla. Katleen ! What, Katleen ! — What a 

wretch was I 
To leave her ! — Katleen, — I am weapon'd 

now. 
And fear nor do? nor devil —She renlie.'* not ! 
Beast that 1 was— nav, worse than beast ; the 

stas. 
.As timorous as he is. fi?hts for his hind. 
What's to be done?— I'll search this cursed 

castle 
From dungeon to the battlements ; if I find her 

not, 

I'll fline me from the hishest pinnacle 

Kat. (who has somewhat uathered her spirits, in 

consequence of his entrance, comes behind 

and touches him ; he .ffarts } Brave .sir ! 
I'll spare you that rash leap — You're a bold 

woodsman ! 
Surely I hope that from this night hencefor- 
ward 
You'll never kill a hare, since you're akin to 

them ; 

I could laugh — bat that my head's so 

dizzv. 
B'a Lean on me, Katleen — By my honest 
word, 

1 thouffht vou close behind— I was surprised, 
!Vot a iot friffhten'd. 

Kat. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy 
cottase. 
And then to show me at what slisht expense 
Of manhood I might master thee and it. 
Bla. I'll take the risk of that— This goblin 
business 
Tame rather unexpected ; the best hr.rse 
U'ill start at sudden sights. Try tne affain, 
And if I prove not true to bonny Katleen, 
Hang me in mine own bowstring. 

[Exeunt. 



7 



Z 



y- 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



SCENE IV. 

The Scene, returns to the Apartment at the 
beqinmnQ ot Art Seronii. U>wakl and Dur- 
wanl are discovered with Eleanor. Flora, owrf 
l^diiaril — Kiirwaid shuts a Prayer-book, 
which he seenis to have been reading. 

Bur 'Tis true— the difference betwixt the 
churches, 
Which zeainis hive to dwell on. to the wise 
Of either flock are of far less iiii[)oriance 
Than those great truths to which all Christian 

men 
Siihscnlie with equal reverence. 

Osw We thank thee, father, for the holy 
nttice. 
Still best performed when the pastor's tongue 
Is eclio III his lireasi : of jarj inir creeds 
li III lieseenis a layman's tongue to speak.— 
V\ here have you stowed yon prater f 

{To Flora. 

Flo. Safe in the gohlin-clianiher. 

Ele The sohlin-chaniher! 

Miiideii. wert thou frantic ?— if his Heverence 
H:ive sntt'er'd harm hy waspish Owlspiegle, 
Be sure thou shalt abye it. 

Flo. Here he conies, 

Can answer for himself! 

EnlfT Gullcramtiier. in the .tashion in which 
Uwlspieale had put him : linvmu the .tool's-rnp 
on his head, and lowet nbnul his nic/s. 6fC His 
manner Ihrouuh the scene is wild and txtrava- 
(jnut. as ij the fnt/ht had a lUtle ujfectid Ins 
brain. 
Dur. A goodly spectacle ! — Is there such a 

gohllll. 

{To Osiv.) Ur has sheer terror made him such 
lis u re ? 

Osw. There is a sort of wavering tradition 
Of a inalicioiis imp who teazed all strangers; 
My father wont to call him Owlspiegle. 

Gut Who talks of Ovvlspietfle ? 
Me IS an honest fellow for a devil. 
So is his son, the Impef d Cockle'iiioy. 

{Sinys.) 

" My Iiope, my joy. 
My Cockledenioy 1" 

Leo. The friol's bewitch'd— the goblin hath 
furnish'd him • 
A cap which well befits his reverend wisdom. 
Fig. If I could ihiiiK he had lost his slender 
wiis, 
I should be sorry for the trick they phiy'd him. 
Leo. O fear him not; it were a foul reflec- 
tion 
On any tiend of sense and reputation. 
To fiich such |)etty wares as Ins poor brains. 
Dur. V\nat saw'st thou, sir? ^\ hat heard'st 

thou ] 
Gul. What was't I saw and heard ? 
That which oUl greybeards. 
V\"lio conjure Hebrew into .^n2:lo-Saxon. 
To cheat starved barons with, can little guess 
at 
Flo. If he begin so roundly wi'h my father. 
His madne.ss is not like to save his hones. 
Gut. Sirs, niidnight came, and with it came 

1 had repo.-ed me afler some brief study ; 



Km as the soldier, sleepins in the trench, 
Keeus sword and musket by him. so I had 
.My little Hebrew manual prompt for service. 
Flo Saiisotjian sows' d-f ace ; that much of 

your Hebrew, 
Even 1 can bear in memory. 

Gill. We 'counter'd. 

The sroblin and myself, even in mid-chamber, 
And each stepp'd back a pace, as 'twere to 

study 
The foe he had to deal with ! — I bethought 

me, 
Gnosis ne'er have the first word, and so I 

took it. 
And fired a volley of round Greek at him. 
He stood his ground, and answer'd in the 

Syraic; 
I flank'd my Greek with Hebrew, and com- 

peH'd'him— [A 7wise heard 

Osw. Peace, idle prater! — Hark — what 

sounds are these T 
Amid the growling of the storm without. 
I hear strange notes of music, and the clash 
Of coursers' trampling feet. 

Voices {without.) 

We come, dark riders of the night, 

And flit before the dawning light; 

Hill and valley, far aloof. 

Shake to hear our chargers' hoof; 

But not a foot stamp on the green 

At morn shall show where we have been, 

Osw. These must he revellers belated — 
Let them pass on ; the ruin'd halls of Devor- 

goil 
Open to no such guests — 

[Flourish of trumpets at a distance; 
then nearer. 

They sound a summons : 
What can they lack at this dead hour of night. ? 
Look out. and see their number, and their 
bearing. 
Leo. {yoes up to the window.) 'Tis strange — 
one single ~hadowy form alone 
Is hovering on the drav\ bridge — lar apart 
Flit through the teiiijiest banners, horse, and 

riders. 
In darkness lost, or dimly seen by lightning. — 
Hither the figure moves — the bolts revolve— 
The gate uncloses to him. . 
Ele. Heaven protect us ! 

The Palmer cn<e«— Gulicrammer runs off. 

Osw. Whence and what art thou ? for what 

end come hither? 
Pal. I come from a far land, where the storm 
howls not. 
And the sun sets not. to pronounce t(» thee, 
Oswald of Devorgoil. thy house's faie. 

Bur. I charge thee, in the name we late have 

kneel'd to 

Pal. Abbot of Lanercost, I bid thee peace ! 
I'ninterrupt'd let me do mine enand : 
Baron of Devorgoil, son of the hold, the 

proud. 
The warlike and the mighty, wherefore wearM 

thou 
The habit of a peasant? Tell me, wheretore 
Are thy fmr halls thus waste — thy chambers 

bare — 
Where are the t.ai)!'sUies, where llu; conquered 
banners, 






T 






7 



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654 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N 



\ 



Trupliies, and gilded arms, thai deck'd the 

Of" oiire {irdiid Devor^oil T 

[Hf mloanrps. nnd plans himsflf where 
Ihf Armour fimn;. so as to be nearly 
in the ce-vrf of the Scene. 
Dur. Whoe'nr thou art — if tliou dost know 
so much. 

Needs nmsi thou know 

Osw. Pe;ice ! I will answer here; to me he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious str;iiiser. briefly I reply : . 

A "pfMMiiit's dress befits a peasant's fortune : 
And 'twere vain niorkery lo array these walls 
III ticiphiesot wtiose nietnoiy noug-ht remains, 
S;ive that the rruelly outvied tlie valour 
Of those who wore tlieiii. 

Pnl. Degenerate ns thou art, 

Know'st thou to wliom tliou say'st this? 

[He drops his mmille. and is discovered 
armed as tiearty ns mny he l<i the suit 
which hting on the wall ; all express 
terror. 
Osw It is liimself— the spirit of mine Ances- 
tor! 
Eri. Trenilile not. son. hut hear me ! 

iHe strikes the wall ; it opens, and dis- 
covers the Treasure-Chamber. 

There lies piled 
The wealth I brought from wasted Cumber- 
hind. 
Enough to reinstate thy riiin'd fortunes — 
Cast from thine liigh born brows that peasant 

bonnet. 
Throw from thy noble grasp the peasant's 

staff; 
O'er ail. withdraw thine hand from that mean 

mate. 
Whom in an hour of reckless desperation 
Thy fortunes cast thee on. 'I his do, 
Ari(] be as great as e'er was Devorgoil, 
When Devorgoil was richest! 
Dur. lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a 
liend. 
Who doth assail thee on thy weakest side.— 
Thv pride of lineage, and thy love of grandeur. 
Stand fast — resist — rontemii his fatal otters ! 
Ei.e. Urge lilni not. faiher; if the sacrifice 
Of such a wasted woe-worn wretch as I am. 
Can save him from the abyss of misery. 
Upon whose verge he's tottering, let me 

wander 
An unacknowledgpd outcast from his castle, 
EvHii to the hniiiiile cottage I was born in. 

Osw No. Klleii. no— It is not tlius they part. 
Whose hearts and souls, disasters borne in 

common 
Have Uiiii together, close as summer saplings 
Are twined ill iiiiinii iiy the eddying lempes' — 
Spirit of hirick. while thou bear'st his shape, 
I'll answer with no ruder ('Oiijuiation 
'I'hy impious counsel, other than with these 

words. 
Depart, and tempt me not ! 
Eri. Then fate will have her course.— Fall, 
massive grate. 
Yield them the tempting view of these rich 

But bar tliem from possession I 

[-4 portcullis falls before the 
I unsure- Chamber. 

Mortals, hear! 
No hatui may ope that grate, except the Heir 
Of plunder'd Aglionhy, whose mighty wealth 



■of the 



Ravish'd in evil hour, lies yonder piled ; 
And not his hand prevailswiMiout the key 
Of Black Lord Erick : brief s[)ace is given 
To save proud Devorgoil —So wills high Hea- 
ven [ Thunder ; he disappears. 
Dur. Gaze not so wildly ; you have stood 
the trial 
That his commission bore, and Heaven de- 
signs. 
If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil 
Even by the Heir of Aglionhy— Behold him 
In that young forester, unto whose hand 
Those bars siiall yield the treasures of his 

house. 
Destined to ransom yours. — Advance, young 

Leonard. 
And prove the adventure. 

Leo. {advances a7id attempts the grate.) It is 
fast 
As is the tower, rock-seated. 
Osw We will fetch other means, and prove 
its strength. 
Nor starve in poverty with wealth before us. 
Dur. Think what the vision spoke; 

'I'he key— the fated key 

Enter Gullcrammer. 
Gul A key ?— I say a quay is what we want, 
Thus by the learti'd orlhographized— Q. u. a, y. 
The lake is overflowed !— A quay, a boat. 
Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to me! — 
We shall be drown'd, good people ! ! ! 
Enter Katleen and Blackthorn. 
Kat. Deliver us ! 

Haste, save yourselves — the lake is rising 
fast. 1 
Bla. "V has risen my bow's height in the 
last five minutes. 
And still is swelling strangelv. 

Gul (who has stood- astonished upon seeing 
them.) 
We shall be drown'd without your kind as- 
sistance. 
Sweet Master Owlspiegle. your dragonfly — 
Your straw, your bean-stalK, gentle Cockle'- 
moy ! 
Leo (looking from the shot hole.) 'Tis true, 
by all that's fe.irful ! The proud lake 
Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o'er his bounds. 
And soon will whelm the castle — even the 

drawbridge 
Is under water now. 
Knt. Let us escape ! Why stand yon gazing 

there ? 

Dur. Upon the opening of that fatal grate 

Depends the fearful spell th.it now eniraiis us, 

I'he key of Black Lord Erick— ere we find it. 

The Ciistle will be whelm'd beneath the 

waves. 
And we shall perish in it ! 

Kat (ginimj the key.) Here, prove this ; 
A chance inosl, strange and fearful gave it me. 
Osw. (puis it into the lock, and attempts to 

turn It — a loud clap of thunder. ) 
Flo. The lake still rises faster.— Leonard, 
Leonard. 
Canst ihou not save us! 

[Leonard tries the lock— it opens with a 
violent noise, and the portcullis ri.'-fS 
A loud strain of wild music.' — There 
mny be a Chorus here. 



1 If it I'OUkI be managed I 



y^ 



^ 



AUCIIINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY 






[Oswald enters the apartment, and 
brums out a scroll. 
Leo. The lake is ebbing; wilh as wondrous 
hasle 

As lale It rose— the drawbridse is left dry ! 
Osw This may explain the cause — 

(Giillcj-ainrner ujfers to take it.) But soft yttu, 
sir. 

We'll n<il disturb your learnins; for the matler ; 

Yet, since you've borne a part in this strange 
drama. 

You shall not go unsjuerdon'd. Wise or 
learn'il. 

Modest or gentle. Heaven alone can make thee, 

3eiiii; so riiuoh ot|ierwise ; but from tins 
ahuiidance 

Thou Shalt have that shall gild thine igno- 
rance. 

Exalt thy base descent, make thy presiuiiplioii 

Seem imidest confidence, and find iliee hun- 
dreds 

IJeady to swear that same fool's-cap of thine 

Is reverend as a mitre. 
Gul Tlianks. mighty baron, now no more a 
bare one ! — 



I will be quaint with him, for all his quips. 

lAside. 
Osw Nor shall kind Katleen lack 
Her portion in our happiness. 
Kat. Thanks, my good lord, hut Katleen's 
fate is fix'd — 
There is a certain valiant forester. 
Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights 
In his lone collage, without one to guard 
him. — 
LfO If I forget mycximrade's faithful friend- 
.ship. 
.May 1 be lost to fortune, hope, and love ! 
Dur. Peace, all! and hear the blessing 
which this scroll 
Speaks unto faith, and constancy, and virtue 

No more this castle's troubled guest, 
Dark Erick's spirit hath I'ound rest. 
The -storms of ansry Fate are past — 
For Constancy defies their blast. 
Of Devorgoil the daushtor free 
.*^liall wed the Heir of Aslionby; 
Nor ever more dishonour .soil 
The rescued house of Devorgoil! 



AUCHINDBAKE, 



OR, 



THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



Cur aliquid vidi 7 cur noxia lumina feci 
Cur imprudenti cognita culpa mihi est T 

Ovid a Tristium, Libur Secimdus. 



PREFACE. 

There is not. perhaps, upon record, a tale 
of horrctr which gives us a more perfect pic- 
ture than is afforded by the present, of the 
violence of our ancestors, or the complicated 
<:rimes into which they were hurried, by what 
their wise, hut ill-enforced, laws termed the 
heathenish and accursed piactice of Deadly 
Feud. The author has tried to extract some 
dramatic scenes out of it ; but he is cfinscious 
no exertions of his can increase the horror 
of that which is in itself so iniquitous. Yet, 
if we look at modern events, we must not too 
hastily venture to c<mclude that our own 
times have so much the superiority over for- 
mer days as we misht at first be templed to 
infer. One great object has indeed been ob- 
tained. The power of the laws extends over 
the country universally, and if crimmals at 
present sometimes escape punishment, this 
can only he by eluding justice, — not, as of old, 
by defying it. 

Hut the motives which influence modern 
nitfians to commit actions at which we pause 
\\ i! h wonder and horror, arise, in a great mea- 
Bure, from the tliirsl of gam. For the hope 



of lucre, we have seen a wretch seduced to 
his fate, under the pretext that he was to 
share in amusement and conviviality; and, 
for ffold, we have seen the meanest of 
wretches deprived of life, and their miserable 
remains chesited of the erave 

The lofiier, if equally cruel, feelings of 
pride, ambition, and love of vengeance, were 
the idols of our forefathers, while the caitiffs 
of our day bend to Mammon, the meanest of 
the spirits who fell.i The criminals, there- 
fore, of former times, drew Iheir hellish in- 
spiration from a loftier source than is known 
to modern villains. The fever of unsated 
ambition, the frenzy of ungratified revenge, 
the perjenmhim iiujenmm Srnlonim, stignia- 
tized by our jurists and our legislators, held 
life hut as passing breath; and such enormi- 
ties as now sound like the acts of a madman, 
were then the familiar deeds of every otfendea 
noble. With these observations we (>ro<-eed 
to our story. 



Mammon led Ihem o 

Mammon, the least irrct 
From Heaven."— >?(/'««• 



A 



656 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^ 



Jonn Mmr. or Mure, of Auchiridrane. the 
contriver and executor of the following ciuel- 
ties, was a KenMeman of an ancient family 
and good t'st;ite in the west of Scotland; 
bold.'aniliitious. treacherous to the last de- 
Ifree. and utterly nuconsoientious,— a Richard 
tiie Third in private life, inaccessible alike to 
pity and to remorse. His view was to raise 
the power, and extend the grandeur, of his 
own family. This eentleman had married the 
daushier of Sir Tliornas Kennedy of Bar- 
ganie. who was, excepting the Earl of Cas- 
silis, the most important person in all Carrick, 
the district of Ayrshire which he iiihahiled, 
and where the name of Kennedy held so 
great a sway as to give rise to the popular 
rhyme, — 

•"Tw3xt W'igton and the town of Air, 
Poripatnck and the Cruives of Cree, 
No man need think for to hide there, 
Unless lie court :<aint Keniiedie." 

Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who liad pro- 
mised himself high advancement by means 
of his father-in-law Bargaiiie. saw. with envy 
and resentment, that his influence remained 
second and inferior to tlie House of Cassilis, 
chief of all the Kennedys. The Earl was 
indeed a minor, hut hisa'ulhonty was main- 
tained, and his atfairs well managed, by his 
uncle, Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayiie, the 
brother of the deceiised Earl, and tutor and 
guardian to the |)reseiit. This worthy aenile- 
inan supported his nephew's dignity and the 
credit of the house so effectually, that Kar- 
ganie's consequence was much thrown inio 
the shade, and the ambitions Auchindrane, 
his son-in-law. saw no hetier remedy than to 
remove so formidable a rival as CuUayne by 
violent means 

For this purpose, in the year of God 1.^97, 
became wiih a parly of followers to the town 
of Maybole, (where Sir Thomas Kennedy of 
Cullayne then resideii ) and lay in ambush in 
an orchard, ihrough winch he knew Ins des- 
tined victim was to |)ass. in returning home- 
wards from a house where he was engaged lo 
sup. Sir Thomas Kennedy came alone, and 
unattended, when he was suddenly bred upon 
by Auchindrane and his accomplices, who, 
having missed their aim, drew tlieir swords, 
and rushed upon him to slay bun. But Ihe 
party thus assailed at disadvantage, had the 
good fortune to hide himself for that time in 
a ruinous house, where he lay concealed till 
the iiihabilaiits of the place came to his as- 
sist:ince. 

Sir Thomas Kennedy prosecuted Mure for 
this assault, wlio, tinding himself In danger 
from ibe law. made a sort of apology and 
airreement with the Lord of Cullayne, to j 
whose daughter he united his eldest son, in : 
testimony of the closest friendship in future. 
This agieenient was sincere on the part of 
Kennedy, who, after it had been entered into, 
showed himself Auchindrane's friend, and 
assistant on all occasions. But it was most 
false and treacherous on that of Mure, who 
continued to nourish the purpose of murder- 
ing his new friend and ally on the first oppor- 
tunity. 

Auchindrane's first attempt to effect this 

as by means of the younj,' Gilbert Kennedy 



of Barganie. (for old Barganie. Auchindrane's 
falher-in-law, was dead.) whom he persuaded 
to brave the Earl of Cassilis. as one who 
usurped an uiiilue influence over Ihe rest of 
the name. Accordingly, this hot-headed 
youth, at the instigation of Auchindrane. rode 
pa.'it the gate of the Earl of Cassilis. without 
waiting on his chief, or sending him aiiv mes- 
sage of civility. This led to mutual defiance, 
being regarded by the Earl, according to the 
ideas of the time, as a personal insult. Both 
parties took the field with their followers, at 
the head of about 2.'J0 men on each side The 
action winch ensued was shorter and less 
bloody than might have been e.vpected Yoting 
Barganie, with the rtisliness of headlone- cou- 
rage, and Auchindrane, fired by deadly en- 
mity to the House of Cassilis. made a preci- 
pitate attack on Ihe f^arl. whose men were 
strongly posted and under cover. They were 
received by a heavy fire. Barganie was slam. 
Mure of Auchindrane. severely wounded in 
the thigh, became unable to sir his horse, and, 
the leaders thus slam or disabled, their party 
drew off without coniinuinif ihe acli(;n It 
must be particulai ly observed. tli;it Sir Tho- 
mas Kennedy remained neuter in this quarrel, 
considering his connexion with Auchindrane 
as too intimate to be broken even by Ins de- 
sire to assist his nephew. 

For this temperate and honourable conduct 
he met a vile reward; for Auchindrane, in 
resentment of the loss of his relative bar- 
game, and the downfall of his ambitious 
hopes, continued his practices against the life 
of Mr Thomas of Cullayne, though totally 
innocent of contribuliiig to either. Chance 
lavoured his wicked purpose. 

The Knight of Cullayne. finding himself 
obliged to go to Edinburgh on a particular 
day, sent a message liy a servant to Mure, in 
which he told him. in the most nnsuspecting 
confidence, the purpose of his jonrney, and 
named Ihe road winch he projiosed to take, 
inviting Mure to meet him at Duppill. to the 
west of the town of Ayr. a place appointed, 
for the purpose of giving iiim any commissions 
Which he might have for Edinburgh, and as- 
suring his treacherous ally lie would attend 
to any liusiiie.ss which he might have in the 
Scottish metropolis as anxiously as lo his 
own. Sir Thomas Kennedy's message was 
carried to the town of Maybole, where Ins 
messenger, tor some trivial reason, had the 
import committed to writing by a school- 
master in that town, and despatched it to its 
destination by means of a poor student, named 
Dalrymple. instead of carrying it to the house 
of Auchindrane m person. 

This suggested to Mure a diabolical plot. 
Having thus received tidings of Sir Thomas 
Kenjiedy's motions, he conceived the infernal 
purpose of having the confiding friend who 
sent the information, waylaid and murdered 
at the place appointed to meet with him, not 
only 111 friendship, but for the purpose of ren- 
dering him service. He dismissed the mes- 
senger Dalrymple, cautioning the lad lo carry 
back the letter to Maybole, and to say that he 
had not found him, Auchindrane. in his house. 
Having taken this precaution, he proceeded to 
instigate the brother of the s'.ain Gilbert of 
Barganie, Thomas Kennedy of Drnmurgine 
tjy name, and Walter Mure of Cloncaiid, 



A 



7^ 



AUCHINDRANE: OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 057 



kiiixiiKtti (if his own. to take this opportunity 
of iKveiiMiiis^ Baiffimie's lieatli. 'I'lie lieiv 
yonrii; men were easi y iiidiired to under. ake 
the critiie. They waylaid tlie unsuspeclins 
Sir I hoinasof Cullayne at the place apponiud 
to iiieei the iraiior Anrhindraiie, ami the 
iniirdeiers having in coni|)aiiy tive or six ser- 
vant>, well mounted and aimed, asssaulted 
lind cruelly nmrdered him wiUi many wounds. 
'Ihey then |iliiiidered the dead rorp.xe of iiis 
purse, roiitiiiinii!; a thousand merks in gold, 
cul off the gold buttons whicli he wore on his 
noat. and de.spoiled the body of some valuable 
rings and jewels.! 

'The revfiige due for his uncle's murder was 
keenly pursued by the Earl of Cassilis. As 
the murderers fled I'rom triiil. they were de- 
clared fiutlaws; which doom, being pro- 
noun<-ed b> tliree blasts of a horn, was nailed 
'•being put to the horn, and declared the 
king's rebel." Mure of Auchindrane was 
sirongly su-pected of having been the insii 
gaior of the crime. But he conceived there 
could be no evidence to prove his guilt if lie 
could keep the boy Ddrynifile out of the way, 
who delivered the letter which made hiin ac- 
quainted with Cullayne s journey, and the 
place at which he meant to halt. On the 
con'rary, he saw. that if the lad could be 
pnxlnced at the trial, it would afford ground 
of fatal [iresiiinpiion, since it could be then 
proved tlial persons so nearly connected with 
him as Kennedy and Chnicaird had left his 
house, and committed the murder at the very 
spot winch Cullayne had tixed for their meet- 
ing. 

To avoid this imminent danger. Mure brought 
Dalrymple to his house, and detained liim 
there for several weeks. But the yoinh tinng 
of this confmement. Mure sent him to reside 
with a friend. Montgomery of Skellmorly, who 
mamtaiiied liim under a borrowed name, amid 
the desert regions of the then almost savage 
Island of Arran Being confident in the ab- 
sence of this material witness. Auchindrane, 
instead of flying, like his agents Druniurghie 
and Cloiicaird. presented himself bohily at 
the bar, demanded a fair trial, and offered 



^. 



1 " No papers wliirh have hilherlo heen dmroverrd ap- 
pear 10 atfortl »o sirikiii^ a piciuri- of the savaiie Klale o( 
liarl>:>rism into whii h thai couiilry inUNt have suuk, as 
the following Bond t>y the Earl of C:ai«sili»i, lo his brother 
and heir-ap,iareiit, Hi-W, Master of Ca»sili.i. The uoile 
of the>e young men. Sir Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, 
talor of Cassilis, as the read.T will rwll^-ct, was mur- 
dered. May lllh, 1602, by .\ucliindrane's aeeninplireg. 

"The Ma»ter of Cassil.a, for many years previous to 
that eveni, was in open hnstility lo his brother. During 
nil that period, however, the Master maintained hab^tM of 
the closest intimacy with .Auchindrane and his oi»8olute 
associates, and actually joined him in various hostile en- 
terprises against his brother the Karl. The occurrence of 
the Laird of Culzean's munler was embraced by their 
muiual fri,-in!8. as a filling opportunity to eflfcci a pcrma- 
uei.t recon.ilialinn between the brothers :' hot,' (as • the 
llislorie of the Kennedies,' p. 69, quainlly informs us,) 
•the cuniry tlioch: that he w aid not be eirii,-st in that 
cause, for the auld luilT beluix him and Anchiiinrayne ' 
The unprincipled K irl, (whose sobTiquel, and that of some 
of his ancestors, was King of Ciirnck, to denote the 
boundless sway which he exercised over his own vassals 
and the inhabitants of thai distri. I.) relying on his bro- 
ther's ne«essilies, held out the infamous bribe coiitaiiie.1 
in the rollnwing bonil. to induce his brother, the Master of 
l.'assilis, to murder his former fnend. the old Laird of 
Auchindrane. Though there be honour amoiis thieves, it 
Would seem thai th»*re is none among assassins ; for the 
jroungir iirollur insisted upon 'having the price of blood 



his person in combat to the death against any 
of Lord Cassilis's friends who might impugn 
his innocence. This audacity was successful, 
and he was dismissed without trial 

Still, however. .Mure did not consider him- 
self safe, so long as D.ilrymple was within 
the realm of Scotland; and the danger grew 
more pressing when he learned that the lad 
had become impatient of the restraint which 
he sustained in the island of Arran, and re- 
turned to some of his friends in Ayrshire. 
Mure no sooner heard of tins thi.n he again 
obtained possession of the bov's person, and a 
seconil time concealed him at Auchindrane, 
until he found an opportunity to transport him 
to the I ow Countries, where he contrived to 
have him enlisted in Buccleuch's regiment; 
trusting, doiibiless. thtit some one of the 
numerous ciiances of war might destroy the 
poor young man whose life was so dangerous 
to him. 

But after five or six years' uncertain safety, 
bought at the expense of so much violence 
and cunning. Aiichmdrane's fears were exas- 
perated into frenzy, when he found this dan- 
gerous witness, h.iviiig escaped iVoni ail the 
perils of climate and Itatlle, had leit. or been 
discharged from, the Legion of Borderers, and 
had again accomplished his return to Avr- 
shire. There is ground to suspect that Dal- 
rymple knew the nature of the hold which he 
possessed over Auchindrane, and was desirous 
of extorting from his fears some better provi- 
sion than he had found either in Arri r the 

Netlierlaiids. But if so. it was a fital experi- 
ment to tamper with the fears of such a man 
as Auchindrane, who determined to rid him- 
self effectually of this unhappy young man. 

.Mure now lodged liiin iii a 'house of his 
own, called Chapeldoii.iii. tenanted by a vassal 
and connexion of Ins called James Bairnatyne. 
'I his man he commissioned lo meet him at 
ten o'clock at night on the sea-sands near 
Girvan, and bring witli liim the imlortunate 
Dalrymple, the ol.ject of his fear and dread. 
The victim seems to have come with Baniia- 
lyne without the least suspicion, though such 
might have been raised by the tune and place 



^t 



assured to him by a written documeni, drawn up in the 
form of a regular bond '. 

" Ju.lging by the Karl's former and sulisei(Uent history, 
he probably thought that, in either event, his purposes 
would be attained, hy • killing two birds with one sione.' 
On the other hand. how,-ver. it is but doing justice lo the 
Master's acuteiiess, and the expi-rien.c ao(iiiied iindrr his 
quondam preceptor, Auchindrane, ih.it we slinuhl likewise 
conjecture that, on his pari, he would hi Id firm possession 
of the bond, to be used as a checkmate ai.'ainst hi^ bro- 
ther, should lie think tit afterwards to lurn hishi-el u|.on 
him, or attempt to beiray him in:o the hands of justice 

" The following is a correct copv of the bond Rraiited bv 
the Earl :— ' We, Johne, Earle o] Cass His, Lo.d Krnnedv, 
etc., bindis and oMissis ws, thai howsoviie mir bio,l,-V, 
Hew Kennedy of Brouusloun. with his cnni| lues, laikis 
the Laird of .Au.hindi aneis Ivf, that we sail niak tiiiid and 
thankfull pavment to him aud thame, of ihesowineof 
tucKT hundrelh merkis, ycirlie, togidiler wiih corne lo sex 
horsis, ay and quhill 2 wc res>aw 3 thame in houshald 
with our self: Beginning ihe first payment immediallie 
efier thair committing of the said deid. Atiour,4 how- 
sovne we ressaw Ihaine in houshald, we sail pay lo the 
twa serwing gentillmen the fcis, yeirlie, as oar awin 
houshald serwandis. And heirto we obli^s ws. vpnun our 
honour. Subscryvit with our hand, at Mayhole, Ihe feid 
day of September, 160 '. 

' JOH.NE ERI.E OFF C ASSILIIS;' •• 

Pitcairn's Criminal Trials of Scot'anil, vol lii. p 
a Aye and until. 3 Receive. 4 Moreov 



T 



7 



^ 



C58 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



^: 



\ Ju 



apnoitited for the meptiri?. When Bantiafyne 
ahil Oitlryiiifile caiiit' tu the apfxun'eil spdt, 
AiiclitiKir'ann iTiet Iheiii. arTMiiipanied by his 
pMe.vt son. James. il Aiirliinilrane, taiving 
taken Bannaiyne aside. iinpar:pil hi.s bloody 
{iiirpose of nildiuii lilm.self of Daliyniple for 
nver. by riiurdt^niia; hiiti on the -xpot. His own 
life iuid honour were, he said, endangered by 
Ihe nianner in which this iticviiivenient wit- 
ness repeatedly thrust timiself h.tck into Ayr- 
sliire, and nothing noiihl secure his siifety but 
luliiiis Ilie hid's life, in which actioti he re- 
quested James Baniiatyne's assistance. Ban- 
na yne felt some coinpiinctitui, and renion- 
stratetl againsi the cruel e.xpedient, sayiiifi:, it 
would be belter to transport I)airyni|)le to 
Ireland, and take prec:mrions against his re- 
turn. While old Anchiiidrane seemed dis- 
po.sed to hsten to this iiroposal, his son coii- 
rlnded that the time was come for accom- 
plishing the [)iirpose of their mee'mg, and, 
without wailing tlie termination of his father's 
ciiiiference with Baiinaiviie, he rushed sud- 
denly on n.drviiiple, beat iiim to ihe ground, 
and, kiietlmg down on him, with his fathers 
a.ssistaiice accomplished the crime, by strf^n- 
eliiig the iintiappv object of their fear and jea- 
lousy. Bannaiyne, the witness, and partly the 
Hccomplice. of Ihe murder, assisted them in 
their Htleinpt to make a hole in tiie sand, with 
a sjiade which they had brought on purpose. 
in Older to conceal tlie tiead body. But as the 
tide was coming in. the holes whicii they made 
filled with water before they could g:et the 
bodv buried, and the ground seemed, to liieir 
terrified consciences, to refuse lo he acc.es.sory 
loconceahngtiK ircniiie. Despairingof hiding 
the corfise in the manner they proposed, the 
murderers carried ;t out into the sea as deep 
jis they dared waile, and there abandoned it 
to tlie tiillows, tnislmg tliat a wind, whicli 
was blowing off the shore, would drive these 
remains of their crimi? out to sea, wJKfre they 
would never more be heard of But ttie sea. 
as well as the land, seemed unwilling to con- 
ceal their cruelty. After floating for some 
hours, or days, tlie dead body was, by the 
wiHU and tide. again driven on shore, near the 
very spot where the murder had been com- 
mitted. 

This attracted general attention, and when 
Hie corpse was known to he that of ttie same 
William D.ilrynnile whom Auchindrane tiad 
so often s;iiriied out of the country, or con- 
cealed when he was in it, a strong and general 
suspicion arose, that this young person liad 
met with foul filay from the hold tiad man 
who had shown himself so much interested 
HI his absence. It was always said or sup- 
posed, that the dead body had bled at ihe 
apiiroach of a grandchild of Mine of Auchin- 
drane, a girl who, from curiosity, had come to 
look at a sight which others crowded to see. 
"^I'he bleeding of a murdered corpse at the 
touch of the murderer, was a thing at ttiat 
time so much believed, that it was admitted 
as a proof of guilt ; but I know no case, save 
that of Auchindrane. in which the [ihenome- 
nori was sufiposed to he e.vlended to the ap- 
piH)ach of the innoitent kindred ; nor do 1 
think that the fact itself, though meiiiioned 
by ancient lawyers, was ever admilled to 
piiiof 111 the proceedings against Auchiii 
drjne. 



It is certain, however, that Auchindrane 
found himself so much the ol)ject c.f sus|iiciou 
from this new crime, that he resolved to fly 
from justice, and suffer himself to he declared 
a rebel and ouilaw rather than face a trial. 
But his conduct in preparing to c()ver his 
flight with another motive than the real one, 
is a curious picture of the men and manners 
of the times. He knew well that if he were 
to shun his trial for the murder of Dalrymple, 
the whole country would consider him as a 
man guilty of a mean and disgraceful crime 
in putting^ to death an obscure lad. against 
whom he had no personal quarrel. He knew, 
besides, that his powerful friends, who would 
have interceded for him had his offence been 
merely burning a house, or killing^ a neigh- 
bour, would not plead for or stand by hini in 
.so pitiful a concern as the slaughter of tins 
wretched wanderer. 

A('Coidingly, .Mure sought to provide him 
self wiih some ostensible cause for avoiding 
law, with which the feelings of his kindied 
and friends inight .sympathize; and none oc- 
curied to him so natural as an a.ssanit upon 
.some friend and adherent of the E.irl of 
Cassilis. Sliould he kill sucti a one, it would 
be indeed an unlawful action, but so far from 
being infamous, would be accounted the na- 
tural consequence of the avowed quarrel be- 
tween the families With this p«uipose. Mure, 
with tlie assistance of a relative, of whmn he 
seenVs always to have had some ready to exe- 
cute Ins worst purposes, beset Hugh Kennedy 
of Garnehorne. a f(dlowerof the Ean's. against 
whom they had especial ill-will. fired their 
pistols at him, and used other means to put 
him to death. But Garriehorne, a stout- 
hearted man, and well armed, defeiideii him- 
self in a very different manner from the un- 
fortunate Knight of Cullayiie, and beiitoffthe 
ass.iilants, wounding yoiing Auchindrane la 
tlie right hand, so iliat he wellnigh lost the 
use of It. 

But though Aiichindrane's purpose did not 
entirely succeed, he availed himself of it to 
circulate a report, that if he could obtain a 
pardon for firing upon his feudal enemy wi h 
pisiols, weapons declared unlawful by act of 
rarliamenl. he would willin^jly siand his trial 
lor the death of Dalrymple. respecting which 
lie protested his total innocence. I he King, 
however, was decidedly of opinion tnai the 
Vlures, b(»th father and son. were alike guilty 
of both crimes, and used uitercession with 
the Earl of .Atiercorn. as a person of power in 
I hose western counties, as well as in Ireiaiid, 
to arrest and transmit them pn.soneis to Edin- 
burgh. In consequence of the Earls exer- 
tions, old Auchindrane was made prisoner, 
and lodged in the tolbooth of Edinburgh. 

Young Auchindrane no .sooner heard that 
his father was in custody, than he became as 
apprehensive of Bannaiyne, the accomplice 
in Da'rymttle's murder. leling tales, as ever 
his father liad been of Dalrymple. He. there- 
fore, hastened to hini. and prevailed on liiiii 
to pass over for a while to ttie neighhouiing 
coast of Ireland, finding him money and 
means t(i accomplish the voyage, and en- 
gaging in the nieanliine to lake <"U'e of his 
affairs in Scotland. Secure, as they Ihoughi, 
in this precaution, old Auchindrane persisted 
111 his innocence, and his son found security 



A 



7^ 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 659 

the deed was done, it was devised that Mure 
of Aucliiiuil, a connexion ot Bannatyne. should 
be instiKateU to slay Hennyc.iike ; and thus 
close up thiS train ot' murders i)y one, which, 
flowing m the ordinary course or de;i.liy feud, 
stiould liave nothing in it so particular as Ui 
attract much attention. 

But tiie Justice of Heaven would bear this 
coinplicated Irani of iniquity no longer. Ban- 
natyiie, knowing with what sort of men he 
had ti> deal, kept on his guard, and, by liis 
caution, disconcerted more than one allenipl 
lo take Ills life, while another miscarried by 
the remorse of Pennycuke. I he agent whoiii 
Mure employed. At It-ngih BHnnaiyne, tiring 
of this state of insecurity, and :n despair of 
escaping such repeated plots, and also leeling 
remorse for the crime to wh:rh he liad been 
access 'ry, resolved rallier to submit himself 
to the severity of the law, than remain I he 
object of the principal cnuiiiiars practices. 
He surrendered himself to the Karl of At)er- 
corn,aiid was transported to l-dmburgh. where 
he collfes^ell before the King and council all 
the particulars of the munler ot D.ilrymplr. 
and the attempt to hide lus body by committing 
it to the sea. 

When Bannatyne was confronted with the 
two Mures before the Privy Coun<il, they de- 
nied with vehemence every part of the evi- 
dence he had given, and atlirmed that the 
witness had been bribed to destroy them by a 
false tale Baniiatyne's behaviour seemed 
sincere and siiiiple, that of AuchinJrine more 
resolute and crafty. The v\reiciied accom- 
plice fell upon hi.s knees, mvokiiia (jod to 
witness that all the land in Scotland could not 
have bribed mm to briny: a false accu^at^oll 
against a niasier whom tie had ^erved, loved, 
and followed in so many dangers, and calling 
upon AucliMidrane to honour God by confess- 
ing the crime he had couunitt'-d. .Mure the 
elder, on the other hand, boldly replied, that 
he hoped God would not so far forsake him as 
to permit him to confess a crime of which he 
was innocent, and exhorted Bannatyne in his 
turn to conlVss the practices by winch he had 
been induced to devise such falsehoods against 
him 

The two Mures, father and son, were there- 
fore put upon their solemn trial, along with 
Bannatyne, in 1611. and, after a great deal of 
evidence had been brousrht m support of Ban- 
natyiie"s confession, all three were found 
guilty 1 The elder Auchinilrane was con- 
victed of counselline :ind directiiiir the mur- 
der of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Ciillayne and 
also of the actual murder of the lad Dalrym- 
ple. Bannatyne ami ihe younser .Muie were 
found guilty I'lf the latter rrinie. and all three 
were sentenced to be beheaded. B mnatyne. 
however, the accomplice, received the King's 
pardon, in consequence of his voluntary sur- 
render and confession The two Mures were 



\ 



to stand IWs trial. Both appeared with the | 
same confidence at the day appointed, and 
br.ived the public justice, hoping to be (lut to 
a loniial trial, in winch AuchindrauH reckoned 
upon an acxjuiltal for want of the evidence 
winch he had removed. The trial was. how- 
ever. posi|)oneu. and .Mure the elder was dis- 
nii.ssed. under high security to return when 
called for. 

But King James, being convinced of the 
KUilr of I he accused, ordered youns Auchiii- 
iir^iiie, iiisteail of being sent to trial, to be 
examined under the f .rce of torture, in order 
to compel liiiu to tell whatever he knew of 
t'lB thiiiiis charsed au:ainst liim. He was ac- | 
Ci'rdiiigiy severely tortured ; but the result j 
oiiiy served to show that su(;h examinations ^ 
are as ii.srless as they are cruel. A man of | 
Weak resujution. or a nervous habit, would ,■ 
pidb ibly have assented to any confession, j 
ho^vever false, rather than have endured the [ 
ex reiiiity of fear and pain to which Mure 
was subjected. But youiiir ."^uchindrane, a 
s.roiig and determined ruffian, endured Hiej 
t 11 ure with the uttnost tirmiiess, and by tlie 
Constant audacity with «liich. in spite of the ! 
iritiileriible pain, lie cuntinued to assert his ; 
iiiiiocence, he spre.id so favourable an opinion \ 
111 iit-i case. I hat the detaining him in prison, j 
nistrad of bringing him to o|Hn trial, was cell- i 
suied as seveie and oppressive. James, how- j 
ever, remained tiriiily persuaded of Ins guilt, I 
and by an exertum of authmity quite incoii- 
.sis;eiit Willi our present laws, (uiiniiiainied 
Miuiig Auchindrane to be still detained in 
(-.lose cu>tody till further light could be thrown 
on these dark proceediiies. He was detained 
accordingly by the King's express personal 
<;oinmiuid, and against the opinion even of his 
privy coiiiisell'iis. This exertion of authority 
w:ui much murmured against. 

In the meanwhile, old Auchindrane, being, 
as we have seen, at liberty on iledges. skulked 
about in the west, feeling how little security 
lie had gained by Ualiy iiijile's murder, anil 
that he had placed hiiiisrif by that crime in 
the power of Baiiiiatyne. whose evidence coii- 
cerning tlie death of Dalrymple could not be 
less fatal iliaii what Ualrymple might have 
told concerning Auchmdraiie's accession to 
the conspiracy against Sir Thomas Kennedy 
of Cuilavne. But though the event hud shown 
the error of his wK^ked policy, Auchindrane 
could think of no liet'er mode in thus ciise 
than that which had failed in relation to Dal- 
rymple. V\ hen any man's life became lucoii- 
sisient Willi his own safety, no idea seems to 
have occurred to this inveterate ruffian, save 
to murder the person by whom he might him- 
self be in any way endangered. He therefore 
aiiempred the life of James Bannatyne by 
more agents than one. Nay, he had nearly 
ripened a plan, by which one Pennycuke was 
to be employed to slay Bannatyne, while, after 



:^ 



1 '• Kfter pronunceing and deilairiiig of the quhilk de- , pos.«essiones, teyndis, coiriic:*, catlfll, iiiBiiht plenishing, 

ffrmiiialion ami dilyuerance of Ihe Raidis persones of i guidis, geir, tyliliis, iroffeitis, coinrnoiliieis, and rirhlis 

As^yse, ' The Justice, in respert thairof, be the mouth of I quhalRumeuir, dim tlie or indirecllie perlening lo ihame, 

Alexander Keonydie. dempster of Court, dec&rnit and 1 or cny of Ihame, at thecommilting of ihe saidin tressona- 

adjud-el the «aidis Johnne Mure of Auchindrane elder, bill Murthouris, or sensyne ; or t.i Ihe quilkig Ihay, or ony 

J.unes .Mure of Auchindrane younger, his eldest sone and of Ihame, had richt, claim, oractioun, to be forfait. escheit, 

apieirand air, and Jame.s Bannalyi.e, called of Chapel- and iniirocht to our souerane lordisv.ie; as culpaLle and 

Donane, and ilb ane of Ihame, to be lane lo Ihe mercat i convict of the saidis Iressnnabill crymes.' 

crn.e of thi' burcht of Edinburgh, and Ihair, upon ane | " Qnhilk was proniiiicet for Dome." 

». aifold. their heidis to be nlrukin froine thair bodeyis : ' I'itcairii'x Criminal Trials, vol. iii., p. 
And all Ih^tir landis, heritages, lakis, Ceidin 



660 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



biith executed. 'I'he yiuiiisfer was yffected hy 
the rPiiiDiistraiioes of ilie clpray who Hltended 
hmi, and he Cdnfessed the ffnilt nf which he 
was ;icciis(!d. 'I'lie father, also, was at leii^ih 
brought to avow the fact, but in other re- 
specis died as iiiipeniteiit as he liad hved ; — 
and so ended tliis dark and extraordinary tra- 
pedy 

The Lord Aitvoca'e of the day, Sir 'I horiias 
Hairnhon, afterwards siiocessivefy Earl of 
Melrose and of Haddington, seems to have 
. Misled himself much in drawing np a state- 
ment of this foul transaction, for the purpose 
of vindicating to the people of Scotland tlie 
severe course of justice oliserved liy King 
.lames VI. He assumes the task in a hi£:h 
tune of prerogative law, and. on the whole, 
seems at a loss whether to attribute to Provi- 
dence, or to his most sacred Majesty, the 
greatest share in bringing to liglit these mys- 
terious viUanies. but rather inclines to the 
latter opinion. There is, I believe, no printed 
copy of the iniended tract, which seems never 
to liave been published; but ilie cuiious will 
he enabled to judge of it. as it appears in tlie 
next fasciculus of Mr. Koberl PiK aim's very 
interesiing publications from the Scottish 
Criminal Record. i 

The family of Auchindrane did not become 
extinct on the deatti of tlie two hiniiicide^. 
The last descend;'iit exisied in the eighteenih 
century, a poor and distressed man The fol- 
lowing anecdote shows that he liad a strong 
feeling of his sii nation. 

'i'here was in front of the old castle a huge 
ash-tree called the Dule-tree (mourninii tree) 
of Auchindrane. prolialily bec^aiise it was the 
place where the liaron executed the criminals 
who fell under his jurisdictmn. Ii is (jescribed 
as having been the finest tree of the neigh- 
bourhood. This last representative of the 
family of Auchindrane had the misfortune to 
be -arrested for payment of a small debt ; and, 
unable to discharge it, was prepared to ac- 
company the messenger (builitf ) to the jail of 
Ayr. The servant of the law had c. impassion 
for his prisoner, and otiered to acf*pt of tins 
remarkable tree as of value adequate to the 
discharge of the debt. "Wliat!" .said the 
debtor, "Sell the Uule-tree of .'Vnchindnine I 
1 will sooner die in the worst dungeon of your 
prison." In this luckless character the line 
of Auchindrane ended. I he family, blacken- 
ed with the crimes of its predecessors, Ijecame 
ex'inct, and the estate passed into other 
hands. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



John Mure of Auchindrane, nn Aurshire Baron. 
He tias bMii a follower of the Rcijenl, Earl of 



Ldire 
cxti 
Meal 



1 See an arlule in ttie Quarterly Review, February, 1831. 
on Mr. Piicairn's valuable collection, vi-here Sir Walter 
Scott partiiularly dwells on ttie oricinal do.-umenis cnn- 
necleil with tlie story of Auchindrane : and where Mr. 
Pitrairn'8 important services to the history of his profes- 
sion, and of Scotland, are justly characterised. (Iti33.) 

"Sir Walter's reviewal of the early parts of Mr. Pit- 
cairn's Ancient Criminal Trials had, of cnuiee, much gra- 
tified the editor, who s.nt him, on his arrival in Edin- 
burgh, the proof sheets of the Number then in hand, and 
directed his attention particularly to its details on the 
extraordinary case of Mure of Auchindrane, A. D. 1611. 
80 much interested with these documents, that 



Morton. duririQ the Civil Wars, and hides an 
oppiessive. ferocious, and uiiscrupuhnis dispo- 
silio/i. lender some pretences to stiiclmss of 
life and. doctrine, which, however, never vijhi- 
ence hts conduct. He is m donuer from the 
taw. Oiving to Ins havinij been .Inrmerli/ active 
in the assassination of the Earl of Cassilii. 

Philip Mure, his Son. a wild, dtbauched Projti- 
(jate. professinij and practising a conlempt Jor 
his Fiilhffs hupocrisy, white he is as fierce and 
licentious as Auchindrane htmsiif. 

Gilford, Ihur Relation, u Courtier. 

Qiientm Blane, o Youth, educated for a Clergy- 
man, but sent by Auchindrane to serve in a. 
Band of Auxiliary s in the Wars of the Ne- 
(tirrlands, and lately employed as Clirk or 
Comptroller to the Refjmient— Dist/anded. how- 
ever, and on his return to his native Country. 
He IS ot a mild, (jenll.e, and rather feitde cha- 
racter, liable- to be mflui need by any person of 
stronijer miiul who will take ihe trouble to 
direct him. He is somewhat of a nervous ttm- 
perami nt. varyinij from sadness to ijaiety, ac- 
cording to the impulse of the moment , an 
amiable hi/pochondriric. 

Hildebrand, a stout old Enylishman, who. by 
.teats of courajie. has raised himself to thf rank 
of Sergeant- Major, (then of ureater conse- 
quence than at present.) He. too. has bmi 
disbanded, but cannot bring himself to bebece 
that he has lost his command over his Reji- 
ment. 

C Privates ditmissed from the sumr. 
I Rei/imint inwhich Quentin and 



Abraham, 
Williams, 
.leiikin. 
And Otheis, 



Hidebrand had served. 'ITiese 
are mutinous, and are much 
disposed to remember former 
l quarrels with thf ir late Officers. 
JNiel MacLellan, Kei per of Auchindrane forest 

and Game 
Earl of Dunbar, commandinij an Army as Lieu- 
tenant of James 1 . Jor execution of Justice on 
Offenders. 

Guards, Attendants, SfC. 6^0. 

Marion, W\fe of 'S\e\ Macl.ellan. 

Isabel, their Daughter, a Girl of six years old. 

Other Children and Feasant Women. 

^udjfu'Dranc; 

OR, 

THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 

ACT I— SCENK T. 
A rocky Bay on the Coast of Carrick. in .Ayr' 
shire, not far from the Point of 'I'ltrnberry. 
The Sea comes in upon a bold rockii Shore. 
The remains of a small half-ruined Tower 
are seen on the riuht hand, overhanging the 



he resolved to found a dramatic sketch oi; their terri 
story; and the resuU was a compo'^ition far superior 
any of his previous attempts of that natiire. Ind 
there are several passages in his ' Ayrshire Tragedy 
especially that where the murdend corpse Hoat« U|pn 
in the wal!e of Ihe assassin's bark — (an incident sugges 
by a lamentable chapter in Lord Nelson's history)— wh 
may bear comparison with anything but Shakspeare 
I doubt whelher the prose narrative of the preface be i 
on the whole, more dramatic thnn the vcrsitieil scenes, 
contains, hy the way, some very striking alliujions to 
recent atrocities of Oill's Hil) and the West Port.' 
Lockhart, vol. ix , p. 334. 



ble 



* 

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7 



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AUCHINDRANE: OK, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 66 



bea. Thire is a Vessel at a disl'inre in Ihn i 
offinQ. A Runt at the holtom of the Stnije \ 
l/m<ls f.jijht or Itn Peisnns. dressed lihe liis- \ 
b'inii'd. and in one or two cnsfs It/te disahUd ' 
Solfli' rs Triry amv slracKjtmi Jorward with 
tltfir Hnnpsarlis and hunlles Hiidebniml. the 
Serijiant. f>elnivnn<> to ttie Parly, a stout elderly 
man stands hy tke boat, as if sufiertntinding 
the, disembarkalion. Quenliii remains apart. 

Abraham. Farewell, the flats of Holland, 
and righr. welr.ume 

The cliffs of ijcotlaiid ! Fare tiiee well, black 
beer 

And Schiedam ein ! and welcome twopenny, 

Oiircakes, and iisqiiebaush ! 

Wdliums (who wants an arm ) Farewell, 
the sallaiit field, and "Forward, piUe- 
nien !" 

F(»r The bruise-end, the suburb, and the lane ; 

And, •• Bless your honour, noble jjentlemen, 

Rvineniber a poor suldier !'' 
Abr. Mv tongue shall never need to smooth 
Itself 

To such poor sounds, while it nan boldly say, 

"Stand and deliver!' 

Wil. Hush, the serseant hears you ! 
Abr. And let hiin hear; he makes a bustle 
yonder. 

And dreams of his authority, forsettina: 

We are disbanded men, o'er whom h's halberd 

Has not such nitluence as tlie be;idle"s baton, j 

We are no soldiers now, but every one j 

Ihe lord of his own person 

Wil A wretched lordship — and our free- i 
dom such 

As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner j 

Turns him upon the ccmimon. I for one 

Will still continue to respect the serireant. 

And the conif>troller, loo. — while Ihe cash 
lasts. 
Abr. 1 scorn "hem both. I am too stout a 
Scotsman 

To bear a Sou hron's rule an instant longer 

Than discipline oblises ; and for Quentm. 

Quentin the quillman, QuenMn the comptrol- 
ler. 

We have no rejiinent now; or, if we had, 

QnenMn's no lontjer clerk to it. 

Wil. For shame! for shame! What, shall 
old comrades jar thus. 

And on the verse ot pariina:, and for ever! — 

Nay, keep thy temper, Abraliam, though a 
bad ori' . — 

Good Master (^iuentin, let thy scms last nisht 

Give us once more our welcome to old Scot- 
land. 
Abr. Ay, they sing light whose task is tell- 
ing money. 

When dollars clink for chorus 
Que. I've dmie with counting silver, honest 
Abraham, 

As thou. I fear, with pouching thy small share 
on't. 

But lend your voices, la<ls, and I will sing 

As blillielv yef as if a town were won; 

As if upon a field of battle sain'd. 

Our biuiners waved victorious. 

{H.t sings, and the rest bear chorus. 

S O M G . 



Hiilier we come. 

Once slaves to Llie drum. 



But no longer we list to its rattle; 

Adieu 1o the wars. 

With their slashes and scars. 
The march, and the storm, and the battle. 

1 here are some of iis maim'd. 

And some ihal are lamed. 
And some of old aches are complaining; 

But we'll take up the tools, 

V\ Inch we flung by like fools, 
'Gainst Don ^paniard lo go a-campaigning. 

Dick Hawthorn doth vow 

To return to the plouifh. 
Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer; 

The weaver shad find rooin 

.At the wislil -vvappilli loom. 
And your clerk shall teach writin? and 
grammer 

Abr. And this is all that thou canst do, gay 
Quentin ? 

To swasger o'er a herd of parish brats. 

Cut cheese or dibble onions with thy poniard, 

And turn the sheath into a ferula? 
Que. 1 am the prodigal in lioiy writ ; 

I cannot woik, — to beg 1 am ashamed. 

Besides, good mates, I care not who may 
know ii, 

I'm e'en as fairlv tired of this same fightma. 

As the poor cur that's worried in the shambles 

By ad the m:i.stiff dogs of all the butchers; 

Wherefore, farewell sword, poniard, peironel. 

And welcome poverty and peaceful laliour. 
Abr. ClerK Quentin, if ot fighting thou art 
tired. 

By my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied. 

For ifiou'st seen but little out. 

Wtl Thou dost belie him— I have .seen him 
fight 

Bravely enough for one in his condition. 
Abr. VShaliie? that counler-casiing, smock- 
faced boy T 

What was he but the colonel's scribbling 
drudife. 

With men of straw to stulf the reeimeiit roll ; 

Willi ci[)herings unjust to cheat his comrades. 

And cloak false musters for our nol)le ca|;- 
tain ? 

He bid farewell to sword and petronel ! 

He should have said, farewell my pen and 
stand ish. 

These, with the rosin used to hide erasures. 

Were the best friends he left m camp behind 
him. 
Que The sword you scoff at is not far, but 
scorns 

The threats of an unmanner'd mutineer. 
Ser. {viterposes ) We'll have no brawling— 
Shall It e'er be said. 

That being comrades six long years tosether. 

While Kul|iing down the frowsy fogs of Hol- 
land, 

We tilted at each other's throats so soon 

As the first draught of native air refresli'd 
them? 

No! by Saint Dunstan, I forbid the combat. 

You all. metlimks, do know this trusty hal- 
berd ; 

For I opine, that every back amcmsst voti 

Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen .^taff, 

Endlong or overthwart. Who is It wi.shes 

A remembrancer now ! [Raists his halbtrd. 



)61 > . 



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7 



602 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Yo 



Ahr. Comraile-i, have yon ears 

'I'll hear the old man bully 1 Eyes to see 
His staff rear'd o'er ynur heads, as o'er the 

hounds 
'I'he huiilsmaii cracks his whip? 

Wil. Well saui — slout Ahraliam has the 

riiht on't.— 
I tell Miee, serseaiit, we do reverence thee. 
And pardon the rash humours thou hast 

causht, 
I ike wiser men, from thy authority. 
'Tis ended, howsoe'er, and we'll not suffer 
A word of sergeatitry, or halberd-staff. 
Nor the most petty threat of discipline. 
ir thou wilt lay aside iliv pride of office. 
And drop thy woul of swaggering and com- 

mandins, 
Thou art our comrade still for good or evil. 
Else take thy course apart, or with the clerk 

there— 
A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regi- 

inent 
Str Is't come to this, false knaves! And 

think you not. 
That if you hear a name o'er other soldiers, 
It was because you follow'd to I fie charge 
One that had zeal and skill enough to lead 

you 
Where lame was won by danger? 

Wd. We grant thy skill in leading, noble 

sergeant ; 
Witness some empty boots and sleeves 

ainoiiKst US, 
V\ hich else had still been tenanted with limbs 
111 the full guantily; and for the arKtimeiits 
Willi winch you Used to b;ick our resolution, 
Our sliou dt;i\s do lenoid them. At a word. 
Will you conform, or ujust we part our com- 
pany ? 
Ser. (Joiiform to you ■' Base dogs ! [would 

not lead you 
A holt Hislii farther to be made a general. 
Mean mutineers! when you swill'd off the 

dregs 
Of my poor sea stores, it was, "Noble Ser- 

eeaiit — 
Heaven bless old Hildebrand — we'll follow 

liiiii. 
At least, until we safely see liim lodged 
Wiiliin the merry bounds of fiis own Eng- 
land !" 
WU. Ay. truly, sir; but, mark, the ale was 

mishiy. 
And the Geneva poent. Such stout liquor 
Ahikes violent pro eslations. .^kiiik it round. 
If you hiive any left, to the same tune, 
And we may liiid a chorus for it si ill 

Abr. V\'e lose our time.— fell us at once, 

old nniii. 
If thou wilt march with us, or stay with 

Quentin? 
Ser. Out. mutineers! Dishonour dog your 

Abr. VXilful will have his way. Adieu, 
s.tout Hildebrand ! 

[ The Soldiers go off hm-jhino. and taking 
Iraue. with rnockery, of the Sergeant 
uiul Queaiin, who remain on the 
Stage. 
Ser. {after a pause.) Fly y(ui not with the 
rH.*t ?— fail you to toilnw 
Yon goodly lellowsliii) and fair example ? 
Come, take your wild-goose tliylit. I know 
you Scots, 



Like your own sea-fowl, seek your course to- 
gether. 
Que Kaith, a poor heron I, who wins my 

flijjht 
In loneliness, or with a single partner; 
And right it. is that I should seek for solitude, 
Uringinsf fiut evil luck on them I herd with. 
Str. Thou'rt thankless. Had we landed on 

the coast. 
Where our course bore us. thou wert far from 

home ; 
But the fierce wind that drove us round the 

island. 
Barring each port and inlet that we aim'd at, 
Hath wafted thee to harbour; for 1 judae 
This IS thy native land we disembark >>i\. 
Que. True, worthy friend. Each rock, each 

stream 1 look on, 
Each bosky wood, and every frowning tower. 
Awakens some y(»ung dream of infancy. 
Yet such is my hard hap. I miKhf more safely 
Have look'd oil [ndian cliffs, or Afric's desert. 
Than on my native shores. I'm like a babe. 
Doom'd to draw pmson from my nurse's bo- 
som. 
Ser. Thou dream'st, young man. Unreal 

terrors haunt. 
As I have iioied. siddy brains like thine — 
Flighty, poetic, and imaginative- 
To whom a minstrel whim gives iille rapture. 
And. when it fades, tainastic misery. 
Que But mine is not fantastic. I can tell 

ihee. 
Since 1 have known thee still my faithful 

friend. 
In part at least the dangerous plight I .stand 

in. 
Ser. And I will hear thee willingly, the 

r:ither 
That 1 would let the.se vagabonds march on. 
Nor join their troop again. Besides, good 

.sooth. 
I'm wearied with the toil of yesterday. 
And revel of last night.— And I may iiid thee. 
Yes, 1 may aid thee, comrade, and perchance 
Thou mayst advantaee me. 

Que. May it prove well for both !— But note, 

my friend. 
1 can but intimate my mystic story. 
Some of it lies so secret.- even the winds 
That whistle round us mu.st not kimw the 

whole — 

.\n oath ! — an oath I 

Ser. 'I'liat must be kept, of course 

I ask but that which thou mayst freely tell. 
Que. 1 was an orphan boy, and f^rst saw 

light 
Not far from where we stand — my lineage 

low. 
But honest in its poverty .\ lord, 
The master of the soil for many a mile. 
Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge 
For my advance in letters, and the qualities 
Of the poor orphan lad drew some apftlause. 
1 he kmght was proud of me. and. in his halls, 
I had such kind of welcome as ttie great 
Give to the humble, whom they love to point 

to 
As objects not unworthy their proiec-tioii. 
Whose progress is some honour to thtir pa- 
tron — 
A cure was spoken of which I might serve. 
My MiiiniiHrs. doctrine, and acquirements fit 

tm;i 



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AUCIIINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. GG3 



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Srr. Hitherto tliy luck 

Whs of the lie^l, good friend. Few lords had 
cared 

If thou couldst read thv grammar or thy psal- 
ter. 

Thou h:idst been valued coiildsl thou scour a 
harness. 

And dress a steed distinctly. 
Qtte. ^h old master 

Held diflferent doctrine, at least it seem'd so— 

But he wa.s mix'd in many a deadly feud — 

And here my tale grows mvstic. I became, 

i iiwiitmg and unwilling, the depositary 

Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on't 

}\n< wreck'd rnv peace fur ever It became 

Mv |>at'-(m's will, that I. a«: one who knew 

Moie than I stmuld. must leave the realm of 
Scotland. 

And live or die within a distant land. 

Srr. Ah ! thou hast done a fault in some 
wild ndd. 

As vou wild Scotsmen call them. 

Que. Comrade, nay ; 

Mine was a peaceful part, and happ'd by 
chance. 

1 most not tell you more. Enough, niy pre- 
sto nee 

Brought danger to my benefactor's house. 

'lower after tower conceal'd me. willing still 

To hide my ill-omen'd face wich owls and 
ravens. 

And let mv patron's safety be the purchase 

Of my severe and desolate captivity. 

So thought 1. when dark Arran. with its walls 

Of iiHiive rock, enclosed me. Thfre 1 lurk'd, 

A peaceful stranger amid armed clans, 

VVithiint a friend to love or to defend me. 

V\ here all beside were link"d by close alli- 
ances. 

At length I made mv option to take service 

In that same legion of auxiliaries 

In which we lately served the Belgian. 

Our leader stout Montgomery, hath been kind 

Through full six years of warfare, and as- 
sign'd me 

More peaceful tasks than the rough front of 
war. 

For which my education little suited me. 
Scr. Av. therein was Montgomery kind in- 
deed ; 

Nay. kinder than vou think, mv simple Quen- 
tin 

The letters which you brought to the Mont- 
gomery, 

Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate ser- 
vice. 

Which should most likely end thee. 
Que. Piore I such letters? — Surely, com- 
rade, no. 

Full deeuly was the writer hoiinrl to aid me. 

Perchance he only meant to nrove my mettle; 

And It was but a trick of my bad fortune 

That gave his letters ill interpretation. 

Ser. Ay. but thy belter angel wrought for 
good. 

Whatever ill thv evil fate designed thee. 

Monigomtry pitied thee, and changed thy ser- 
vice 

In the rough field for labour in the tent. 

More fit f(»r thy green years and peaceful 
habits. 
Qiifi. Kven there his well-meant kindness 
injured me 

.My roinrudes hated, undervalued me, 



simpl 



And whatsoe'er of service I C'Hild do them. 
They gnerdond with ingratitude and envy — 
Such my strange doom. ih;it if I .serve a man 
At dee(iest risk, he is my foe for ever ! 
-Ser. Hast thou wo.rse fate than otners if it 
were so? 
Worse even than me. thy friend, thine officer. 
Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pilch d 

ashore. 
As wild waves heap the sea weed on the 

beach. 
And left him here, as if he had the pest 
Or leprosy, and death were in his comnanv ? 
Que They i hmk at least you have I ne worst 
of plagues. 
The worst of leprosies.— thev tlrnk vou poor. 
Scr. They think li«e Iving villHinsthen. I'm 
rich. 
And they too might have fell it. I Ve a 

thought — 
But stay — what plans your wisdom for your- 
self.' 
Que. My thoughts are wellnigh desperate. 
But I purpose 
Ketiini to my stern patron— there to tell him 
That wars, and winds, and waves, have cros.^'d 

his pleasure, 
And cast me on the shore from whence he 

b:'nish'd me 
Then let liiiii do his will. »nd destine for me 
A dungeon or a grave. 
S<r. .\ow, bv the rood, thou art a 
fool ! ■ 

I can do better for thee. Mark me. Quentin. 
I took my license from the nohle regiment. 
Partly that I was worn with age and warfare, 
Partly that an estate of yeomanry, 
Of no great purcha.se, but enough to live on. 
Has caird me owner since a kinsman's death. 
It lies in nrerry Yorkshire, where the wealth 
Of fold and furrow, proper to Old England, 
Stretches liy streams which walk no sluggish 

pace. 
But dance as light as yours. Now, good friend 

Quentin. 
This copyhold can keep two quiet inmates. 
And I am childless. Wilt thou he mv .son ? 
Qtie .N;iy. you ran only jest, iny worihy 
friend ! 
What claim have I to be a burden to vou ? 
Her. The claim of him that waiHs. and is in 
danger. 
j On him that has. and can afford protection : 
Thou wouldst not fear a foeman in my cot- 
tage. 
Where a stout mastiff slumber'd on the 

hearth. 
And this good halberd hung above the chim- 
ney ? 
But come — I have it — thou shall earn thy 

bread 
Duly, and honourably, ami usefully. 
Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish. 
Forsook the ancient schoolhouse with its yew- 
trees. 
That lurk'd beside a church two centuries 

older.— 
So long devotion took the leail of knowledge ; 
And since his little flock >Are shenherdless, 
'I is thou shall he pnmioted in \ri's room , 
And rather than thou wantest scholars, man, 
Mvself will enter pupil. Better late, 
Our proverb savs. than never to do «e||. 
And look y in, on the holvdavs I'd tell 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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To all I he wondering boors and gaping chil- 

(jieti, 
Strange tales of what the regiment did in 

Flanders. 
And thou sh()uldst say Amen, and be my war- 
rant, 
That I speak truth to them. 

Q^e.. Would 1 miglit take thy offer ! But, 
alas ! 
Thou art the hermit who compell'd a pilgrim, 
In name of Heaven and heiivenly clmriiy. 
'i'ci stiare his roof and meal, but found too late 
That he liad drawn a curse on iiim and his. 
By sheltermsj a wreich foredoom'd of tieaven ! 
SfT. 'i'hou talk'st in riddles to me. 
Qne. If 1 do, 

'Tis lliat I am a riddle to myself 
'I'liou knovv'st I am l)y nature born a friend 
ToRleeaiid merriment ; can make wild verses; 
The jest or laugh has never stopp'd witli me. 
When once 'twas set a rolling 

Str. 1 hiive known tliee 

A niithe companion still, and wonder now 
'I'lioU shouldst liecome thus crest-fallen. 
ilue. Does I he lark sing lier descant when 
the falcon 
Scales tlie blue vault with bolder wing than 

hers, 
And niedilates a stoop? The mirth Ihou'st 

n rfed 
Was all deception, fraud — Hated enough 
For otner causes, I did veil my feelmss 
Ben^alh the mask of mn'th, — laugh'd, sung, 

and caroli'd, 
To gain some interest in my comrades' bo- 
soms, 
Although mine own wa.s bursting. 

Ser. 7'hou'rt a hypocrite 

Of a new order. 

Que. But harmless as the innoxious snake. 
Winch bears the adder's form, lurks in his 

iiaunts. 
Yet neither hath his fiing-teeth nor his poison. 
Look you, kind Hildehrand, 1 would seem 

merry. 
Lest oilier men should, tiring of my sadness. 
Expel me from them, as tlie hunted wether 
Is driven from the flock. 

Her. Faith, thou hast borne it bravely out. 
Hud 1 been ask'd to name the merriest fellow 
Of all our musler-roll — that man wurt thou. 
Qut. See'st thou, my friend, yon brook dance 
down the valley. 
And sm^' blithe carols over broken rock 
And tiny wrtierfall, kissiinr each shrub 
And each gay flower it nurses in Us passase, — 
Where, thmk'st thou, is its source, the bonny 

It flows from forth a CMvern. black and gloomy. 
Sullen and sunless, like this heart of mine, 
VN'liicli others see in a false slare of saiely. 
Which I have laid before you m its sadiies<. 
Scr. If such wild fancies dog thee, where- 
fore leave 
The tr;ide where thou wert safe 'midst others' 

dangers. 
And venture to thy native land, where fate 
Lies on th • watch for thee ? Had old Mont- 
gomery 
Been with the regiment, thou hadst had no 
conge. 
Que. No. 'lis nw St likely— But I had a hope, 

A I r vain hope, that I might live obscurely 

In sumc lar corner of my native Scotland, 



Which, of all others, s(ilinter'd into districts, 
DifTermg in manners, families, even liinguage, 
Seem'd a safe refuge for the humble wretch. 
Whose highest hope was to leniiiin unheard 

of 
But fate has baffled me— the winds and waves. 
With force resistless, have impell'd me lii- 

ther— 
Have driven me to the clime most dang'rous 

to me: 
And I obey the call, like the hurl deer. 
Which seeks instinctively his native lair. 
Though his heart tells him it is but to die 
there. 
Str "lis false, by I leaven, young man ! This 
same despair. 
Though showing resignation in its baiuKir, 
Is hut a kind of covert cowardice 
Wise men have said, thai ihoiigh our stars in- 
cline. 
They cannot force us— Wisdom is the pilot. 
And if he cannot cro.ss. he may evade them. 
You lend an ear to idle aiigiirie,s. 
The Iruils of our last revels— still most sad 
Under the gloom that follows boKslerous mirth, 
As earth looks blackest after brilliant sun- 

Q«e. No, by my honest word. 1 join'd the 
revel, 

And aided it with laugh, and song, and shout. 

But my heart revelld not; and, when the 
mirih 

W;is at the loudest, on yon galliot's prow 

I stood unmark'd. anil gazed upon the land. 

My native land— each capt and clilfl knew. 

" IJehold me now," I said, "your desimed vic- 
tim !" 

So greets the sentenced criminal the heads- 
man. 

Who slow approaches with his lifted axe. 

" Hither 1 come," 1 said, "ye kindred hills. 

Whose darksome >iuiliiie in a distant land 

Haunted my slumbers; here 1 stand, thou 
ocean. 

Whose hoarse voice, murmuring in my dreams, 
required me; 

See me now here, ye winds, whose plaintive 
wail, 

On yonder distant shores, appear'd to call 
me— 

Summon'd. behold ine." And the winds and 
waves, 

And the deep echoes of the distant mountain, 

Made answer— " Come, and die !" 
Str. Fantastic all ! Poor boy, thou art dis- 
tracted 

With the vain terrors of some feudal tyrant. 

wiiose frown hath been from infancy thy 
bugbear. 

Why seek his presence? 
Que. Wherefore does the morh 

Fly to the scorching taper ( W liy the hud. 

Dazzled liy lights at muinight. seek the net? 

Why does the prey, which feels the fa.scina- 
tioii 

Of the snake's glaring eye, drop in his jaws ? 
Str. Sucti wild examples but lefute them- 
selves. 

I.et bird, let moth, let the coil'd adder's prey, 

Hesisl the tascination and be safe. 

I hou goest not near I Ins Baron— if thou goest, 

I will go with thee Known m niaiiv a held. 

Which he in a whole life of petty feiiil 

Has iiever dieam'd of, 1 will leach the knight 



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AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. GCf. 




To rule him in this inaiter— he thy wainuit, 
'I'liiU far from hiiii, and from ins petty lord- 
ship. 
Yoa shall henceforth tread L'nglish land, and 

never 
Thy presence shall alarm his conscience more 
Que. ' Twere desperate risK for both. 1 will 

far rather 
Hasiily anide thee through this dangerous 

province. 
And seek thy school, thy yew-trees, and thy 

church -yard; — 
The last, perchance, will be the first I tind. 

Ser 1 vviMild rather face him. 
Like a bold lMi!;hshnian that knows his ri!;ht. 
And will stand by his friend. And yet 'lis 

folly— 
Fancie- liwe these are not to he resisted ; 
"lis b< tt.er to escape them. Many a presa?e. 
Too rashly braved, becomes its own accom 

plishinent 
Then let ns sr<>— but whither? My old head 
As little knows where it shall lie io-iiis;ht, 
As yonder niiinneers that left r;:eir oHicer, 
As reckless of his quaiters as these billows, 
'I'hat leave the wiUiered sea- weed on the 

beach, 
And care not wliere thev pile it. 

Que. Think not for iliat, good friend. We 

are in Scotland. 
And if It IS not varied from its wont,. 
Each cot. that sends a curl of smoke to hea- 
ven. 
Will yield a siranser quarters for the night, 
Simply because he needs Ihem. 
ISer. But are there none within an ea.sy 

walk 
Give Icidsinss here for hire? for 1 have left 
Some of the D.n's piastres, (thousli I kept 
The st-cret fiom yon gulls.) and I had rather 
Pay tlie fair reckoiimg I can well afford. 
And my host takes with pleasure, than I'd 

cumber 
Some poor man's roof with me and all my 

wants, 
And tax Ins charity beyond discretion. 

Que Some six miles hence there is a town 

and hostelry — 
But you are w-iyworn, and it is most likely 
Our comrades must have till d it. 

Ser Out upon them !— 

Were there a friendly mastiff who would lend 

me 
Half of his sunper, half of his poor kennel, 
I wciuld help HoiU'sty to pick his bones. 
And share his straw, far rather than I'd sup 
On jolly fare with' these base varlets \ 

Que We'll manage better ; for our Scottish 

dogs. 
Though stout and trusty, are hut ill-instructed 
In hospitable riirhls —Here is a maiden, 
A little iiiaid, will tell us of the country. 
Ami sorely it is rhaiigeil since I have left it, 
If we should fail to tind a harliouraae, 

£/i<fr Isabel MacI.ellan.a ??>/ of about six years 
old, 'teanwj a milk-pail on her head ; she slops 
vn senng Uie .s^ersea ;t and Quentin, 
Que. There's somolhing in her look that 
doth remind me— 
But 'tis not wonder I find recollections 

ai all that here I look on.— Pretty maid 

Ser. Yon'ie slow, and hesitate, i will be 
spoke.'-nian. — 



even, my pretty maiden— canst thou tell 



Is there a Christian house would render stran- 
gers. 

For love or guerdon, a night's meal and lodg- 
ing? 
Isa Full surely, sir; we dwell in yon old 
house 

Upon the cuff— they call it Chapeldonan. 

[I'onils lo thf building. 

Our house is large enough, ami U our supper 

(Jiiance lo be scant, you shall have half of 
mine, 

For, as I think, sir, you have been a soldier. 

Up yonder lies our house ; I'll tri[) before. 

And tell my mother she has guests a coming ; 

The path is sornelhinK steep, hut you shall see 

I'll be there first. I must chain up the dogs, 
too; 

Nimrod and Bloodylass are cross to strangers, 

Bui gentle when you know them. 

lExU. and is sten pailially ascemlintf 
tu the Castle. 
Ser. You have spoke 

Your country folk aright, boili for the doss 

And for the people —We had luck to light 

On one to > young for cunning and for seifi.-h- 
ness. — 

He's in a reverie — a deep one sure. 

Since the aibe on his country wakes him 

Be.stir thee. Qiientin ! 
Que. 'Twas a wonilrous likeness. 

Ser. Likeness! of whom? I'll warrani iliee 
of one 

Whom thou hast loved and lost. Such fanta- 
sies 

Live Ions in brains like thine, which fashion 
visions 

Of v\oe and death when they are cross 'd in 
love. 

As most men are or have been. 
Que Thy guess hatli touch'd nie, thoush it 
IS but slightly. 

'.MoiiL-st other woes: I knew, in former days. 

.\ maul that view'd me with some glance of 
favour; 

But my faie carried me to other shores. 

And she has since been wedded. 1 did think 
on't 

But as a btibble burst, a rainbow vanish'J ; 

It adds no deeper shade to the dark sloom 

VVIiir.h chills the springs of hope and l:ie 
within rne. 

Our guide hath got a trick of voice and fea- 
ture 

Like to tho maid I spoke of— that is all. 
Ser. She bounds before us like a gamesome 
doe. 

Or rather as the rock-bred eaglet soars 

Up to her nest, as if she rose by will 

Without an effort Now a .Netherlander. 

One of our Fiogland friends, viewing the 
scene. 

Would take his oath that tower, and rock, and 
maiden. 

Were forms too light and lofty to be re.tl. 

And only some delusion of the fancy. 

.Such as men dream at sunset. I myself 

Have kept the level ground so many years, 

I have welliii-h forgot the art to climb, 

Unless assisted by thy vouuEer arm 

[Tfiei/(jo off as il tonsnnit III Ihf Tnuier 
Ute Sergeant Itaniuy ii/iou l^uei 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



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SCENE II. 

Scene chanaes to the Fiont of the Old Tower. 

[sal)el comes forward with her Mother,— Ma- 

rmti sprafcinii as I hey advance. 

Mar. I blame thee not, my cliikl, for bidding 
wanderers 
Come sluiie our food and shelter, if thy father 
\\'ere here to welcome tiieiii ; but, Isahel, 
He waits upon his lord at Auchuidrane, 
.^^d comes not home to-night 

ha. Wdat then, my mdther? 

M'he travellers do not ask to see my father; 
Food, shelter, rest, is all tiie poor men want. 
And we can give them these withoul my 
father. 

Mar Thou canst not understand, nor I ex- 
plain. 
Why a lone female asks not visitants 
What time her husband's absent. — (Jpori.) 

My poor child. 
And if thou'rt wedded to a jealous husband, 
'1 hou'lt know to<i soon the cause. 

ha ( parliy overheariiig what her mother says. ) 
Ay, but I know already — Jealousy 
Is, when my father chides, and you sit weep- 
ing. 

Mar Out, little spy ! thy father never chides ; 
Or. if he does, 'tis when his wife deserves it.— 
Bill to our strangers ; they are old men, Isabel, 
That seek this shelter? are they not? 

ha. One is old — 

Olil as this tower of ours, and worn like that. 
Bearing deep marks of battles long since 

foUKht. 

Mar. 55ome remnant of the wars ; he's wel- 
come, surely. 
Bringing no qualiiy along with him 
V\ Inch can alarm suspicion —Well, the other ? 
ha. A voung man. gentle-voiced and gentle- 
eyed. 
Who looks and speaks like one the world has 

frown'd on ; 
But smiles when you smile, seeming that he 

feels 
Joy in your joy, though he himself is sad. 
Brown hair, and downcast looks. 
Mar. (alnrmed. ) 'Tis but an idle thousht — it 
cannot be ! [Listens 

I hear his accents — It is all too true — 
My terrors were prophetic! 

I'll compose myself. 
And then accost him firmly Thus it must be. 
[She retires hastily into the Tower. 
[The voices of the Sergeant and Queii- 
tiii are heard ascending behind the 
Scenes. 
Que One effort more — we stand upon the 
level. 
I've seen thee work thee up glacis aod cava- 
lier 
Steeper than this ascent, when cannon, ciil- 

verine. 
Musket, and hackbut, shower'd their shot 

upon thee, 
And form'd, with ceaseless blaze, a fiery gar- 
land 
Round the defences of the post you ,«tnrm'd. 
[Th^y come on the Stage, and. at the 
same lime Marion re-enters from the 
Tower. 
Set . Truly thou speak 'st. I am the tardier. 
That I. Ill cliinbing hither, miss the fire, 



Which wont to tell me there was death in 
loilenns — 

Here stands, methinks, our hostess. 

[He aocs fojward to address Marion. 
Quentin, struck on seeing her, keej:s 
back 
Ser. Kind dame, yon little lass hath brought 
you strangers. 

Willing to be a trouble, not a charge to you. 

W e a.re disbanded soldiers, but have means 

Ample enough to pay our journey homeward. 
Mar. We keep no house of general enter- 
tainment. 

But know our duty, sir, to locks like yours. 

Whiten'd and thinn'd by many a long cam- 
paign. 

Ill chances that my husband should be ab- 
sent— 

(.<4par/.)— Courage alone can make me strug- 
gle through it — 

For in your comrade, though he haih forgot 
me, 

I spy a friend whom I have known in school- 
days, 

And whom I think Mac Lellan well remembers. 
[She goes ttp to Queuiin. 

You see a woman's memory 

Is faithfuller than yours; for Quentin Blane 

Hath not a greeting left for Marion Harl^ness. 
Que. {with iffort ) T seek, indeed, my native 
land, good Marion, 

But seek it like a stranger.— All is changed. 

And thou thyself— 
Mar. You left a ciddy maiden. 

And find, cm your return, a wile and inother, 

Tliine old acquaintance, yueiitin. is my mate — 

Stout Niel .MacLelhiii. ran';er to our lord. 

The Knight of Aucliiiidrane. He's absent now. 

But will rejoice to see his former comrade. 

If. as I tru«t, you tarry his return. 

(Apart.) Heaven grant he understand my 
words by contraries! 

He must remember Niel and he were rivals; 

He must remember Niel and he were foes; 

He must remember Niel is warm of teiii[.er. 

And think, instead of welcome, I would 

Bid him. God speed you. But he is as simple 
And void of guile as ever. 

Qiie Marion. I eladly rest within your cottage, 
And gladly wait return of Niel Macl.ellan, 
I o clasp his hand, and wish him happiness. 
Some rising feelings might perhaps prevent 

this— 
But 'tis a peevish part to grudge our friend'* 
'liieir share of fortune because we have 

miss'd It ; 
I can wish others joy and happiness, 
Tliouijh I must ne'er partake them. 
Mar. But if it grieve you — 
Que. No ! do not fear, 'i'he brightest gleams 
of hope 
'I'hat shine on me are such as are reflected 
From those which shine on others. 

[The Sergeant and Quentin enter the 
Tower with the little Girl. 
Mar. {comes forward, and speaks in agilfitio7i ) 
Even so! the simple youth has miss'd niy 

meaning. 
1 shame to make it plainer, or to say. 
In one brief word, Pass on — Heaven guide tl o 

bark. 
For we are on the breakers ! 

[Exit into the Tvwer. 



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AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. GC7 



ACT 11— SCENi; 1. 

A wilMraicmti Aprtrlmptif in Ihfi Cnslle of Axr- 
chiwlrnnt Sf^vniils id'cr a TaMe, with a 
Flash of Wine and D linking- Cups. 

Entfr More of Aiioliimlrane, willi Albert Gif 
ford, his Relation and Visitor. 'I'hfy place 
Uiemsrlvcs tiy the Table afitr some roniplimen- 
tnry crrnnont/ At some distance is hiai d the 
noise of rrvelling. 

Auch. We're better placed for confidential 

l:ilk. 
Th;in in the hall fill'd with disbanded soldiers. 
And fools and fiddlers gaiher'd on the high- 
way.— 
The worthy fiiests whom Philip crowds mv 

hall With, 
And with them spends his evening. 

Gif. Hut think you not. niy friend, that your 

s..n Fliilip 
Should be participant of these our councils, 
Being so deeply iniiigled in the danger — 
Voiir house's only heir— your only -son ? 
Auch. Kind cousin Gifford, if thou laok'st 

good counsel 
At race, at cock pit. or at gambling table. 
Or any freak by which men cheat themselves 
As well of life, as of tlie tnnans to live, 
Call for assistance upon Philip Mure ; 
But in all serious parley spare invoking him. 
Gtf. You speak too lightly of mv cousin 

Phdio; 
All name hiiii brave in arms. 

Auch. A second Be vis; 

But 1. my youth bred up in g^iaver fashions. 
Mourn o'er the mode of life in which lie 

spends, 
Or rather dissipates, his time and substance. 
I>>o vagabond escapes his search— 'I'lie soldier 
Spurn'd from the service, henceforth to be 

ruffian 
Upon his own account, is Philip's comrade; 
The tiddler, whose crack'd crown has still 

three strings on't; 
The balladeer, whose voice has still two notes 

left ; 
Whale'er is roguish and whate'er is vile. 
Are welciiine to the hoard of Aiichiiidrane, 
And Piiilii. will return them shout for shout. 
And pledge for jovial pledge, and song for 

Until the shamefaced sun peep at our win- 
dows, 
And ask, '• What have we here ?" 

Gif. You take such revel deeply — we are 
Scotsmen, 
Far known for rustic hos^italiry, 
That mind not birth or titles in our guests; 
The harper has his seat beside our hearth, 
T he wnnderer must find comfort at our board. 
His name unask'd. his pedigree unknown; 
So did our ancestors, and so must we. 
Auch. All this is freely granted, worthy 
kinsman; 
And prithee do not think me churl enough 
locohiil how many sit beneath my salt. 
I've wealth enough to fill mv father's hall 
Each day at noon, and feed the guests who 

crowd it; 
I am near mate with those whom men call 

Lord, 
Though a rude western knight. But mark 
me, cuusin, 



Aitliough I feed Wiiyfaring vagabonil . 
I iiiake them not my cc>mr:ides. Such as I, 
Who luive advanced the fortunes of my line, 
And swell'd a baron's turret to a iialace. 
Have oft the curse awaiting on our thrift. 
To see. while yet we live, the things which 

must he 
At our decease— the downfall of our family. 
Ihe loss of land and lordsliip, name and 

knighthood 
The wreck of the fair fabric w€ have built. 
By a ilesenerate heir. Philip has that 
Of' inborn meanness in him. that, lie loves not 
The company of betters, nor of equ.ils ; 
Never at ease, unless he bears the hell. 
And crows the loudest in the company. 
He's mesh'd. too. in Ihe snares of every female 
Who deigns to cast a [lassing glance on luin— 
Licnntious. di.srespecifui. rash, and profligate. 
Gif. Come, my good Coz, think we too have 

been young. 
And 1 will swear that in your fa'her's lifetime 
You have yourself been trapp'd by toys like 

these 
Auch. A fool I may have been — but not a 

madman; 
1 never pl.iy'd the rake among my followers, 
Pursumg this man's sister, that riiaii's wife; 
And therefore never saw I man of mine. 
When summon'd to obey mv best, grow restive, 
Talk iii his iKmour, of his peace destroy'd. 
And, wtule obeying, mutter threats of ven- 
geance. 
But now the humour of an idle youth. 
Disgusting trusted followers, sworn depen- 
dents. 
Plays football with his honour and my safety. 
Gif. I'm sorry to find discord in your house, 
For 1 had hoped, while bringing you cold news, 
'Vo find you arm'd in union 'gainst the danger. 
Auch. What can man speak that 1 would 

shrink to hear. 
And where the danger I would deign to shun ? 
[Hi: rists. 
What should appal a man inured to perils. 
Like the bold climber on the crags of Ailsa ? 
Winds whistle past him. billows rage below. 
The sea-fowl sweep around, with shriek and 

clang. 
One single slip, one unadvised pace. 
One qualm of giddiness — and peace be with 

him ! 
But he whose grasp is sure, whose step is 

firm. 
Whose brain is constant— he makes one proud 

rock 
The means to scale another, till he stand 
Triumphant on the peak. 

Gif. And so 1 tru.st 

Thou wilt surmount the dangernow approach- 
ing. 
Which scarcely can I frame my tongue to tell 

you. 
Though I rode here on purpose. 
Auch Cousin, I think thy heart was never 

coward. 
And strange it seems thy tongue should take 

such semblance. 
I've heard of many a loud-mouth'd, noisy 

braggart. 
Whose hand gave feeble sanction to ins 

toiiaue; 
But thou art one whose heart (;an think hold 

thin.ns, 



iC7 ^. 



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^ 663 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



\ 



Whoso hand can act them 

to speak I hem ! 
Gif. And if I speak them not, 'tis that I 

shame 
To tell thee of the calumnies that load thee. 
Thinss loudlv spoken at the city Cross- 
Things ch>sely whisper'd iii our Soveieisii's 

ear- 
Things which the plumed lord and flat capp'd 

citizen 
Do circulate amid their dillerent ranks- 
Things false, no doubt; but, falsehoods while 

I deem them. 
Still honouring thee. T shun the odious topic. 
Aich. Siiiin it not, cousin; 'tis a frieiM"s 

best office 
To hrin^ I lie news we hear unwillinsly. 
The sentinel, who tells the foe's approach. 
And wakes the sleeping ciiuip, does but his 

duty : 
Be thou as hold in felling me of danger, 
As 1 shall he in facing danser told of 
Gif. I need not hid thee recollect the death- 
feud 
That rased so long betwixt thy house and 

C.i.^silis: 
T need not hid thee recollect the leasiie. 
When roval James himself stood mediator 
Between thee and Earl Gilbert. 
Auch. Call you these news?— You might as 

well have told me 
That old Kins Coil is dead, and graved at 

Kvlesfeld. 
I'll help thee out — King James commanded 

us 
Henceforth to live in peace, made us clasp 

hands too 
O. sir. when such an nnion hath been made. 
In heart and hand coiijoininff mortal foes. 
Under a nioiiarcirs royal mediation. 
The ieasue is not forgotten. And with this 
What IS there to be told? — The king com- 
manded — 
"Be friends" No doubt we were so — Who 

dares doubt it ? 
Gif You speak but half the tale 
Auch. Bv sood Saint Trimon, but I'll tell 

the whole! 
There is no tenor in the t;ile for me— i 
Go speak of ghosts to children! — This Earl 

Gilbert 
(God sain him) loved Heaven's peace as well 

as I did, 
And we were wondrous friends whene'er we 

met 
At church or market, or in burrows town. 
'Midst this, our ^ood Lord Gil'jert, Earl of 

Cassilis, 
Takes purpose he would journev forth to 

Edinburgh 
The Kins was doling gifts of abbey-lands. 
Good things that tl rift.y house was wont to 

fish for. 
Our mighty Earl forsakes his sea-wash'd 

castle. 
Passes our borders some four miles from 

hence ; 
And. holdiiis; it unwholesome to be fasters 
I.ona after sunrise, lo! The Earl and train 
Dismount, to re>t their nags and eat their 

breakfast. 



but who shrinks The morning rose, the small birds caroll'd 
sweetly — 
The corks were drawn, the pasty brooks in- 



His lordship jests, his train are choked with 

laughter 
When. — wondrous change of cheer, and most 

unlook'd for. 
Strange epilogue to bottle and to baked 

meat ! — 
Flash'd from the greenwood half a score of 

carabines 
And the good Earl of Cassilis, in his breakfast, 
Had nooning, dinner, supper, all at once. 
Even 111 the morning that he closed his jour- 
ney ; 
And the erim sexton, for his chamberlain. 
Made him the bed wliich rests the head for 

ever 
Gif. Told with much spirit, cousin — some 

there are 
Would add, and in a tone resembling triumph. 
And would Itiat with these long establish'd 

facts 
My tale began and ended ! I must tell you 
That evil-deeining censures of the eveiils. 
Both at the time and now, throw blame on 

thee — 
Time, place, and circumstance, they say, pro- 
claim thee. 
Alike, the author of that mornius's ambush. 

Auch. Ay, 'tis an old belief in Carrick here, 
V\'liere natives do not always die in bed. 
I hat if a Kennedy sliall not attain 
Methuselah's last span, a Mure has slain 

him. 
."^uch is the general creed of all their clan. 
I'haiik Heaven, tliai they're b(juiid to prove 

the charge 
'l"hey are so prompt in making. They have 

clamour'd 
Enough of this before, to show their malice. 
Hut what said these coward pickihanks wiien 

I came 
Before the King, before the Justicers. 
Rebutting all their ealummes, and daring 

them 
To show I hat I knew aught of Cassilis' jmir- 

ney- 
Which way he meant to travel — where to 

halt- 
Without which knowledge I possess'd no 

means 
I'o dress an ambush for him ? Did I not 
Defy the as.sembled clan of Kennedys 
To show, by (iroof direct or infeieiiiial, 
Wiierefore they slander'd nie witli this foul 

charge ? 
Mv gauntlei rung before them in the court. 
And I did dare the best nf them to lift it. 
And prove such charge a true (jiie— Did I 

not' 
Gif. I saw your gauntlet lie before the Ken- 
nedys. 
Who loiik'd on it as men do on an adder. 
Longing to crush, and yet alVaid tn srrasp it. 
Not an eye sparkled — not a ioni advan.^eil — ■ 
No arm was stretch'd to lift Hie tatal syndml 
Auch. Then, wherefore do ihe hildiiii;s 

murmur now ? 
Wisti tliev to see again, hmv nnc hold Mure 
Can baffle »rfid (\^i^ Hieir a.-^Nemliled valoiir ? 
Gif No; liul llicv speak (if tvidunce siip- 

i);e.ss'd. 



7 



/I 



AUCHINDRANE: OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 669 



Auch Sufipress'd ! — what evidence ? — by 
wlioiii suporess'il ? 
VViuit Will-o'-W'isp — wliiit idii)t (if a witness, 
Is he to whom they trace an empty voice 
But cannot show his person 7 

Gif. They pretend. 

With the Kins's leave. to brin? it to a trial; 
Averrins ttiat a lad. named Qiieiitin Blaiie. 
Brought thee a letter from the iniirder'il Earl, 
With friendly sreetinss. lelhtij of his journey, 
The hour wliich he set forth, tlie place he 

lialted at 
Affording thee the means to form the ambush, 
Of which your hatred made the applicaiion. 
Auch. A prudent Earl, nideed, if such his 
practice, 
When dealins with a recent enemy ! 
And what should he propose by such strange 

confidence 
In one who sought it not? 

Gif. His purposes were kindly, say the Ken- 
nedys — 
Desiring you would meet him where he halted, 
Otferiii!? to iinderiake whate'er commissions 
Yiiu li>ie(l trust him with, for court or ciiy : 
And, thus apprised of Cassilis' purposed jour- 

nev. 
And of his halting: place, you placed the am- 
hush. 

Prepared the homicides 

Auch. They're free to say tlieir pleasure. 
They are men 
Of the new court— and I am but a fragment 
Of stout old Morton's faction. It is reason 
That such as I be rooted from the earth 
Thai they may have full room to spread their 

branches. 
No doubt, 'lis easy to find strolling va?rants 
To prove whate'er they prompt. This Qiieii- 

tin Blane — 
Did you not call him so? — why comes he 

now T 
And wherelore not before T This must be an- 

swer'd—iabruplly)— 
Where is he now ? 

Gif Abroad— they say— kidnapp'd, 

By you kidnapp'd, that he might die in Flan- 
ders. 
But orders have been sent for his discharge. 
And his transnnssion hither. 
Auch ( assummg an air of composure. ) When 
they produce such witness, cousin Gif- 
fortl. 
We'll be prepared to meet it. In the mean- 
while. 
The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre 
In the accuser's scale, ere he can know 
How justice shall incline it. 

Gif. Our sage prince 

Resents, it may l)e, less the death of Cassilis. 
Ttnin he is anjry that the feud should burn. 
After his royal voice had said, " Bequench'd :" 
Thus urging prosecution less for slaughter. 
Than that, being d^ne against the King's com- 
mand. 
Treason is mix'd with homicide. 

Auch. Ha 1 ha ! most true, my cousin. 

Why, well consider'd, 'tis a crime so great 
To slay one's enemy, the King forbidding it, 
I Ike parricide, it slinuld be held impossible. 
'Tis just as if a wretch retain'd the evil. 
When the King's touch had bid the sores be 

heal'd; 
And such a crime merits the stake at least. 



I What! can there be witliin a Scottish bosom 
A feud so deadly, that ii kept its ground 
When the King said, Be friends! It is not 

credible 
W'ere 1 Kimr James, 1 never would believe it; 
I I'd rather think the story all a dream. 
j And that there was no friendship, feud, nor 

journey, 
I No halt, no ambush, and no Earl of Cas<.ilis, 
[Than dream anointed .Majesty has wrong! — 
Gif. .Speak witliin dnor, Ci>z. 
Auch. O, true — (twirfe) — I shall betray my- 
self 
Even to this half-bred fool— I must have room 
Room for an instant, or I sutTocate— 
Cousin, 1 prithee call our Philip liitlier — 
Forgive me; 'twere more meet I summon'd 

him 
My.self; but then the sight of yonder revel 
Would chafe my blood, and I have need of 
coolness 
Gif. 1 understand thee — I will brinir him 
straight, [Exit. 

Auch And if thou dost, he's lost his ancient 
trick 
To fathom, as he wont, his five-pint flas-ons. — 
This space is mine — Ofor the power to fill it, 
Instead of senseless rage and empty curses, 
\Mlh the dark spell which witches learn from 

fiends. 
That smites the object of their hate afar, 
.Nor leaves a token <if its mystic action. 
Stealing the soul from out the Unscathed bodv. 
As lightning mells the blade, nor harms the 

scabbard ! 
— 'Tis vain to wish for it— Each curse of mine 
Falls to the ground as harmless as the arrows 
Which children shoot at stars ! The lime for 

thought. 
If thought could aught avail me, melts away, 
Like to a snowhall in a schoolboy's hand. 
That melts the faster ihe more close he 

grasps It ! — 
If I had time, this Scottisli Solomon, 
Whom some call son of David the Musician. i 
Might find it perilous work to niiirch to Car- 
rick. 
There's many a feud still slumbering in its 

a.shes. 
Whose embers are yet red. Nobles we have. 
Stout as old Graysteel, and as hot as i>oth- 

well; 
Here too are castles look from crags as high 
On seas as wide as Logan's. So the King- 
Pshaw ! He IS here again— 
Enter Gifford. 
Gif. I heard you name 

The King, my kinsman; know, he comes not 
hither. 
Auch (affecting indifTerence ) Nay, then we 
need not broach our barrels, cousin. 
Nor purchase us new jerkins. — Comes not 
Philip? 
Gif. Yes, sir. He tarries but to drink a ser- 
vice 
To his good friends at parting. 
Auch Friends for the beadle or the sheriff- 
officer. 
Well, let it pass. Who comes, and how at- 
tended, 
Since James designs not westward ? 



N; 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 




Gif. O yiiu shall have, instead, his fiery 
functionurv, 
Geor?e Home that was, but now Dunbar's 

ereai E:irl ; 
He leads a royal host, and comes to show you 
Huw he distributes justice on the Border. 
Where judge and hiuigman oft reverse their 

office, 
And the noose does its work before the sen- 
tence. 
But I have said my ti^linsrs best and worst. 
J^one but yourself can know what course the 

time 
And peril may demand. To lift your banner, 
If I might he a judge, were desperate game : 
Iieiand and Galloway offer vou convenience 
For flight, if flight be thought the better re- 
medy ; 
To face the court requires the consciousness 
And confidence of innocence. You alone 
Can judge if you possess the attributes. 

[A 7iO!se behind the scenes. 
Aurh. Philip, 1 think, has broken up his 
revels ; 
His ragged regiment are dispersing them, 
Well liquor'd, douhtless. They're disbanded 

soldiers. 
Or some such vagabonds. — Here comes the 
gallant. 
[Enter Philip. He has a buff-con t and 
head-piece, wears a sword and dagger, 
with piflols at his uirdle. He appears 
to be affected by Uquor, but to be by no 
means intoxicated. 
Anch You scarce have been made known 
to one another 
Although you sate together at the hoard- 
Son Pliilip, know and prize our cousin Gifford. 
Phi. (tastes the wine on the table ) If you had 
prized hiin, sir, yon had been loth 
To have welcomed him in hastard Ali(;ant: 
I'll make amends, by pledging Ins good jour- 
ney 
In glorious Burgundy —The stirrup-cup, ho ! 
And bring my cousin's horses to the court 
Auch (draws him aside.) The stirrup-cup! 
He does not ride to-night- 
Shame on such churlish conduct to a kins- 
man ! 
Phi. (aside to Ms father.) I've news of press- 
ing import. 
Send the fool off. —Stay, I will start him for 

you. 
(To Gif.) Yes, my kind cousin. Burgundy is 

better. 
On a niglit-ride, to those who thread our 

moors. 
And we may deal it freely to our friends. 
For we came freely by it. Yonder ocean 
Rolls many a purple cask upon our shore, 
Kough with emhossed shells and shagged sea- 
weed. 
When the good skipper and his careful crew 
Have had their latest earthly draught of 

brine. 
And gone to quench, or to endure their thirst, 
Where nectar's plenty, or even water's .scarce, 
And filter'd to the parched crew by dropsfiiU 
Auch. Thou'rt mad, son Plulip ! — Gifford's 
no intruder. 
That we should rid him hence by such wild 

rants : 
My kinsman hither rode at his own danger, 
To tell us that Dunbar is hasting to us, 



With a strong force, and with the King's com- 
mission. 
To enforce against our house a hMtefiil charge 
With every measure of extremity. 
Phi. And is this all that our good cousin 
tells us T 
I can say more, thanks to the ragged regi- 
ment. 
With whose good company you have upbraid- 
ed me. 
On whose authority, T tell thee, cousin, 
Dunbar is here already. 
Gif. Already? 

Phi. Yes. gentle coz. And you, my sire, be 
hasty 
In what you think to do. 
Auch. 1 think thou darest not jest on such a 
suhject. 
Where hadst thou these fell tidings? 
Phi Wiiere you. too. might have heard 
them, noble father, 
S:ive that your ears, nail'd to our kinsman's 

lips. 
Would list no coarser accents. O, my soldiers, 
My merry crew of vagabonds, for ever ! 
Scum of the Netherlands, and wash'd ashore 
TIpon this coast like unregarded sea wend. 
They had not been two hours on Scottish 

land. 
When, lo! they met a military friend, 
An ancient fourier, known to them ot old. 
Who, warni'd by certain stoups of searching 

wine, 
Inform'd his old comiianions that Dunbar 
Left Glasgow yesterday, comes here to-mor- 
row ; 
Himself, he said, was sent a spy before, 
To view what [irepaiaiioris we were making. 
Auch (to Gil.) if I Ins l)e sooth, good kins- 
man, thou must claim 
To take a part with us for life and death. 
Or speed from hence, and leave us to our for- 
tune. 
Gif. In such dilemma, 
Believe me, friend, I'd choose upon the in- 

slaul,— 
But I lack harness, and a steed to charge on, 
For mine is overtired, and, save my page. 
There's not a man to back me. But I'll hie 
To Kyle, and raise my va.«sals to your aid. 

Phi 'Twill be when the rats, 
That on these tidings fly this house of ours, 
Come hack to pay their rents.— (.4pori ) 

Auch. Courage, cousin — 
Thou goesl not hence ill mounted for thy 

need ; 
Full forty coursers feed in my wide stalls. 
The best of thein is yours to speed your jour- 
ney. 
Phi. Stand not on ceremony, good our cou- 
sin. 
W'hen safety signs, to shorten courtesy. 
Gtf (to Auch.) Farewell, then, cousin, for 
my tarrying here 
Were rum to myself, small aid to you ; 
Yet loving well your name and family, 

I'd fain 

Phi. Be gone ?— that is our object, too — 
Kinsman, adieu. 

[Exit Gifford Philip calls after him. 
Yon yeoman of the stahle. 
Give Master Giffbrtl there my fleetest s:eed. 
Yon cut-tail'd roan that trembles at a spear. — 
[ Trampling oj the horse heard going off. 



y^ 



7^ 



AUCIHNDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE IRAGEDV. 6 



Hark! Ii« departs. How swift the dastard 
rides. 

To shun the ne ijhhourliood of jeopardy ! 

[_He lays aside Ihft nppmrnnce of levity 
which, he has hitlwrlo worn, and says 
very serious y. 

And now. my father — 
Auch. And now. my son — tiion'st ta'en a 
perdiiiis '^ame 

Into thine hands, rejentin^ elder Counsel, — 

How dost itioi) mean to play it? 
Phi. Sir. piod s:imesters play not 

Till they review the cards which fate has 
dealt tliein, 

Conipmin? thus the chances of the same ; 

And wofully they .«eem to weit;h asrainst us 
Auch. Exile's a passing ill, and may be 
borne ; 

And when Dunbar and all his myrmidons 

Are eastward turn'd, we'll seize our own 
asain. 
Phi. Would that were all the risk we liad 
to si and to! 

But more and worse. — a doom of treason, for- 
feiture, 

Death to ourselves, dishonour to our house. 

Is what the stern Justiciary menaces; 

And. fatally for us. he hath the means 

To make his ihreateninzs ?ood. 
Auch It cannot be. I tell thee, there's no 
force 

In Scottish law to raze a house like mine, 

Coeval with the time the Lords of Galloway 

Submitted them unto the Scottish sceptre, 

Benouncins ritrhts of I aiiistry and Brehon. 

Some dreams they have of evidence ; some 
suspicion. 

But old Montgomery knows my purpose 
well, 

And long before their mandate reach the 
camp 

To crave the presence of this mighty wit- 
ness. 

He will be fitted with an answer to it. 
Phi. Father, what we call great, is often 
ruin'd 

By means so ludicrously disproportion'd. 

They make me think lipoii the gunner's lin- 
stock. 

Which, yiel^ding forth a lisht about the size 

And semblance of ihe glowworm, yet ap- 
plied 

To powder, blew a palace into atoms. 

Sent a voung King— a young Queen s mate at 
least — 

Into the air, as hi?h as e'er flew night- 
hawk, 

And made such wild work in the realm of 
Sci>tland. 

As they can tell who heard, — and you were 
one 

Who saw, perhaps, the night-flight which be- 
gan It. 
Auch If thou hast nought to speak but 
drunken folly, 

I cannot listen longer. 
Phi. 1 will speak brief and sudden.— There 
IS one 

Whose tongue to us has the same perilous 
force 

Which Bothwell's powder had to Kirk of 
Field; 

One whose least tones, and those but peasant 
accents. 



Could rend the ronf from ofl^ our fathers 
castle, 

Level its tallest turret with its base; 

And he that doth possess this wondrous 
power 

Sleeps this same nisht not five miles distant 
from ij> 
Atich. {whc had looked on Philip mlh much 
iiliiuarnnce of astonishnuni and d'liiht, 
fxclnims ) Then thou art mad indeed !— 
Ha! ha! I'm glad on"t. 

I'd piirrhase an escape from what I dread. 

Even hy the frenzy of my only son ! 
Phi I thank you, but agree not to the bar- 
t:am. 

You rest on what yon civet cat has said : 

Yon Miken doublet, stuflf'd with rotten ."traw, 

Told you but half the truth, and knew no 
more. 

But my good vagrants had a perfect tale : 

They told me, little jmlgins the importance, 

TiiatQiientinBlane had been discharged with 
them. 

They told me, that a quarrel happ'd at land- 
>»gi 

And that the youngster and an ancient ser- 
geant 

Had leit their company, and taken refuge 

In C'hapeldoiiaii, wiiere our ranger dwells; 

Ihey saw hiiii scale the cliff on which it 
stands. 

Ere they were out of sight; the old man with 
him 

And therefore laugh no more at me as mad ; 

But laugh, if thou hast list for merriment. 

To think he stands on the same land vvilh us, 

Whose absence thou woulUst deem were 
cheaply purchased 

With thy soul's ransom and thy body's dan- 
ger. 
Atich. 'Tis then a fatal truth ! 'i'hou art no 
I yelper 

To open rashly on so wild a scent ; 

Tiiou'it the young bloodhound, whicli careers 
and springs, 

Frolics and fawns, as if the friend of man. 

But seizes on his victim like a tiger 
Phi. No matter wliat I am— I'm as you bred 
me ; 

So let that pass till there be time to mend 
me. 

And let us speak like men, and to tlie pur- 
pose. 

This object of our fear and of our dread. 

Since such our pride must own him, sleeps to- 
night 

Within our power: — to-morrow in Dunbar's, 

And we are then his victims. 
Auch. He is in ours to-night 
Phi. He is. I'll answer that MacLellan's 

trusty. 
Auch Yet he replied to you to-!av full 

rudely. 
Phi Yes ! 'Ihe poor knave has got a iiand- 
some wife. 

And is gone mad with jealousy. 
Auch. Fool! — When we need the utmost 
faith, allegiance. 

Obedience, and attachment in our vassnis 

Thy wild intrigues pour gall into tlieir 
hearts. 

And turn their love to hatred ! 
Phi. Most reverend sire, you talk of aiicieiu 
nturals, 



^t 



^ 



/ ^Tl 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Preacli'd on by Kiiox, and practised by Glen- 

cairii ; i 
P.especiMlilr,, indeed, but somewhat musty 
In these our modern nostrils In our days, 
If a youtiR liariin rhance to leave liis vassal 
'I'he sole IlOs^es^{)r of a handsome wife, 
'Tis sisn lie loves his follower; and, if not, 
He loves his follower's wife, which often 

proves 
The surer bond of patronaj?e. Take either 

Case : 
Favour flows in of course, and vassals rise. 

Aurh Philip, this is infamous, 
And, what is worse, impolitic. Take exam- 
ple : 
Break not God's laws or man's for each temp- 
tation 
Tlial youth and blood su^pest. I am a man — 
A weak and erring man; — full well thou 

know'st 
That I may hardly term myself a pattern 
Even to my son ;— yet thus far will I say, 
I never swerved from my integriiy, 
JSave at the voice of strons; necessity, 
Ur such o'erpoweriiig view of high advantage 
As wise men liken to necessity, 
III strength and force compulsive. Ko one 

saw me 
Exchange my reputation for my pleasure, 
K)\ do the Devil's work without his wages. 
1 practised prudence, and paid tax to virtue. 
By following her behests, save where strong 

reason 
Compell'd a deviation. Then, if preachers 
At limes look'd sour, or elders shook their 

heads. 
They could not term my walk irregular; 
For 1 stood up still for ihe worthy cause, 
A pillar, though a flaw'd one. of the allar, 
Kept a strict walk, and led three hundred 
horse. 
Phi Ah, these Ihree hundred horse in such 
rough limes 
Were belter cnmniendaiioii to a party 
Than all your efforts at hy()ocrisy, 
Betrayii so oft by avarice and ambition. 
And drasK'd to open shame. But, righteous 

father. 
When sirn and son unite in mutual crime. 
And join their efTorts to the same enormity, 
li IS no tune to measure other's faults. 
Or fix the amount of each. Most moral fa- 
ther. 
Think if It be a niotnent now to weigh 
The vices of the Heir of Aucliitidraiie. 
Or lake precaution that the ancient house 
Shall liMve another heir than the sly courlier 
That's gaping for the forfeiture. 

Axich We'll disappoint him, Philip,— 
We'll disapiioinl hiiii yet It is a folly, 
A wilful cheat, to cast our eyes behind, 
W'ht-n time, and the tast flitiing opportunity. 
Call loudly, nay, compel us to l(»ok forward : 
Why are we not already at MacLellan's, 
Since there the victim sleeps ? 



Phi. Nay, soft. 1 pray th««. 

I had not made your piety my confesi^or. 
Nor enler'd in debate on these sane rninirils, 
Which you're more like to give than 1 to pro- 
tit hy. 
Could I have used the time more usefully; 
Bu: first an interviil must pass between 
'ihe fate of Quentin and the liille art dice 
Thill slaiU detach him from his comrade, 
The SI out old soldier that I told you of. 
Auch How work a point so difficult — so 

dangerous ? 
Phi. ' lis cared for. Mark, my father, the 
convenience 
Arising from mean company. My agents 
Are at my hand, like a good workman's tools, 
And if I mean a mischief, ten to one 
That they anticipaie the deed and tfiiilt. 
Well knowing this, when first the vagrant's 

tattle 
Gave me the hint that. Quentin was so near us. 
Instant I sent .Mad ellan, with strong charges 
To stop him for the night, and biin? me woid. 
Like an arcomplish'd spy. how all things stood, 
Lulling the enemy into s-ecurity. 
Auch I here was a [irudenl general ! 
Phi. MacLellan went and came within the 
hour. 
The jealous bee, which buzzes in his night- 
cap, 
Had humm'd to him. this fellow, Qtienlin 

Blane, 
Had been in schoolboy days an humble lover 
Of his own pretty wife- ' 

Auch Most fortunate ! 

The knave will be more prompt to serve our 
purpose. 
Phi No doubt on't. 'Mid the tidings iie 
brought back 
Was one of some importance The old man 
Is flush of dollars; this I caii.sed him lell 
Among his comrades, who became as eager 
To have iiim in their company, as e'er 
They had been wild to part with hiin. And ai 

brief space. 
A letter's fiamed by an old hand amongst 

them, 
Familiar with such ft^ats. It bore the name 
And character of old Aiontgoinery. 
Whom he might well suppose at no great dis- 
tance. 
Commanding his old Sergeant Hildebrand, 
By all the ties of late aiiihority. 
Conjuring hini by ancient soldiership. 
To hasten to his mansion instantly. 
On business of high import, with a charge 

To come alone 

Avch. Well, he sets out, I doubt it not,— 

what follows ? 
Phi. I am not curious into others' prac- 
tices, — 
So far I'm an economist in guilt. 
As you my sire advise. But on the road 
To old Montgomery's he meets ins com- 
rades. 



1 Alexander, fifth Earl of Glencairn, for distinction called lies, cntitletl "The Hermit of A 
" The Good Earl," was among the first of the peersof Scot- SibhaU's Chronicle of Scottish V 
land who concurred in the Reformalion, in aid of which he 
acted a conspicuou.s part, in the employment both of his 
sword and pen. In a remonstrance with the Queen Regent, 
he told her, that " if she violated Ihe engagements which 
she had come under to her subjects, they would consider 
themselves as absolved from their alleEiance lo her " He 
was author of a satirical poem against the Roman Catho- 



eit," (I.oretto.) — See 
V. — He assisted the 
Reformers with his sworo, when they took arms at Penh, 
in 155l»; had a principal command in Ihe army embodied 
against Queen Mary, in June 16K7; and demolished the 
altar, broke Ihe images, lore down the pictures, &c. iu the 
Chopel-royal of Holyroodiiouse, after the Quetu was con- 
ducted to Lochleven. He died iu 1074. 



K 



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AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 673 



^ 



They nourish grudge asainst him and his 

dollars. 
And ihiiiss may hap, which counsel, learn'd 

111 law. 
Tall Rolihery and Murder. Should he live. 
He has seen nousht that we would hide from 

him. 
Anch. Who carries the forged letter to the 

veteran? 
Phi. Why, Niel MaoLellan, who, return'd 

again 
To his own tower, as if to pass the night 

there. 
■| hpv passd on him, or tried to pass a story, 
A< if tt.ey wish'd the serseant's company, 
Without the young comptroller's — that is 

Quentin's, 
And he b came an asent of their plot, 
'I'hat he miuht be ter carry on our own. 
Axicti. There's life in it — yes, there is life 

in't; 
And we will have a mounted party ready 
To scour the moors in quest of the banditti 
That kiU'd the poo>- old man — they shall die 

insiantlv. 
Dunbar shall see us use sharp justice here. 
As well as he in Tfivioidale. You are sure 
Vou gave no hint nor impulse lo their pur- 



pose 



PhL It tieeded not. The whole pack oped 
at once 
Ujioii the scent of dollars —But time comes 
VViien I roust seek tlie tower, and act with 

NieL 
What fartner's to be done. 
Auch. Alone with him thou goest not. He 
bears grudge— 
Thou art my only son. and on a night 
V\ lien such wild passions are so free abroad, 
W hen suc# wild deeds are doing, 'tis but na- 
tural 
I guarantee thy safety— I'll ride with thee. 
Phi. E'en as you will, my lord. But, par- 
don me, — 
If you w^ill come, let us not hnve a word 
Of conscience, and of pity, and foi siveness ; 
Fine Words to-morrow, out of place to-night. 
Take counsel then, leave all this work to me ; 
Call up your household, make fit preparation. 
In love and peace, to welcome this Earl Jus- 
ticiar, 
As one that's free of guilt. Go, deck the 

castle 
As for an honour'd guest. Hallow the chapel 
(If they have power to hallow it) with thy 

prayers. 
I*t me nde forth alone, and ere the sun 
Comes o'er the eastern hill, thou slialt accost 

him: 
" Now do thy worst, thou oft-returning spy. 
Here's nought thou canst discover" 
Aw:h. Yet eoest thou not alone with that 
.MacLellan! 
He deems thou bearest will to injure him, 
And seek'sl occasion suiting to such will. 
Philip, thou art irreverent, fierce, ill-nuriured, 
Stain'd Willi low vices, which disgust a father ; 
Yet ridest thou not alone with yonder man. — 
Come vvealcoine woe. myself will go with thee 
\Exil. and calls 1 6 horse behind the scene. 
Phi. {alone.) Now would I give my fleetest 
ho'se to know 
What sudden thought roused this paternal 
care. 



And if 'tis on hi-; own account or mme : 
'Tis true, be halh the ileepesi share in all 
Thai's likeiy now to hap, or winch lias hap- 

pen'd. 
Yet s'rons tbroueh Nature's universal reisn. 
The link winch binds the parent to the off- 

sprina: : 
The she-wolf knows it, and the tigress owns 

It. 
So that dark man, who, shunning what ia 

vinous. 
Ne'er turnd aside from an atrocity. 
Hath still some care left for his hapless ofF- 

Sjiring. 
Therefore 'tis meet, though w.iyward, light, 

and stubborn. 
That I should do for him all that a son 
Can do for sire— and his dark wisdom join'd 
To influence my bold courses, 'twill be hard 
To breuk our mutual puipo.^e. — Horses there ! 
lExit. 



ACT Iir— SCENH T. 

It is moonlight. Th" s^ene is the Beach beneath 

the Toiotr which was exhibited in the first 

scene..— the Vessfl is onne from her anchoratje. 

Aucliindrane and Puilip, as if dismounted 

from their horses, come Jorward caiUiuusl.v. 

Phi. The nasrs are safely s'ow'd. Their 

noise might scare him ; 

Let them be safe, and ready when we need 

them. 
The business is but short. We'll call Mac- 
Lellan, 
To wake him. and in quiet brin? him forth, 
If he be so disixised, for here are waters 
Enough to drown, and sand enough to covet 

him. 
But if he hesitate, or fear to meet us, 
Bv heaven I'll deal on him m Chapeldonan 
With my own hand ! — 
Aiich. Too furious boy !— alarm or noise un- 
does us. 
Our practice must be silent as 'tis sudden. 
BethinK thee that conviction of this slaughter 
Confirms the very worst of accusations 
Our foes can bring against us. Wherefore 

should we. 
Who by our birth and fortune mate with no- 
bles. 
And are allied with them, take this lad's 

life,- 
His peasant life, — unless to qua-sh his evi- 
dence. 
Taking such pains to rid him from the world. 
Who would, if spared, have fix'd a crime 
upon us ? 
PM. Well, I do own me one of those wise 
folks. 
Who think that when a deed of fate is plann'd, 
The execution cannot be too rapid 
But do we still keep purpose ? Is't deter- 
mined 
He sails for Ireland— and without a wherry? 
fcalt water is his passport — is it not so ? 
Atich. I would it could be otherwise. 
Miaht he not go there while in life and limb. 
And breathe his span out in another air? 
Many seek Ulster never lo return- 
Why misht tins wrelched youlh not harbour 
there? 
Phi. With all my heart. It is small liononr 
to me 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



To be the agent in a work like this. — 

Yet this poor caitiff, having thrust himself 

Into the secrets of a noble house. 

And twined himself .so closely with our safety, 

That we must perish, or that he must die, 

I'll hesitate as little on the action, 

As 1 would do to slay the animal 

Whose flesh supplies my dinner. 'Tis as 

harmless. 
That deer or steer, as is this Quentin Blaiie, 
And not more necessary is its death 
To our accomiiiodaiion— so we slay it 
Without a moment's pause or hesiiation. 
Audi 'lis not., nij san, the feeling call'd 

remorse, 
That now lies tugering at this heart of mine. 
Engendering thou^hls that; slop the lifted 

hand.' 
Have I not heard John Knox pour forth his 

thunders 
Against the op()ressor and the man of blood, 
in accents of a minister of vengeance? 
W ere not his fiery eyelialls turn'd on me. 
As if he said expressly, "ThouVt the man ?" 
Yet did mv solid purpose, as I listen'd. 
Keinain unshaken as that mas.sive rock. 
Fhi. Well, then, Til understand 'tis not re- 
morse, — 
As 'tis a foible little known to Ihee. — 
That interrupts thy purpose. VVIiat, then, 

isitT 
Is't scorn, or is't compassion? One thing's 

certain, 
Either the- feeling must have free indulgence, 
Or fully be subjected to your reason- 
There is no room for these same treacherous 

courses. 
Which men call moderate measures. 
We must confide in Quentin, or must slay 

him. 

Auch. In Ireland he might live afar from us. 

Fill. Among Queen Mary's faithful partizans, 

Your ancient enemies, the haughty Hamiltons, 

The stern MacDonnels.the resentful Grimes— 

With these around him, and with Cassilis' 

death 
.Exasperating them against you, think, my 

lather. 
What chance of Quentin's silence. 
Aucli. Too true — too true. He is a silly 

youth, too, 
Who had not wit to shift for his own living— 
A bashful lover, whom his rivals laugh'd at— 
Of pliant temper, which companions play'd 

on — 
A moonlight waker, and a noontide dreamer— 
A torturer of phrases into sonnets, — 
Whom all might lead that chose to praise his 

rhymes. 
Phi. I marvel that your memory has room 
To hold so much on such a worthless subject. 
Auch. Base in himself, and yet so strangely 

link'd 
With me a»d with my fortunes, that I've stu- 
died 
To read him through and through, as I would 

read 
Some paltry rhyme of vulgar prophecy, 
Said to contain the fortunes of my house; 
And, let me speak him truly — He is grate- 
ful. 
Kind, tractable, obedient— a child 
Might lead him by a thread — He shall not 

die! 



Phi. Indeed!- then have we had oar mid- 
night ride 

To wondrous little purpose. 
Auch. By the blue heaven, 

Thou shalt not murder him, cold selfish sen- 
iiualist ! 

Yon pure vault speaks it — yonder summer 
moon, 

With its ten million sparklers, cries. Forbear ! 

The deep earth sighs it forth— Thou shalt not 
runnier ! — 

Thou shalt not mar the image of thy Maker ! 

Thou shalt not fr(»m ihy brother take the life, 

'1 lie precious gill which God alone can eive I — 
Phi. Here is a woVthy guerdon now, for 
stuffing 

His memoiy with old saws and holy sayings ! 

Tliey come upon hiin in the very crisis. 

And when his resolution should be firmest. 

They sliake it like a palsy— Let it be. 

He'll end at last by yielding to temptation. 

Consenting to the thing which must be done, 

With more remorse the more he hesitates — 
[7b his Father, who has stood fixid after 
his last speech. 

Well. sir. 'tis fitting you resolve at last. 

How the young clerk shall be disposed upon ; 

Inless you would ride home to AiichJndrane, 

And bid tliem rear the Maiden in the court- 
yard. 

That when Dunbar comes, he have nought 
to do 

But bid us kiss the cushion and the headsman. 
Auch. It is too true — There is no safely 
for us. 

C(msistent with the unhappy wretch's life ! 

In Ireland he is suie to find my enemies. 

Arran I've proved— the NetherlandsI'vetried, 

But wilds and wars return him on my hands. 
Phi. Yet fear not, fatlier, we'll make surer 
work : 

The land has caves, the sea has whirlpools. 

Where that which they suck in returns no 
more. 
Auch. I will know nought of it, hard-heart- 
ed boy ! 
Phi. Hard-hearted ! Why— my heart is soft 
as yours ; 

But then they mu.st not feel remorse at once. 

We can't afford such wasteful temlerness : 

I can mouth foriti remorse as well as you. 

Be executioner, and I'll be chaplain. 

And say as mild and moving things as you can ; 

But one of us must keep his steely temper. 
Auch. Do thou the deed — 1 cannot look 

on It. 
Phi. ^o be it — walk with me — MacLellan 
brings him. 

The boat lies ii.oor'd within that reach of 
rock. 

And "twill require our greatest strength com- 
bined 

To launch it from the beach. Meantime, Mac- 
Lellan 

Brings our man hither. —See the twinkling 
light 

That glances in the tower. 
Auch. Let us withdraw — for should he spy 
us suddenly. 

He may suspect us, and alarm the family. 
Phi. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and 
confidence. 

Bought with a few sweet words and welcomes 
home. 



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AUCIIINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 675 



\ 



Artch. But think you that the Ranger may 

be. trusted >. 
Phi. I'll iinswer for him.— Lei's go float the 
shullip. 

[ Thei/ Qo off, and as Ihpy Ifave the Staoe, 

MacLellan is seen descend mn from the 

Tower with Quentin. The former 

bp.ars II dark lantern. They come upon 

the Slaue. 

Mac, [showini/ the lioht.) So— hravi4y done— 

iliiit's ilie hist leil^e of rocks. 

And \vn are on the saiid^. — I have broke your 

s U.nhfrs 
Somewhat untimely 

Que Do not think so. friend. 

Tlitjse SIX years past I have been u-^ed to stir 
VViieii the reveille riiii!;; and that, believe me. 
Chouses the hours for rousing me ;it random, 
And. Iiavin? given its summons, yields no 

license 
To indultfe a sefond slumber. Nay. more, 111 

tell thee. 
That, like a pleased child, I was e'en too 

liapfiy 
For siiund repose. 

Mac. The ereater fool were yoii. 

Men sliould enjoy the moments i;iveii to SiUm- 

ber ; 

For who can tell how soon may be the waking, 

Or where we shall have leave to sleep again ? 

Qkc. The God of Siumber comes not at 

command 

Last nighi the blood danced merry through 

my veins: 
Instead of finding this our land of Carrick 
Tlie dreary waste my feurs had apprehended, 
T saw thy \Aife. MacLellan. and thy daughter. 
And had a brother's welcome ;— saw thee, too, 
Kenew'd my early friendship with you both. 
And fell once more that I had friends and 

country 
So keen the' joy that tingled through my sys- 
tem, 
Joind vviih the searching powers of yonder 

wine. 
That. I am glad to leave my feverish lair. 
Although my hostess smooth'd my couch her- 
self. 
To coiil my brow upon this moonlight beach. 
Gaze on tlie moonlight dancing on the waves. 
Such scenes are wont to soothe me into me- 
lancholy , 
But such the huny of my spirits now. 
That every tiling I look on makes me laugh 
Mac. I've seen but few so gamesome, Mas- 
ter QueuMn, 
Being roused from sleep so suddenly as you 
were. 
Que. Why. there's the jest on't. Your old 
castle's haunted. 
In vain the iiost — in vain the lovely hostess. 
In kind addition to all means of rest, 
Add their best wishes for our sound repose. 
When some hi'bgobliu brings a pressing mes- 
sage : 
Montgomery presently must see his sergeant. 
And up gets Hiklebraiid, ann off he trudges. 
1 can't but laugh to think upon the grin 
With which he doff'd the kerchief he hao 

twisted 
Around his brows, and put his morion oil — 
Ha! ha! ha! ha! 
Mac. I'm glad to see you merry. Quentin. 
Que. Why, faith, my spirits are but transitory, 



And you may live with me a month or more, 
And never sec me smile. I hen snnie such 

irilie 
As voiider little m;iid of your> >Vi>iild laugh at, 
Will serve me for a tlieme of merriment- 
Even now. I scarce can keep my gravity ; 
We were so snugly set'led in our quarters, 
With full intent to let the sun ne high 
Ere we should leave our beds — and first the 

one 
And then the olher'.s summon'd briefly forth. 
To the old tune. "Black Bandsmen, up and 
maiCii !" 
Mac. Weil! you shall sleep anon — rely 
upon it— 
An I make up lime misspent. Meantime, me- 

ihiiiks. 
You are so merry on your broken slumbers. 
You ask'd nut why I call'd you. 

Que. I cm guess, 

You lack my aid to search the weir f.-r seals. 
You lack my company to stalk a deer. 
Think you I have forgot your silvan tasks, 
I Which tK'tyou have permitted me to share, 
Till days that we were rivals ? 
I Mac You have memory 

Of that too?— 

Que. Like the memory of a dream, 

Delu.-<ion far too exquisite to last. 
Mac. You guess not then for what [ call you 
forth. 
It was to meet a friend — 

Que. VVhat Irieiid ? 'I'liyself excepted, 
The good o:d man who's gone to see Montgo- 
mery. 
And one to whom I once gave dearer title, 
1 know not in wide Scotand man or woman 
Whom I could ninie a friend 
Mac. Thou art mistaken. 

There is a Baron, and a powerful one 

Que. There flies my fit of mirth. You have 
a grave 
And alter'd man before you 
Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause 
for fear.— 
He will and must speak with you. 
Que. Spare me tlie meeting, Niel, 1 cannot 
see him. 
.Say, I'm just landed on my native earth; 
Say. that I will not cumber it a ifay ; 
Say, that my wretched thread of poor exist- 
ence 
Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile, 
Where never memory of .s(» mean a thing 
Again shall cross his path — but do not ask me 
To see or speak again with that dark man ! 
Mac Your fears are now as foolish as your 
mir'h— 
What should the powerful Knight of Auchin- 

draiie 
In common have with such a man as thou ? • 
Que. .No matter what — Euov^gh, I will not 

see him. 
Mac. He is thy master, and he claims obe- 
dience. 
Que. .My master? Ay, my task -master — 
Ever since 
I could write man, his hand hath been upon 

me ; 
No step I've made but cumber'd with his 

chain. 
And I am weary on't — I will not see him. 
Mac. You must and shall— there is no re- 
medy. 



^: 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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QuK 'lake hted that you compel me not to 
find one. 
I've seen the wars since We had strife toge- 
ther; 
To put my lute expericmre to the test 
Were something dminerous— Ha, I am be- 
iniv'd ! 
t W/iHe the Inlfrr prtrf nf this riinlngue 
is Tmssim. Annhmdrane and Fliilip 
entfr oti thf aiat/e from behind, and 
suddenly prrsent themselves. 
Auch. Whut snvs the runaeate? 
Que [layinij aside all npjmarnnce of resist- 
ance,) Nniliiiiff, you ore my fate ; 
And in « shape mine fearfully resistless, 
Wy evil an?el rould not stand before me. 
Auch. And so you scruple, slave, at my com- 
mand. 
To meet me when I deisn to ask thy presence T 
Que. Nti, xir; I had forgot— I am your bond- 
slave ; 
But sure a iiassinp thoufflit of independence^ 
For which I've seen whole nations doing bat- 
tle, 
Was not, in one who has so long: enjoy'd it, 
A critne beyond forgiveness. 

Auch. We shall see: 

Thou wert my vassal, horn upon my land. 
Bred by my bounty— It r.iiticern'd me highly. 
Thou "kno'w'st it 'did — and yet against my 

c.harse 
Again I find thy worHilessness in Scotland. 
Que. Alas! the wealthy and the powerful 
know not 
How very dear to those who have least share 

in't. 
Is that sweet word of country! The poor 

exile 
Feels, in each action of the varied day. 
His doom of banishment. The very air 
Cools net his lirow as in his native land ; 
The scene is strange, the food is loathly to 

him ; 
The lanjjuaffe, nay. the music jars his ear. 
Why should I, guiltless of the slisrtiiest crime, 
Sufl'er a punishment which, sparing life. 
Deprives that life of all which men hold dear? 
Auch Hear ye the serf I bred, begin to 
reckon 
Upon Ins rislits and pleasure! Who am I— 
Thou abject who am I, whose will thou 
tliwa»'test ' 
Phi. V^'ell spoke, my pious sire. 1 



ise 



;re goes 



*^ 



Let once thy precious pride take fire, and then, 

MacLellan. you and I may have small trouble. 
Que. Your wonts are deadly, and your 
power resistless ; 

I'm in your hands— hut, surely, less than life 

May give you ilie security you .seek. 

Without commission of a mortal crime. 
Auch Who is't would deign to think upon 
thy life? 

I but require of thee to speed to Ireland. 

Where thou mayst sojourn for some little 
space, 

Having due means of livin? dealt to thee. 

And. when it suits the changes of the limes, 

Permission to return. 

Que. Noble, my lord. 

I am too weak to combat wirh your pleasure ; 

Yet 0. for mercy's sake, and for the sake 

Of that dear land winch is our common mo- 
ther, 



I et me not part in darkness from my country . 
Pass but an hour or two, and every cape. 
Headland, and hay, shall gleam with new- 
born liiilit. 
And I'll take boat as gaily as the bird 
That soars to meet the morning. 
Grant me but this— to show nodarker thoughts 
Are on your heart than those your speech ex- 
presses I 
Phi. A modest favour, friend, is this you 
ask! 
Are we to pace the beach like watermen, 
Waiting your worship's pleasure to take boat? 
No, by mv faith ! you go upon the instant. 
The boat lies ready, and the ship receives you 
Near to the point of lurnberry. — Come, we 

wait you; 
Bestir you ! 

Que. I obey — Then farewell, Scotland, 

And Heaven forgive my sins, and grant that 

mercy, 
Which mortal man deserves not! 

Auch. (speaks aside to his Son.) What signal 
Shall let me know 'tis done ? 

Phi. When the light is quench'd, 

Your fears for Quenlm Blane are at an end.— 
(To Que ) Come, comrade, come, we must be- 
gin our voyage. 
Que. Bui when. O when to end it ! 

IHe yois qf reluctantly with Philip and 
IMacI.ellan. Auchindrane sta7ids 
looking ajter them. The Moon be- 
comes overclouded, and the Stage 
dark Auchindrane, who has gazed 
fiXtdly and eayerly after those who 
have le.lt the Stage, becomes animated, 
and speaks 
Auch. It is, no fallacy I— The night is dark. 
The moon has sunk before the deepening 

clouds ; 
I cannot on the murky beach distinguish 
The shallop from the rocks which lie beside 

it; 
I cannot see tall Philip's floating plume. 
Nor trace the sullen brow of Niel MacLellan ; 
Vet still that caitiff's visage is before me. 
With chattering teeth, mazed look, and brist- 
ling hair. 
As he stood here this moment ! — Hare I 

changed 
My human eyes for those of some night prow- 
ler. 
The wolf's, the tiger cat's, or the hoarse bird's 
That spies its prey at midniglit ? I can see 

him— 
Yes, 1 can see him, seeing no one else, — 
And well it is I do so. In lii.s absence. 
Strange thoughts of pity mingled with my 

purpose, 
And moved remorse within me — But they 

vanish'd 
Whene'er he stood a living man before me; 
Then my antipathy awaked within me, 
Seeing its object close within my reach, 
Till 1 could scarce forbear him. —How they 

linger! 
The boat's not yet to sea !— I ask myself. 
What has the poor wretch done to wake my 

hatred- 
Docile, obedient, and in sufferance patient .'— 
As well demand what evil has the hare 
Done to the hound that courses her in 

sport. 
Instinct infallible supplies the rea.sou— 



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AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 6 



^q 



And that must plead my cause. — The visiim's 

K>>ne ! 
Tlieir bd^it now walks the waves; a single 

ffleaiii. 
Now seen, now lost, is all that marks her 

course ; 
That scion shall vanish too— then all is over !— 
Would It were u'er. for in this moment lies 
The agony of ages ! '— j\ow, "tis gone — 
And all is acted ! — no — she breasts as:ain 
The opposins wave, and bears the tmy sparkle 
Upon her ores' — 

(Afoint cry heard as from seaward.) 

Ah ! there v\as fatal evidence, 

All's over now, mdeed ! — 'I'ne light is 

qu nnh'd — 
And Qieiitin source of all my fear, exists 

nol — 
The tnciriiing li(ie shall sweep hi-; corfise to 

sea. 
And hhie all memory uf this stern night's 

woik. 
[He walks in a slow aid dfeph/ mediin- 
livf. manmr lowardt, the side of the. 
Siiije, anil sitddeidu /nuts \Iarioii, 
thf intf of .MiicLc 1 111, who has dt- 
icmdfd from Ih- Cuslle 
Now, how lo meet Duiibaf— Heaven guard 

my sensrs I 
Stand ! who goes there ?— Do spirits walk ihe 

earth 
Ere yet they've left the body ! 

Mar. Is it you. 

My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour! 
Aiich. It is MacLellan's wife, in search of 

hini. 
Or of her lover— of Ihe murderer. 
Or of the murder'd man. — Go to, Dame Ma- 
rion, 
Men have their hunting sear to give an eye to. 
'I'heir snares and trackings for their ganir. 

But women 
Should shun the night air. A young wife also. 
Still more a handsome one, shouid keep her 

pillow 
'fill the sun gives example for her wakening. 
Come, dame, eo back — back to your bed again. 
Mar. Hear me, my lord ! there have been 

sights and sounds 
That territied my child and nie — Groans. 

screams. 
As if of dying seamen, came from ocean— 
A corpse-liglit danced upon the crested w.^ves 
For several minutes' space, then sunk at once. 
When we retired to rest we had two guests. 
Besides my husband Niel— III tell your lord- 
ship 

Who the men were 

AHch Pshaw, woman, can you think 

1 hat I have any interest in your gossips ? 
Plea.'^e your own husband, and that you may 

please hini. 
Get thee to bed, and shut up doors, good 

dame. 
Were 1 .MacLellan, I should scarce be satisfied 
I'o tiiid tliee wandering here in mist and nioon- 

hsht. 
When silence should he in thy habitation. 
And sleep upon thy pillow. 



^ 



■ In thai moment, o'lr his soul 
rrs of iiiemoiy setm'U lo roll." 

B^Tim—The Ota 



Mar Good my lord. 

This is a holyday.— By an ancient custom 
Our children seek ihe shore at break of day. 
And gather shells, and dance, anu play, and 

sport tliem 
In honour of the Ocean. Old men say 
The cii-lom is derived from heathen times. 

Our Isabel 
Is mistress of the feast, and you may think 
She IS awake already, and impatient 
To he the first shall stand upon the beach. 
And hid the sun good-morrow. 

Auch. Ay. indeed T 

Linger such dregs of heat hendom among you ? 
And hath Knox pieach'd. and V\ ishart died, 

in vain 
Take notice. 1 forbid these sinful practices. 
.And will not have my followers mingle in 

them. 
Mar. ll such your honour's pleasure, I must 

And lock the door on Isabel; she is wilful. 
And voice of mine will have small fuice to 

keep ler 
From the i.mu^ement she so long hasdream'd 

But I must tell your honour, the old people, 
Tha were survivors of the former race. 
Prophesied evil if this day should pass 
Wirhout due homage to the miglity Ocean. 
Auch Folly and Papistry — Perhaps the 
ocean 
Hath had tiis morning sacrifice already; 
Or can you think the dreadful element. 
Whose frown is death, whose roar the dirge 

of niivies. 
Will miss the idle pageant you prepare for? 
I've business for you, loo — the dawn ad- 
vances — 
I'd have tliee lock thy little child in safety. 
And get to Aiichindrane bt-fore the sun rise ; 
Tell them to gei a royal bauijuet ready. 
As if u king were coming there to feast him. 
Mar. 1 will otiey your pleasure. But my 

husliand 

Auch I wait tiim on the beach, and I. ring 
hini in 
To share the banquet. 

Mar. But he has a friend. 

Whom it would ill become him to intrude 
Upon ycmr hospitality 
Auck. Fear not; his friend shall be made 
welcome too. 
Should he return with .Niel. 
Mar. He must — he will return — he has no 

option. 
Auch. (Apart ) Thus rashly do we deem of 
others' destiny — 
He has indeed no option— hut he comes not. 
Begone on thy commission— I go this way 
To meet thy husband. 

[Marion (joes to her Tower, and after 
eiitennij it. is seen to come out, lock 
the door, and Ituvt the SOiije. as if to 
execute Auchindrane's commission. 
He, apparnilly ijoinij off in a diffirent 
direc/wn has ivalchea her fium the 
s de oj thf Sluye. and on her dtpar- 
titre speaks. 
Auch. Fare ihee well, fond woman 
.Most dangerous of spies — thou (nyiiig. prating. 
Spying, anil lelimg woman ! I've cut sliori 
Thy dangerous lesiimony— iia eu vvuitl ! 
What other evidence have we cut short. 



/' 



^ 678 



V. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



\ 



And by what fated means, this dreary morn- 

Brisrht lances here and helmets? — I must shift 
Tojditi the (ittiers. \Exil. 

Enter from the olh'T side the Sergeant, arcom- 
panied with an Officer orid two Pikemen. 
Se.r. "i'was in good time ycm came; a mi- 
nute later 
The ktr.ives liad ta'en mv dollars and my life. 
Off. Yiiu fdiight most stoutly. Two of them 
were down, 
Ere we came to your aid. 

Ser Gramercy. halberd ! 

And well it happens, since your leader seeks 
Tins Qnenlin Blane, that you have fall'n on 

None else can surely tell you where he hides, 
Beiritf in some fear, and bent to quit this pro- 
vnice. 
Off. ' Iwill do our Earl good service. He 
hhs .^-ent 
Despatches into Holland for this Quenlin. 
Ser I left hmi two hours since in yonder 
tower. 
Under the suard of one who smooihlv spoke, 
AltlKMigh he look'd but roughly— 1 will chide 

hini 
Fit bidding me go forth with yonder traitor 
Off. Assure yourself 'twas a concerted stra- 
t:i-:em. 
Montffonier^'s been at Holy rood for months. 
And can have seiil no letter— 'twas a plan 
On yon and on your dollars, and a base one. 
To wliicli this Kamrer was most likely privy; 
Such men as he hanff on our fiercer barons, 
'I'lie readv asents of their lawless will ; 
Boys of I he belt, who aid their master's plea- 
sures. 
And in Ins moods ne'er scruple his injunctions. 
But haste, for now we must uiiKeniiel Quen- 

tin ; 
I've strictest charge concerning him. 

Ser. Go up, then, to the tower. 
You've yiMiinrer limbs than mine— there shall 

ycMi tiiid bun 
I ounsjini; and siioj ins. like a lazy cur 
Before a stable door; it is bis practice 

[7V//- Officer (jofs up to the Tower, mid 
alter knockimi wtltiotit rerctvmy an 
answer, turns the tsey winch \'arion 
had left in the lock, and enters ; Isabel, 
dressed, as if Jor hir dance, runs out 
and descends to Hit Stage ; the Utticer 
follows. 
Off. There's no one in the house, this little 
maid 

Excepted 

Isii. And for me. I'm there no lonser. 

And will not be asain for three bonis good : 
I'm t:i<nf to join my playmates on the sands. 
Off. {detauinuj tier.) You shall, when you 
have told to me distinctly 
Where are the guests who slept up there last 
night. 
Isa Why. there is the old man, he stands 
beside you, 
The merry old man, with the glislenin? hair; 
He left the tower at midnight, for my father 
BniUKht bun a letter. 

Ser In ill hour I left you, 

1 wish to Heaven that 1 had slay'd with you ; 
There is a nameless honor that comes o'er 
me. — 



Speak, pretty maiden, tell us what chanced 

next. 
And thou shalt have thy freedom 

Isa. After vou went last in^lP, my father 
Grew moody, and refused to ilotf bis clothes. 
Or go to beil, as sonietinies he will do 
V\ hen there is aught to chafe him Until past 

midnight. 
He wander'd to and fro, then call'd the stran- 

Ker. 
'I'he gay young man, that sung such merry 

songs. 
Yet ever look'd most sadly whilst he sung 

them. 
And forth iliey went together. 

Off. And you've seen 

Or heard nought of them since ? 

Isa Seen suielv notbiiiK. and I cannot think 
That they have lot or sbaie in wliai I beard. 
I heard my mother praying, for the corpse- 
lights 
Were dancing on the waves ; and at one 

o'clock, 
Just as the Abliey steeple tol'.'d the knell. 
There was a heavy [ilunge u|>on the waters. 
And some out. cried aloud for mercy ! — 

mercy ! — 
It was the wnter-sjiirit. sure, which promised 
Mercy to boat and" fisliennan, if we 
Perform'd to d.iv's rites duiv. Let me go— 
I am to lead the riii;: 

Off. {to Ser ) Detain her not. She cannot 

tell us more ; 
To give her liberty is the sure way 
To lure her parents homeward. — Strahan, 

take two men. 
And should the father or the mot her come. 
Arrest them both, or either. Aiicliindrane 
May come upon the beach; arrest him also. 
But do not state a cause. I'll ba. k again. 
And take directions from my Lord Dunbar. 
Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye 
To all that passes there. [_Exe.unt separatJif. 



SCENE II. 

Scc7ie changes to a remote and rocky part of the 
Setibiach. 
E?iter Auchindraiie meeting Philip. 
Avch The devil's brought his legions to this 
beac^li. 
That wont to be so lonely; morions, lances, 
Show in the moining beam as thick as glow- 
worms 
At summer midnight. 

Phi. I'm right glad to see them. 

Be they whoe'er they may, so they are mortal ; 
For I've contended with a lifeless toe. 
And I have lost the battle. 1 would give 
A thousand crowns to hear a. mortal steel 
King on a mortal harness. 
Auch. How now! — Art mad, or hast thou 
done the turn — 
The turn we came for, and must live or die 
by? 
Phi. "lis done, if man can do it; but I 
doubt 
If this unhappy wretch have Heaven's per 

mission 
To die by mortal hands. 
1 Auch. Where is he — where 's MacT.ellan ? 
I Phi. In the deep— 



^ 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 679 



B.iUi in the deep, and what's immortal of 

iheni 
Gone to ihe jiids^ment-seat, where we must 

meet thetii. 
Atich Macl.ellati dead, and Quentin tool- 
So he if. 
To all that menar.e ill to Auchindrane. 
Or have the power to injure him !— Thy words 
Are full of romforr. hui ttiine eye and look 
Have in this pallid gloom a ghastliiiess. 
Which couiradicis the iidintr^' of ihy tongue. i 
/^/h. Hear me, old man — There is a lieaven 

al>ove us. 
As you have heard old Knox and Wishart 

pieaoli. 
Th iDgti litue to your hoot The dreaded wit- 
ness 
Is slain, atul silent. But his misused hody 
CoMies n^lit ashore, as if to cry for veiifjeaiice ; 
It rides the waters like a livins thins '^ 
Erect, as if he Irode the waves which bear 

him. 
Auc'i. Thou sneakest frenzy, when sense is 

most required. 
Phi Hear me yet more! — I say I did the 

dr-ed 
With all the coolness of a practiised hunter 
Whea deuliu? with a stag. I strucK him 

overlioard. 
And with MacLellan's aid I held his head 
Liiiier t!ie w;iters. while the Ranser tied 
'I tie weign's we had pmvideJ to his feei. 
We casi him loose when life and hndv parted. 
And hid mm speed fur Ireland. But even 

then. 
As in dritiane of the words we spoke. 
'I'he body i»)se upright behind our stern, 
One I alt in <fcean. and one half in air. 
All! tided af er a-; in ciiase ot us 3 
Aiic/i. It was eiichanimenl !— Uid you strike 

at It? 
Phi. Once a!id again. But blows avail'd no 

more 
Than on a wreath of smoke, where they may 

l)re;ik 
The ciilu nil fir a moment, which unites 
And IS entire a^ain. Thus the dead body 
t>uuk down before my oar. but rose unharm'd. 
And dosK'd us closer s ill. as in deliaiice. 

Auch. ''I'was Hell's own work! 

Phi. iMacI.ellan then grew restive 

And desperate in his fear, basphemed aloud, 
Cursing us both as au hors oi liis ruin. 
Myself was welltiish frantic while pursued 
By this dead shaje, uptin whose ghastly fea- 

t u res 
The chanceful moonbeam spread a grisly 

light; 



And. baited tlius, I took the nearest way 
To ensure his silence, and to quell his noise ; 
f used my dajscer. and I tiling liim overboard. 
And half expected his ilead carcass also 
Would join the chase — but he sank down at 

once. 
Auch. He had enough of mortal sin about 

him, 
To sink an aisosy. 
Phi But now resolve you what defence to 

make. 
If Qiientin's body shall be recognised ; 
For 'tis ashore already ; and he bears 
Marks of my handiwork; so does MacLellan. 
Auch. Tlie concourse thickens still — Away, 

away ! 
We must avoid the multitude. \_Theyrush out. 

SCENE III. 
Scene changes to another part of the Beach. 
Children arc seen dancing, and Villnuers look- 
ing on. Isabel seems to lake the tnana{je7ne7U 
of the Dance. 
Vil Worn. How well she queens it, the 

brave little maiden ! 
Vii Ay, they all queen it from their very 
cradle. 
These wiUin? slaves of haughty Auchindrane. 
But now I hear the old man's reign is end- 
ed ;— 
' lis well — he has been tyrant long enough. 
Second Vil Fmlay, speak Uiw. you interrupt 

the sports. 
Third Vil. Look out to sea — There's some^ 
thiiiK comiiiK yonder. 
Bound for the beach, will scare us from our 
mirth. 
Fourth Vil. Pshaw, it is but a sea-gull on 
tiie winir. 
Between the wave and sky. 

Third Vil Thou art a foo!, 

Standins on solid land— 'tis a dead body. 
Second Vd And if it be, he bears him like 
a live one, 
.Not prone and weltering like a drowned 

corpse. 
But boll erect, as if he trode the waters, 
-And used them as his path. 

Fourth Vil. It is a merman. 

And nothin? of this earth, alive or dead. 

[Ba degrees all the Dancers break off 
from their sport, ami stand gmmu to 
Sfoward. while an oliject. vnjierfectly 
seen, drijts loxonrds the Beach, and at 
length nrrrcc-s among the rocks which 
border thMides. 



■ leaf, 



. tragii 



thy oliL-ek 



:^ 



1 "Tliis man 

Foretells the iiat 

Thou tremblesi : and the whiteness 

la apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand." 

2-i King Henry IT. 

•i " Walks the waters like a thine of life." 

Byran — Tke Corsair. 
3 This passage was probably suggested by a striking one 
In Souihey's Life of Nelson, touching the corise of the 
Neapolitan Prince Caraccioli. exeruled on board the 
Koudrnyani, then the great British .admiral's flag-ship, in 
the bav of Naples in 1799. The circumstances of Carac- 
cioli's trial and dealli form, it is almost needless to ob- 
serve, the most unpleasant chapter in Lord Nelson's his- 
tory : — 

•' The body," savs Snuthey. " was carried out to a con- 
s.leral)!.- diBtan:?e and sunk in the bay, with three double- 
Ilea led sliol, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, tied 



to iU legs. Between two and three weeks afterwards, when 
the King (of Naples) was on board the Foudroyaiit, a 
Neapolitan fisherman came to the ship, and solemnly de- 
clared, that Caraccioli had risen from the bottom of the 
sea, and wag coming as fast as he could to Naples, swim- 
ming half out of the water. Such an account was lis-encd 
to like a tale of idle credulity. The day lieing fair. Nelson, 
to please tne King, stood out to sea ; but the ship had not 
proceeded far before a body was distinctly seen, upright in 
tfie water, and approaching thera. It was recogni.«ed in- 
ileed. to be the corpse nf Caraccioli, which had risen and 
floated, while the great weights attached to the legs kept 
the body in a position like that of a living man. A fact so 
extraordinary astonished the King, and perhaps exciied 
some feelings of superstitious fear, akin to regret He 
gave permission for the body to be taken on shore, an ' 
reive Christian burial."— li/c of .\eUon, chap. vi. 



680 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



\ 



Third Vil. Pej-haps it is some wretch who 
needs assistance ; 
Jasper, make in and see. 

Seco?id Vil. Not 1, my friend ; 

E'en take the risk yourself, you'd put on 
otiiers. 
[Hildebrand has entered, and heard the 
two last words. 
Ser. What, are you men T 
Fear ye to look on what you must he one day ? 
1, who have seen a thousand dead and dyinsr 
Within a flisht-shot square, will teach you 

how in war 
We look upon the corjise when life has left it. 

[He goes to the back scene, and seems 
atlempting to turn the boilg, which has 
come ashore with its face downwards. 

Will none of you rr)nie aid to turn llie body? 
Isa You're' cowards all. — I'll help thee, 
good old man. 

[She goes to aid the Serjeant lOith the 
body, and presently gives a cry. and 
faints. Hiliiehrand comes fonodrd. 
All crowd round him ; he speaks with 
an expression of horror. 

Ser. 'Tis Quentin Blane ! Poor youth, his 
gloomy bodinsfs 

Have been the prolo?ue to an act of dark- 
ness; 

His feet are manacled, his bosom stahh'd. 

And he is foully nmrder'd. Ttie f)i()ud Knishl 

And his dark Ranger must have done this 
deed, 

For which no common ruffian could have mo- 
tive. 
A Pea. Caution were best, old man — Thou 
art a stranser. 

The Knight is great and powerful. 
Ser. Let it be so. 

Call'd on by Heaven to stand forth an aven- 
ser, 

T will not blench for fear of mortal man. 

Have I not seen tiiat when that innocent 

Had placed her hands upon the inurder'd 
body. 

His gaping wounds, that erst were soak'd with 
brine. 

Burst forth with blood as ruddy as the cloud 

Which now the sun doth rise on? 
Pea. What of that? 

Ser. Nothing that can affect the innocent \ 
child. 



But murder's guilt attachins to her father, 
tsince the l/ood musters in the victim's veins 
At the approach of what holds lease irt;in 

him 
Of all that parents can transmit to children 
And here comes one to whom I'll vouch the 

oircuin.stance. 

The Earl of Dunbar enters with Snld/ers and 
others, having Auchindraiie and Philip 
lirisoners. 

Dun. Fetter the young ruffian and his 

trajt'rous father! 

[ Tlicy are made secui e. 
Auch. 'Twas a lord spoke it— 1 have known 

a knight. 
Sir George of Home, who had not Lared to 

say so. 
DuH. 'Tis Heaven, not 1, decides upon your 

guilt. 
A harmless youth is traced within your 

power. 
Sleeps in your Ranger's house — his friend at 

midnight 
Is spirited away. Then lights are seen. 
Ami groans are heard, and corpses come 

ashore 
Mangled with daggers, while {to Philip} your 

dagger wears 
The saiiKUine livery of recent slaughter : 
Here, loo. the liody of a inurder'd victim. 
(V\ hom none but you had interest to remove.) 
Bleeds on a child's approach, because the 

daughter 
Of one the abettor of the wicked deed. 
All this, and other proofs corroborative. 
Call on us briefly to proninjiice the doom 
We have in charge to utter. 
Auch. If my house perish. Heaven's will be 

done ! 
I wish not to survive it ; but, O Philip, 
Would one could pay the ransom for us 

both! 
Phi. Father, 'tis filter that we both should 

die. 
Leaving no heir behind.— The piety 
Of a bless 'd saint, the morals of an ancho- 
rite. 
Could not atone thy dark hypocrisy. 
Or the wild profligacy I have practised. 
Kuin'd our house, and shatter'd be our 

towers, 
Anl with them end the curse our sins have 

merited ! 




k 



"7 



Z 



7 



^ 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



681 



The House of Aspen. 

A TRAGEDY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

1 his attempt at dramatic composition was 
executed rieurlv thirty years Miice, when the 
nia?nificent works of Goethe and Schiller 
Were for ilie first time made known to ihe 
British puhlin, and received, as many now 
Hlive must renieinb-r, with universal enthu- 
siasm. What we admire we usuallv attempt 
to imiiate ; and the author, not trusting to h s 
own etforts, borrowed the substance of the 
story and a part of the diciiou fiotn a drama- 
tic romance called " Der Heilise Velime" (ihe 
Secret I'rihiinai.) which fills the sixth volume 
of the " >ag:eM der Vorzeit" (Tales of Anti- 
quity.) by Beit V\eher The drama must he 
termed rather a rifacimento of the original 
tlian a translation, since the whole is (Mini- 
pressed, and the incidents and dialogue occa- 
sionally much varied. Tlie imi ator is igno- 
raiit of the real name of his insenious cmi- 
temporaiy, and has lieen mformeii that of 
Beit V\eber is tiditiuus i 

The late Mr. John Kemble at one time had 
some desire to bnng; out, ttie ulay at Drury- 
Lane, tlien adorned iiy himself and his match- 
less si.ster, who were to have supported the 
characters of the uni»:ippv son and mother: 
but preai ohjections afipeared to this proposal 
There was danger that Ihe main sp.ing of the 
story, — tlie bindms enKiigeinents formed by 
niemliers of the secret irihuiial. — miijlit not 
be sufficiently felt hv an Eiislish audience, to 
whom the nature of th.it singularly mysterious 
institution was unknown from early associa 
tion. Tliere was also, accordin;; to M . Keiii- 
ble's experienced opininn.too much hlood. tuo 
much of the dire catastrophe of Tom Tiiunih, 
when all die on the st-rge. It was besides 
esteemed jieriloiis lo place Ihe fifth tict and 
the parade and show of ttie secret conclave. 
at the mercy of underlines and scene-shiflers, 
who. by a ridiculous motion, gesture, or ac- 
cent, nught turn what should be grave into 
farce. 

The author, or rather the translator, wil- 
lingly acquiesced in this reasoning, and never 
afterwards made any attempt to gain the 
lioiiour of the buskin The German taste 
also, caricatured by a number of imitators 
who, incapable of copying the siibliinify of the 
great masters of the school, suppled its place 
by extravagance and bombast, fell into disie 
pute. and received a coup de grace from the 
I joint eflforts of the late lamented Mr. Canning 
and .Mr. Frere Tlie effect of their singularly 
btippy piece of ridicule called "The Kovers," 
H mock play which appeared in the Anti-Jaco- 
bm. was. that the German school, with its 

Georiif Wachler, who puhjishisl various 
th.- pBi nilmivm of Veil Weber, waH born ii> 17b3, and died 
iii \6T> 



beauties and its defects, passed completely 
out of fashion, and the following scenes were 
consigned to neglect and obscuriiv. Verv 
lately, however, the writer chanced lo lonk 
them over with feelings very ditTerent from 
those of the adventurous period of Ins literary 
life during which they had been written, anil 
yet with si.ch as perhaps a reformed libertine 
might regard the illegiiiinaie production of 
an early amoiir. There is something to be 
ashamed of, certainly ; but, after all, paternal 
vanity whispers that the child has a reseiii- 
blaiice to the father. 

I o this 11 need only be added, that there are 
in existence so many manuscript copies of the 
f .Ihiwing play, that if it should not find its 
way to Ihe public sooner, it is certain to do so 
when the auilior c;iii no more have anv oppor- 
tunity of correcting the press, and' conse- 
queuily at greater disadvanti.ge than at (.re- 
sent. Being of too small a size or consequence 
tor a separate publication, the piece is seiii as 
a contribution to the Keepsake, where ii.s de- 
merits may he Indden amid the beauties of 
mole valuable articles 

Ahhulsjord. Ul April. 1829. 



V ii, wr,.- 



DKAMATIS PEHSONiE. 

MKN. 

Rudiger, Baron of A^ptn, an old Gernuni war' 

George of Asuen. / c, , r, i 

Henry of Aspe,.. l^ons to Rudwr. 

Koderic. Count of Mailimim. chuf of a depart- 
ment 0/ tlie Inciii/dt Tribunol. and Vie here" 
dltnry enemy of lUe IfiHiily iit Asfien. 

William. Baron of WoLjsi.im. ui/y oj Count 
Rodtric. 

Berir.im of Kbersdorf brother lo trie former 
husband of Ike Baroness oJ Aspen, disijutsed 
as a minshel. 

Duke of Bavaria 

Ke V nold," \ ■'"'/""'"■« "/ "*^ /^'^««e of Aspen. 
Conrad, Paije of Honour lo Henry oJ Aspen. 
.Martin. Sifuire to i-ieonje of Asptii 
Hugo, Sguire lo Count Roderic. 
Peter, an uncieni domeshc of Ritdifjrr. 
Father Ludovic, Ch.iplun lo Rudiytr. 

WOMKN. 

Isabella, formerly ni'irnrd to Arnolf of Efiers- 

dorf. now loife of Rudii/er. 
Gertrude, Isabellas nuce. betrothed to Henry. 

Soldiers, Jud//es of the Invisible Tribunal, 

4-r. Jjc. 

Scene. — The Castle of Ebersdnrf in Barnrin, 

Ihe ruins of Grieftnhaus, and Ifte adjacenl 

country. 



A 



7 



682 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



M 






Slje 58^ouse of ^sjpcn. 



ACT I.— SCENK T. 
An nnc ent Gothic chamher in the castle of Ebpr.i- 
dorf Spenrs^ crosshnws, ami. arms, with the 
horns ol tit(ff'iln&s and of deer, are hwvj round 
the wnU. An antiQUe buffet with beaktrs and 
stone bottles. 

Rudispr. Bnron of Afpen. and hts lady, Isnliella, 

are discovered sitliwj at a larr/e oaken table. 

Rud. A plague iipim that niaii horse ! Had 
he not stunihled with me at the fitid after mir 
last skirmish, I h;id been tiow with my sons. 
Ami vdiider the boys are, liurdly three luiles 
off, liatihiiff witti Count Rnderir, and their 
fatli^r must lie here like a w(n-ui-eateii manu- 
script in a ronvent hhrary ' Out upon it! Out 
upon It! Is It not haid that a warrior, who 
lias travelled so many leagues to display i he 
rross on the walls of Zion, should be now 
niiiible to lift a spear before his own casile 
gate ! 

Isa Dear iiiishand, your anxiety retarils your 
recovery 

/Jf«(/. May be so; but not less than your 
silence and melancholy ! Here have I sate 
tins mornh. and more, since that cursed fall! 
Neither liuunnsr. nor feasiing;. nor lance-hreak- 
ins; ftir me! And my sons — Ueortte enters cold 
and reserved, as if lie had the weifihl of the 
empire on tiis shoulders, utters by syllables a 
cold " How IS II with you .'" and shuis liiinself 
up for diiys in his soliiaiy chamber — Henry, 
my cheerful Henry— 

Jsn Surely, lie ai least — 

Rud. Even he forsakes me. and skips tip the 
tow^r staircase like lishiiiins to join your fair 
Ward, Gerirucle, on the battleiiienis. 1 cannot 
blame him; lor, tiy my kiiiKhlly faith, were. 1 
in his place. 1 think even these bi utsed bones 
would lianlly keep me from her side. Still, 
however, here [ must sit alone. 

Isa. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven knows 
wln.t I would do to soften your Continement. 

Rud. Tell me not of that, lady. When I 
first knew thee. Isabella, the fair maid of Arei- 
lieiin was the joy of her conipunions, and 
breathed life wherever she came. Thy fatlier 
married thee t(» Arnolf of Ebersdorf— not 
imich with thy will, 'tis true — (.s//p kides liir 
Jace ) Nay— "fnrsive me, Isabella— but that is 
over— he died, and the ties between us. whicli 
Ihy marriage had broken, were renewed— but 
llie sunshine of my Isabella's light heart re- 
turned no more. 

Isa (wteinmj.) Beloved h'udiger. you search 
my very soul ! Why will you recall past times 
— days ot spring- that can never return ? Do I 
not iove thee more than ever wife loved hus- 
band ? 

Rud. {stretches out his arms— she embraces 
him.) And therefore art ihou ever my be- 
loved Isabella. But still, is it not true? Has 
not I hy cheerfulness vanished since thou hast 
become l,a<ly of Aspen? Dost thou repent of 
Itiy love to Kudiger? 

Jsa. Alas! no! never! never! 

Rud. Then why dost thou herd with monks 
and priests, and leave thy old knight alone, 
when, for the first time in his stormy life, he 
has rested for weeks withiii the walls of his 



castle? Hast thou committed a crime from 
which Rudiger's love cannot absolve thee? 

]sa. O many! many I 

Rud Then be this kiss thy penance. And 
tell me, Isabella, linst thou not founded a con- 
vent, and endowed it with the best of thy laie 
husband's lands? Ay, and with a vin'ey:ird 
which I could have prized as well as the sleek 
monks. Dost thou not daily distribute alms 
to twenty pilgrims? Dost Ihou not cause leii 
masses to be sung each night for the repose 
ot thy late huslinnd's soul? 

Isn. It will not know repose. 

Rud Well, well— God's peace he with Ar- 
noif of Ebersdorf; the meniioii of him makes 
Ihee ever sad, thf)Ugh so many years have 
I passed since his deal h 

Isa. But at present, dear husband, have I 
not the most jiisi cause for anxiety ? Are not 
Heniy and George, our beloved sons, at this 
very moment perhaps engaged in doubt tul 
contest with our hereditary foe, Count Koderic 
of Maltiiigen? 

Rud. Now, there lies the difference : you 
sorrow that they aie in danger.! that I cannot 
share it with them — Hark ! 1 hear horses' 
feet on the drawliridge. Go to the window, 
Isabella. 

Isa. (at the window ) It is Wickerd, your 
squire. 

Rud. 1 hen shall we have tidings of George 
and Henry. (Enter Wirkeid.) How now, 
Wickerd ? Have you Come to blows yet? 

Wic Not yet, noble sir. 

Rud. Not yet? — shame on the boys' dally- 
ing — what wait they for? 

Wic. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, 
upon the Wcilisiiill, near the ruins of Giiefen- 
haus; Iherefoie your noble son. George of 
Aspen, greets you well, and requests tueniy 
more men at-arms. and. alter ihey have joined 
him, he hopes, wiih the nid of St. 1 heodore, 
to send you news of victory, 

Rud. (atlenipts to rise haslilij.) Saddle my 
black barb; I will head them myself. (Hiis 
down.) A murrain on that stumbling roan! 
I had forgot my dislocated bones. Cal' liey- 
iiold. Wickerd, and bid him take all whom he 
can spare from defence of the castle — ( Wick- 
erd is (join<j) and ho! Wickerd. cany willi 

you my black baib. and bid George charge 
upon him. {Exit Wickerd) .Now see, Isa- 
bella, if 1 disregard tlie boy's safety; i send 
liini the best horse ever kuight besimde. 
When we lay before .'\scaioii. indeed, I li.al a 
bright bay Persian — Thou dos! not heed me. 

Isu Forgive me, dear husband; are not 
our sons in danger? Will init our sins be 
visited upon them ? Is not their present situ- 
aiioii 

Rud Mtuation ? I know it well: as fair a 
field for oiien fight as I ever hunted over : .sie 
here — (rnoAfS lines on Ike table) — Uv.rn is the 
ancient castle of Griefenhaus in ruins, heie 
the WdlfshiU; and here the marsh on the 
right, 

Isa. The marsh of Griefenhaus! 

Rud. Yes; bv that the boys must pass 

Isa Pass there ! (Apart.) Avenging Heaven! 
thy hand is upon us I [Exit hastily. 

Rud. Whither now? Whither now ? She is 
gone. 'Thus it goes Peter! Peter! (En/ir 
Peter.) Help me to the gallery. th:ii I may see 
them on horseback. [Exit, leaniny on Heter. 



A 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN 



083 



SCENE II. I 

The inner court of the casllr of Ehersdorf; o i 
qimdranyk, surrounded with Gothic builiiings ; 
troopers, followers of Kudmer. pnts nud re- \ 
pass in haste, as if prepai iny fur an excur- j 
sion. 

Wickerd comes forward. 

Wic. What, lio ! Reynold ! Reynold !— By 
our l,ady, the spirit, of tlie Seven Sleepers is 
upon him — So ho! not mounted yet? Rey- 
nold ! 

Ente.r Reynold. 

Rey. Here ! here ! A devil choke thy bawl- j 
iiiM ! Ihinlvst, Ihoii old Reynold is not us ready 
f..r a skirmish a< th>>u ? 

Wic. Niiy. nav : I did hut jest; but, by my 
s.ioih. it were a shame shi>nld our younssters 
have voked wit h Couiit Rudeiick before we 
"levheards nome. 

Rty. Heaven forefend ! Onr tnxipers are 
but saddling their horses; five minutes more, 
:iud we are in our stirrups, and iheii lei Count 
RodHric sit fast. . 

Wic. A piag:ue on him! he has ever lam 
liard on the skirts of .nir noble master. 

R^y Especially since he was refused the 
liana of our lady s niece, the pie.ty Lady Ger- 
trude. 

Wic Ay niarrv! would noiliins less serve 
the lox of .Maltmsea lh;m llie loVrly lamb of 



ir y..ni 



Hetiy! By my s.x.tli, Hey- 



^ 



noUl. when I look upon these two lovers, they 
make me full Iwei.ly years vouiiKer; and 
when [ meet the man itiat would divide them 
—1 sav iiothme;— but let him look to it. 

hey. And how fare onr youiis lords? 

Wic. Each well in his humour — Baron 
Georse stern and culd. at'cordmic to his woni, 
and his lirother as cheerful as ever. 

Rey. Well! — Baron Henry for me. 

Wic. Yet George saved thy lil'e. 

Rey. 'I'rue— with as much indifference as it 
he had been snatching a chesinut out of the 
fire. Now Baron Henry wept tor my danger 
and my wounds. Therefore George shall ever 
command. my life, but Henry my love. 

iVic. Nay^ Baron George shows Ins gloomy 
spirit even t)y the choice of a favouiite 

Rey A) — .Martin, formerly the squire of 
Ariiolf of Khersdort', his mother's first hus- 
band—I marvel he could not have fitted him- 
self with an attendant from amoni; the faith- 
ful followers of Ins worthy father, whom 
Ariiolf and his adherents used to hate as the 
Uevil hates holy water. IJut Martiti is a good 
soldier, and has stood toughly by George in 
rnaiiv a hard hrunt. 

Wic. The knave is sturdy enough, but so 
sulky withal — 1 have seen, brother Reynold, 
that, when .Mai tin showed his moody visage at 
the banquet, our ncit)l"e mistress has dropped 
the wine she was raiding to her lips, and ex- 
changed her smi es for a ghastly frown, as if 
sorrow went by sympathy, as kissing goes by 
lavour. 

Rey. His appearance reminds her of her first 
hush.ind. and thou hast well seen that makes 
lier ever sad. 

Wir. I)os^ thou marvel at that? She was 
married to Arnolf by a species of force, and 
they say that before his death he compelled 
her to swear n. ver io espouse Rudiger. The 



priests will not absolve her Tor the breach of 
that vow. and therefore she is troubled in 

mind. For, d'ye mark me, Reynold 

( Bugle sounds. 

Rey A tfuce to your preaching! To horse! 
and a blessins on our arms ! 

Wic. St. George grant it ! iExcunt. 



SCENE in. 

The gallery of the castle, terminating in a large 
balcony commanding a distant prospect. — 
VoicfS, bitijle-horns. kettle-drums, trampling 
of horses, ^c. are heard without. 

Rudiger. /.pom/hc; o;i Peter, looks from the bal- 
cony. Gertrude a/id Isabella are near him. 

Rtid. There lliey go at leiisth — look, Isa- 
bella! look, my prelty Gertrude — these are 
the iron-handed warriors u Im shall fell Rude- 
rick what It will cost him to force thee from 
my prif.vclHKi — {Flourish without. Rudiger 
stretches his arms from the Ijolnmt, ) Go. my 
ch'ldreii. and God's hiessing wiih you. Look 
at my hh.ck barb. Gertrude. Tli »t horse shall 
let daylight m throuah a phalanx, were it 
twenty pikes deep Shame on it that I cannot 
niouni him ! Seest thou how tierce old Rey- 
nold looks? 

Ger. i can hardly know my friends in their 
armour. 

[ The bugles and ketlle-drums are heard 
as at o oreati r distance. 

RuiL Now 1 could tell every one of their 
names, even at this distance; ay, and were 
they covered, as I have seen them, with dust 
and' blood. He on the dapple erey is Wickerd 

— u hardy fellow, but .vomewhat given to 
pratins. That is young Conrad who gallops 
so fast, page to thy Henry, my girl. 

[Bwjles, 4-r., at a greater distance slill. 

Gcr. Heaven guard ihem. Alas! the voice 
of w:ir that calls the blood into your cheeks 
chills and freezes mine. 

Rud Say not so. It is glorious, my girl, 
gloiious! See how iheir armour glistens as 
they wind round- yon hill! how ilieir spears 
glimmer amiJ the long tram of dust Hark! 
yuu can still hear the famt notes of their 
trumpeis — (Buyks very faint.) — .4nil Rudiger, 
old Rudiger with the iron arm, as the crusa- 
ders used to call me, must remain behind 
with the priests and the women. V\ ell ! well ! 

— (Sings.) 

'• It was a knight to battle rode, 
And as his wai-hors(i he bestrode."' 

Fill me a bowl of wine, Gertrude; and do 
thou. Peter, call the minstrel who came 
hither last iwghi— (Sings ) 

" Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sa ! 
And stroked his whiskers, tra, la. la."— 

(Peter goes out. — Rudiger sits down, and Ger- 
trude helps him with wine.) Thanks, my love. 
It tastes ever best from thy liaiid. Isabella, 

! here is glorv and vmUny to our boys— (Z)rj?iA:5.) 

i —Wilt thou not [ill dge mi: ? 

I Isa To their safety, and God grant it !■ 
(Drinks ) 



A 



y G84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



N 






Kilter Bertram as a minstrel, with a boy bearing 
his harp.— Also Peter. 

Rtid. Thy name, minstrel ! 

Ber. Miiiholii. so please you. 

Ritd. Art rtion a German ! 

Ber. Yes, noble sir; and of this province. 

Rud. Sing me a .«ons of lialtle 

[Bertrnm smgs to the harp. 

Riid. Thanks, nnnstrel : well sung, and lus- 
tdy. VVtiiit isiiysl thou. Isuliella? 

Isn. I marked him not. 

Rud Nay, m sooth you are too anxious 
Cheer up. And Ihou. too. my lovely Ger- 
trude: in a few hours thy Henry shall return, 
and twine his laurels into a i;arland for thy 
hair. He fights for thee, and he must conquer. 

Ger. Alas' must blood be spilled for a silly 
maiden ? 

Rwl Surely: for what should knishls hresik 
lances but for honour and ladies' love — ha, 
minstrel? 

Ber. So [dea.se you— also to punish crimes. 

Rud. Out upon it! wouldst have, us execu- 
tioners, minstrel ? Such work would dis^riice 
our blades We leave malefactors to the Se- 
cret Tribunal. 

Isa. Merciful God ! Thou hast spoken a 
word, Kudiger. of dreadful import. 

Ger. They say that, unknown and invisible 
themselves, these awful judges are ever pre- 
sent with the Kuilty ; that i he past and the 
present misdeeds, the secrets of the c(»rifes- 
sioiial, nay, the very thoush's of the heiirt. 
are before them; that their doom is as sure 
as that of fute, the means and executioners 
unknown 

Rud. They say true — the secrets of that 
association, and the names of those who com- 
pose It. are as in.sciutable as the grave: we 
onlv know that it has taken deep root, and 
spread its branches wide. 1 sit down each 
day in my hall, nor know I how many of these 
.secret judges may surround me. all bound by 
the most solemn vow to avenge guilt. Once, 
and but once, a kniuht, at the earnest request 
and mquiries of the emperor, hinted that he 
belonged to the society : the nexr, morning lie 
was found shiin in a forest: the poniurd was 
lelt in the wound, and bore this label—'- Thus 
do the invisible judges puni.sh treachery." 

Ger. Gracious! aunt, you grow pale, 

Jsa. A slight indisposition only. 

Rud. And w hat of it all ? We know our 
liearls are open to our Creator : shall we fear 
any earthly ins[)ection? Come to the liatile- 
nients; there we shall soonest descry the re- 
turn of our warriors. 

[Exit Rudiger, with Gertrude and Peter. 

Isa. Minstrel, send the chaplain hither. 
'Exit Bertram ) Gracious Heiiven ! the guile- 
less innocence of my niece, the manly honesty 
of my upnght-hearted Kudiger, become daily 
tortures to me. While he was engaged in 
active and stormy exploits, fear for his safety, 
joy when he returned to his castle, enabled 
me to disuuise my inward anguish from others. 
But from myself— Judges of blood, that lie 
concealed in noontide as in midnight, who 
boast lo avenge the hidden guilt, and to pene- 
trate the recesses of the human breast, liow 
blind IS your penetration, how vain your dag- 
ger, and your cord, compared to the cimscience 
«f the sinner ! 



Enter Father Ludovio. 

Lud. Peace be with you, lady ! 

Isa. It IS not with me : it is thy office to 
bring it. 

Lud. And tlie cause is the absence of the 
young knights ? 

Isa. Their absence and their danger. 

Lxid. Daughter, thy hand has lieen stretch- 
ed out in bounty to the sick and to the needy. 
Thou hast not denied a shelter to the weary, 
nor a tear lo the afflicted. Trust in their 
prayers, and in those of the holy convent 
thou hast founded : peradventure Ihe^ will 
bring back thy children to thy bosom. 

Isa. Thy brethren cannot" pray for me or 
mine. Their vow binds them lo pray night 
and day for another — to supplicate, without 
ceasing, the Eternal Mercy for the soul of on« 
who — Oh, only Heaven knows how much he 
needs their praver! 

Lud. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. 
The sciul of ihy former husband 

Isa I charge thee, priest, mention not the 
w(ird. (Apart ) Wretch that i am, the inean- 
es! menial in my train has power to goad me 

to lIMidliess! 

Lud. Hearken to me, daughter; thy crime 
against Arnolf of Ebersdorf cannot bear in 
the f.\e of Heaven so deep a dye of guil. 

Isd. Repeat that once nn»ie; say once again 
that it cannot — cannot bear so deep a dye. 
Prove to me that ages of the bitierest pen- 
ance, that tears of the dearest blood, can 
erase such guilt. Prove but that to me, and 
1 will build thee an abbey which shall put l«) 
shame the fairest fane in Christenddin. 

Lud. Nay, nay. daughter, your coii.science 
is over lender. Supposing that, under oreail 
of the stern Arnolf. you swore never to many 
your present husband, still the exaciing such 
an oath was unlawful, and the breach of it 
venial. 

Isa. (resuming her composure.) Be it so, good 
father: I yield to thy belter reasons. And 
now tell me. has thy pious care achieved the 
task I intrusted to thee ? 

Lud Of superiniemling the erection of thy 
new hos|iiial for pilgrims? 1 have, noble lady : 
and last night the minstrel now in the casile 
lodged there. 

Isa. Wherefore came he then to the castle ? 

Lud. Reynold brought the commands of the 
Baron. 

Isa. Whence comes he, and what is his 
tale? When he sung before Kudiger. Itliought 
that long before I had heard such tones— seen 
su(;h a face. 

Lud. It IS possible you may have seen him, 
lady, for he boasts to have been known to 
Arnolf of Ebeisdoi-f and to have lived for- 
merly in this castle. He inquires much after 
Murltn. Arnolf 's squire. 

Isa. Go, Ludovic — go quick, good father, 
seek him out, give him ihis purse, and bid 
him leave the castle, and speed him on his 
way. 

Lud May I ask why, noble lady ? 

Isu. Thou iirt inquisitive, priest: I honour 
the servants of God. but 1 foster not the pry- 
ing spirit of a monk. Begone! 

Lud. But the Baron, lady, will expect a 
reason why I dismiss his guest? 

Isa. True, true (recollecting herself;) pardon 



Z 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



685 



^: 



sc:;i 
> lai 



my warmth, eood father. I was thinkms "f the i 
cuokoo that prows too biar for the nest of the I 
sparrow, and stransles Us foster-nioiher. Do 
iiii such hinls roost in ronvent-walls ? j 

Lud. lady, 1 understand you not. 

ha. Well, then, say to the Baron, that I I 
have dismissed V<R'i ako all the attendunis of 
til*' tnan of whom thou ha-t spoken, and ih .t 
I wish lo have none ot iheni heneaih my 
roof. 

IauL {inquisilively ) Kxrept \fartin ? 

Isa (sharply) Excepi Mar' in! who saved 
the life of my soil Ue r^e ! Do as I noinniand 
thee. {Exit 

Manet Ludovic. 

[auI. Ever the same— .stern and peremptory 
lo otlier> a.s riL'orous to herself; hauiclity even 
lo me, lo \\hom. m another mood, she has 
knell fur ahsoluijon, and whose Unees she has , 
ba'lieil in lears. I cannot fathom her. The 
riiin.itn al zeal with which she performs her 
d e.idful renanres <;annot he religion, for 
s;iiewcj|y I <;ness she helieves not m iheir 
h essed elfica('y. V\ ell fur her that she is the 
f •niulie>s of our convent, otherwise we misht 
not liavo ened m denouncms; her as a here- 
tic ! lExU. 



ACT II.-SCKNE I. 

A wnodlfinil prospect — 'f'hrnu'jh a long avniue, 
fin/f ijriiwn up by brnmldes. are disccrnfd in 
the bnck-yiound the ruins ol the nnntnl Casitr. 
01 Gnejenhnus — 'I'he dislanl noise of battle 
ts htant dunny this scene. 

Enter Georije of Aspen, armed with a haltle- 

oxe in his hand, as from hoisibark. He sup- 
ports .Martin, and bnufjs him Jorward. 

Geo. Lay ihee down here, old friend. The 
enemy's horsemen will hardly take their way 
amonsr these brambles, through which 1 have 
drassed iiiee. 

Mnr. Oh, do not leave me ! leave me not an 
instant! Mv moments are now but few, and 
I would profii by ihem. 

Geo. Martin, you forget yourself and me — 1 
must back to the field 

Mar. {altemiits to rise ) Then drag me back 
thither also; I cannot die hut in your presence 
—I dare not be alone. Stay, lo give peace to 
mv parting soul. 

Geo. 1 am no priest. Martin {Goino.)- 

Mnr. {raising himself with (jreat pain.) Baron 
George of Aspen, I saved thy life in battle: 
for that good deed, hear me hut one moment. 

Geo. I hear thee, my poor friend. {Re.turn- 
iwi ) 

Mar. But come close — very close. See'st 
thou, sir knight — this wound I boie for tliee 
— and this — and this — dost thou not remem- 
ber? 

Geo. I do. 

M'lr I have served thee since thou wast a 
clidd ; served thee faithfully— was never from 
tnv siile. 

Geo. Thou hast 

Mnr And now I die in thy service. 

Geo. Thou may'st recover. 

Mar 1 cannot By my long service— by my 
IS — by this mortal srash, and by the death 
tliat I am to die— oh, do not Hate me for what 
1 am now to unfold! 



Geo. Be assured I can never hate thee. 

Mnr. Ah. thou little kiiowest Swear to 

me thou wilt speak a word of comfort to my 
parting soul. 

Geo (takes his hnnd ) I swear 1 will. (.Harm 
and shoutiiitj.) Bui he brief — thou knowest 



lasit 



Mar. Hear me. ihen 1 was the squire, the 
b'- oved and favourite at'enilaiit, of .Ariinlf of 
Kber-dnrf Arnolf was savage as the moun- 
tam bear. He loved the l.ady Isabel, but she 
regnited not Ins passion. She loveil thy fa- 
ther; hut her sire, old Ariiheim. was the 
fiienil of Arnolf and she was forced lo marrv 
him. By nddmght, in the chapel of Kbers- 
dorf, the ill-oniened riles were performed ; 
her resistance, her screams were in vain. 
These arms detained her at the altar till the 
nuptial benediction was pronounced. Canst 
thou forgive me ? 

Geo. I iJo forgive thee. Thy obedience to 
thy savaae master has been obliieiaied by a 
haig tram of services to his widow. 

Mar. .Services! ay. bloody services ! for they 
commenced — do not quit my hand — they com- 
menced with the murder of my inaster. 
(George quits his hand, and stands auhosl in 
speechless horror) Trample on me! pursue 
me wiih your dagser! I aided your mother 
to poison her first husband I I thank Heaven, 
It IS said. 

Geo. My mother? Sacred Heaven! Mar- 
'iii, thou lavest — the fever of thy wound has 
d.s'racted iliee. 

Mar .No! I am not mad I Would to God I 
were! Try me! Yonder is the Wcilfshill — 
yonder the old castle of Griefenliaus — and 
yonder is the hemlock marsh (in a whisper) 
where I gathered the deadly plant that drug- 
ged Arnolf 's cnp of death. (Georse traverses 
the stage m the utmost ai/itation. and sometimes 
stands over Martin w/th his hands clnspid to<je- 
ther.) Oh. had you seen liim when the potion 
took effect! Had you heard liis ravings, and 
seen Ihe contortions of his ghastly visage! — 
He died furious and impenitent, as he liveii; 
and went— where I am shorlly to go. You d(» 
not speak ? 

Geo (with exertion.) Miserable wretch ! how 
can I ? 

Mar. Can you not forgive me? 

Geo. May God pardon thee — 1 cannot! 

Mnr. I saved thy life 

Geo. For that, take my curse ! (He snatches 
up his battle-axe, and rushes out to the sul^fruin 
which the notse is heai'd.) 

Mar. Hear me! yet more — more horror! 
{Allempts to rise, and Jails heavily. A loud 
alarm.) 

Enter Wickerd, hastily. 

Win. In the name of God, .Martin, lend me 
thy brand ! 

Mnr. Take it. 

Wic. Where is it? 

Mar. (looks wddly at him.) In the chapel at 
Ehersdorf, or buried in the liemlock marsh. 

Wic. 'I'he old grumbler is crazy with his 
wounds. Martin, if thou hast a spark of rea- 
son in thee, give me thy sword. The day 
goes sore against us. 

Mar. There it lies. Bury it in the heart of 
thv master George ; thr)U will do hiin a giK>d 
office— tlie office of a faithful servant. 



A 



^ 686 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



N; 



Enter Conrad. 

Con. Away. Winkerd ! to horse, and pur- 
sue! B;iroii George lias turned the day; lie 
finhts more hke a fiend than a man : he has 
unhorsed Koderic.and slam six of his troopers 
— thevare m headloiis flisht — the hemlock 
marsh' is red with their sore ! (Martin i)wrs a 
df ep groan, nud faints) Away! away! {They 
hurry off. as to the pursuit ) 
Enter Rodericof ^^aUmsen. without his helmet, 

his arms disortirred and broken, holding the 

truncheon of a spear in his hand; with him. 

Baron V\olfslein. 

Rod. A fMirse on fortune, and a double nn-se 
npon George of Astieri ! Never,.never will T 
forsive him my disprane — overthrown hke a 
rotien trunk hefore :i whirlwind ! 

Wolf Be comforted, Coniil Hoderio; it is 
well we have es(%ippd heiti;; prisoners. See 
how the troopers of Aspen pour aloii? the 
plain, hke tlie hillows of the Khine! It is 
good we are sliroiuled hy the thicket. 

Rod. Whv took he not my life, when he 
robbed me' of my honour and of my love? 
Why did his spear no' [iierce my heart, when 
mine shivered on his arms like a frail bulrush ? 
( Throws down the broken ^pear. ) Bear witness, 
iieaven and earth, 1 outlive this disgrace only 
to avenge ! 

Wolf Be comforted ; the knights of Aspen 
have not gained a blooiliess victory. And see, 
there lies one of George's followers — (seeint/ 

Rod. His squire Martin ; if he he not dead. 
we will secure him : lie is the de|iository of 
the secrets of his master. Arouse thee, ti usty 
follower of the house of Aspen ! 

Miir (reviving.) Leave me not! leave me 
not. Baron Geoige ! my eyes are darkened 
with aioiiy ! I have nut yet told all. 

Wolf. 'Ihe old man takes you for his mas- 
ter. 

What wouldst ihou tell ? 
Oh. I would tell all the lemplatinns 
-h I was urgeil to the murder of Ehers- 



-this is worth marking. Pr 



^ 



Rod 

Mar 
hv wh 
d'orf! 

Rod. Murder 
reed 

Mar. I loved a maiden, daughter of Arnolf 's 
steward : my master seduced her— she became 
an outcast, and died in m .serj — 1 vowed ven- 
geance— and I did aveniie her. 

Rod. Hadst thou accoiM()lices ? 

Mar. None, but tliv mother. 

Rod. The Ladv Isabella! 

Mar. Av : she hated her husband : he knew 
her love to Rudiger, and when she heard that 
thy father was returned from Palestine, her 
life was endangered by the transports of his 
jealousy — thus prepared for evil, the fiend 
tempted us. and we fell. 

Rod. (breaks into n transport ) Fortune! thou 
hast repaid nie all ! Love and vengeance are 
my own ! — Wolfsteiii, recall our followers! 
quick, sound thv bugle— (WDIfstem sounds.) 

Mar. (stares wildly round ) I hat was no 
note of Aspen— ('ount Koderic of .\Jalliiigen— 
Heaven ! what have 1 said ! 

Rod. What thou canst nut recall. 

Miir. Then is my fate decreed ! 'Tis as it 
should be ! in this very ph.wre was the poison 
gather'd— 'tis retribution ! 



EiUer three or four soldiers of linderic. 

Rod. Secure this wounded trooper; bind Ilia 
wounds, and guard him well: carry him to 
the rums of Griefenhaus, and conceal him till 
the troopers of Aspen have retired from the 
pursuit ;— look to him, as you love your lives. 

Mar (led off by soldiers.) Ministers of ven- 
geance! my hour is come ! [Exeunt. 

Rod. Hope, joy. and triumph, once aaain 
are ye mine! Welcome to my heart, long- 
absent visitants ! One lucky chance has throw n 
dominion into the scale of the house of Mal- 
tingen, and Aspen kicks the beam: 

Wolf. I foiesee. indeed, dishonour to the 
family of Aspen, should this wounded squire 
make good his tale. 

Rod And how thinkest thou this di.sgrace 
will fall on them ? 

Wolf Surely, by the public punishment of 
Ladv Isabella. 

Rod And IS ; hat all? 

Wolf v\ hat more ? 

Rod. Shoitsighted that thou art, is not 
Geoige of Asjieri, as well as thou, a member 
of the holy and invisible circle, over which I 
preside ? 

Walt. Speak lower, for God's sake! these 
are things not to bemeniioned before the sun. 

Rod. True: but stands he not bound hy the 
most solemn oai h reliifion can devise, to dis- 
cover to the tribunal whatever coiic:ealcd 
iniquity shall conie to his knowledge, be the 
|)erpetralor whom he may — ay, were that 
perpetrator his own father — or nioi her ; and 
can you doubt that lie has heard Martin's 
confession ? 

W(df. True: but, blessed Virsin! do you 
think he will accuse his own mother before 
the invisible judges? 

Roil. If not. he becomes forsworn, and, by 
our law, must die. Either way my ven^'eance 
IS complete— perjured or p irricide. I care not ; 
but, as the one or the other shall I crush the 
hauiihty Geoiiie of Aspen 

Wolf Thy vengeance strikes deep. 

Rod. Deep as the wounds I have borne froni 
this proud family. Hudmer slew my falher in 
battle — George has twice baffled and disht)- 
noured my arms, and Henry has stolen the 
heart of my beloved : but no longer can Ger- 
trude now reiii.iin under tlie c;ire of I he mur- 

raii shewed the siiiool h-cheeked boy. when 
this scene ol villany shall be disclosed. 

[Bugle. 

Wolf. Hark ! they sound a retreLt: let u's 
go ileeiier into the wood. 

Rod. The victors approach ! I shall dash 
their lriiim[)h! — Issue the private siiininons 
f>>r convoking the members this very evening ; 
I will direct the other measures. 

Wolf. V\hat place? 

Rod The old chapel in the ruins of Grief- 
enhaus. as usual. [Exiunt. 

SCENE n. 
Enter George of Aspen, as from the pursuit. 
Geo (comfS slowly foiwnrd ) How many 
wreiches have sunk under my arm thi> day. 
to whom life was sweet, though the wreicheU 
bondsmen of Count Roderic! And I — 1 who 



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THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



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siiiislil death beneath every lifted battle-axe, 
and (itfered niy breast lo every arrow — I am 
nursed with victory and safety. Here I left 

the wretch Martin !— Martin !— what, ho I 

Martin ! Mother of God ! he is ^oiie !— 

Snuuid he repeat the dreadful tale to any 

oilier Martin !— He answers not Perhaps 

he has crept into the ihicket, and died there — 
were it so. the horrible secret is only mine. 

Enter Henry of Aspen, with Wickerd, Rey- 
nold, and followers. 
Hen Joy to thee, brother! though, by St. 
Fraii(!is. I Would not gain another field at the 
pr.ce of seeing thee flight wiili such reckless 
dt^sper.ition Ttiy safety is little less ilian 

. Rty. By'r Lady, when Baron George struck, 
I liiiiiK he inu>t have forgot that his foes were 
God's creatures Such furious doings I never 
saw. and I have b.-eii a trooper lliese forty- 
two years come St Barnahy 

Geo Peace! Saw any of you Martin ? 

Wic. Noble sir. 1 left him here not long 
since. 

Geo. Alive or dead? 

VV'/c Alive, noble sir, but .sorely wounded. 
I think he must be prisoner, for he could not 
have budged el.se fnun hence. 

Geo Heedless slave 1 Wtiy didst thou leave 
him .' 

Hen Dear brother, Wickerd acted for the 
best: he came lo our assislance and the aid 
of h.s companions. 

Gto. 1 tell thee, Henry. Martin's safety was 
of more importance than the lives of any ten 
that siand here 

Wic. [muUering ) Here's much to do about 
un old crazy trencher-shifier. 

G'O. What muiterest tliou ? 
. Wic Only, sir knight, that Martin seemed 
out of his senses when I left him, and has 
perhaps wandered into the marsh, and perish 
ed there. 

GfO How— out of his senses? Did he speak 
to thee l—iapprehensivel!/. ) 

Wic. Ves. noble sir. 

Geo Deai Henry, step for an instant to yon 
tree — thou wilt see from thence if the foe 
rally upon the Wolfsliill (Henry retires ) 
And do you stand back [to the soldiers ) 

[He biinus Wickerd ./orwffrrf. j 

Gto. {with marked apinehenswn ) What did 
Martin say ?o thee, Wickerd ?— tell me, on 
thy allegiance. 

Wic. Mt^re ravings, sir knight — offered me 
ills sword to kill you. 

Geo. Said he aught of killing any one else? 

Wic. No: the pain of Ins wound seemed to 
have tirought on a fever. 

Geo (clasps kis hands together.) I breathe 
again— 1 spy comfort. Why could I not see as 
well as this fellow, that the wounded wretch 
may have been distracted? Let me at least 
think so till proof shall show the truth (aside ) 
V\ K^kerd, think not on what I said — the heat 
of the liallle had chafed my blood. Thou 
hast wished for the Nether farm at Ebers- 
dorf— It shall be thine. 

Wic. Thanks, my noble lord. 

Re eiiler Henry. 
Hen. No — they do not rally— they have had 
enougli of it- but Wickerd and Conrad shall 



remain, with twenty troopers and a S(U)re of 
cros^bowmeii. and scour the woods towards 
Uriefenhaus. to prevent the fugitives fnnii 
making head. We will, with the rest, to 
Ehersdorf. What say you. brother ? 

Geo V\'ell ordered. Wickerd. look thou 
search everywhere for .Martin: bring him to 
me dead or alive; leave not a nook of the 
Wood unsought. 

Wic. 1 warrant you. noble sir, I shall find 
him, could he clew himself up like a dor- 
mouse. 

Hen. I think he must be prisoner. 

Gen. Heaven forfend ! 'lake a trumpet, 
Eustace (lo an attendant;) ride to the castle 
of Maltiiigen. and demand a parley. If Mar- 
tin IS prisoner, offer any ransom : offer ten— 
•„weniy — all our prisoners in exchange. 

Eus. It shall be done, sir kniglit. 

Hen. Ere we g:o. sound irumpels— strike up 
the song of victory. 

SONG. 

Joy to the victors ! tlie sons of old Aspen ! 

Joy to the race of ilie battle and scar ! 
Gloiy's proud garland triumphantly grasping; 
Generous in peace, and vicioiious in war. 
Honour acquiring. 
V alour inspiring. 
Bursting lesisiltss, through foenien they go: 
War-axes wielding,^ 
Broken ranks vielilmg, 
Till from the battle proud Koderic retiring, 
Yields in wild rout the fair palm lo his (be. 
Joy to each warrior, true follower of .Aspen ! 
joy to the lieroe> that paiii'd i he bold day I 
Health to our wiiuiided. in a;oiiy gasping; 
Peace to our breiliien that fell ni tlie fray ! 
Boldly tins morning. 
Ho(leric"s power scorning. 
Well for their chieftain their blades d:d they 
wieM : 
Joy blest them dying, 
As Maltingt-ii tlying. 
Low laid his banners, our conquest adorning. 
Their deaih-ciouded eyeballs descried on the 

field ! • 
Now to our home, the proud mansion of 
Aspen. 
Bend we. gay victors, triuni[)hant away; 
There each lond dam.sel, her gallant youth 
clasping. 
Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of 
the fray. 

Listening the pranciig 
Of horses advancing; 
E'en now on the turrets our maidens ap- 



>oiigs the niglit charming. 
Round goes the grape in the goblet gay 
dancing; 
Love, wine, and song, our blithe evening sha.l 
cheer! 

Hen. Now spread our banners, and to Ehers- 
dorf in triumph. V\ e cany relief to the anxi- 
ous, joy to the heart of the aged, brother 
George. (Going off.) 

Geo. Or treble misery and death. 

[Apart, and following slowly. 
The music sonnds. and the followers o' ispen 

heijin lo fik across the s!aye 1 'he cui lain falls. 



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SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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ACT III.-SCENK T. 

Casllf. of Ehersdorf. 

Rudiger, Isabella, and Gertrude 

Rud. I piitl'«e. dear wife, he tnerry. It 
must he over hy I his time, and happily, other- 
wise I he had news had reached us. 

Isi7. Should we not, then, have heard the 
tidirias of the good? 

Rlid. Oh ! these fly slower hy half. Besides, 
I warrant all of thein eiiaai-ed in the pursuit. 
Oh ! not a page would leave the skirts of the 
fugitives till they were fairly heaten into their 
iiolds; hut had the boys lost the dav, the 
slrasiilers h.ad niade for the castle. Go to the 
window, Gerirude: seest thou any thing? 

Ger. I think I see a horsem:in. 

7.W. A single rider? then 1 fear me much. 

Ger. It is only Father l.udovlc. 

Rud. A plague on thee! didst thou take a 
fat friar on a mule for a trooper of liie house 
of Aspen ? 

Grr. But yonder is a cloud of dust. 

Rud. (Kjjjf.rly.) Indeed! 

Gir. It is only the wine sledges going to my 
aunt's convent. 

Rud. The devil confound the wine sledges, 
and the mules, and the monks! Come from 
ttie window, and torment me no longer, thou 
seer of strange sights. 

Ger. Dear uncle, what can I do to amuse 
you? Shall 1 tell you what I dreamed this 
morning? 

Rud. .Nonsense: but say on ; any thing is 
better than silence. 

Ger. I thought 1 was in the chapel, and they 
were burviiig my aunt Isah-lla alive. And 
wlio.doyiiu think. aunt, were Ihegiavediggeis 
who shovelled in the earth u[)on you ? Even 
Baron George and old Martin. 

Isa. (appears shocked) Heaven! what an 
idea ! 

Ger. Uo but think of my terror— and Min- 
hold the minstrel played all tiie while to 
drown your screams. 

Rud And old Father l.udovlc danced a 
saraband, v, ith I he steeple of ttie new ctmvent 
upon his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce 
to this nonsense Give us a song, my love, 
and leave thy dreams and visions. 

Ger. What shall I sing to you? 

Rud. Sing to me of war. 

Ger. I cannot sing of battle; but I will 
sing you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, 
when her lover was slain in the wars. 

Isa. Oh. no laments. Gertrude. 

Rud Then smg a song of mirth. 

Isa. Pear husband, is this a lime for mirth ? 

Rud. Is it neither a time to sing of mirth 
nor of scurovv? Isabella would rather hear 
Father l.udovic chant the " De profundis." 

Ger. Dear uncle, be not angry At pre- 
sent, I can only sing the lay of poor Eleanor. 
It comes to my heart at this moment as if 
tiie sorrowful mourner had been my own 
sister. 

SON Q.i 
Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 

Weak were the whispers that waved the 
dark wood. 
As a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow. 

Sigh'd to the breezes and wept to the flood.— 



" Saints, from the mansion of bliss lowly bend- 
iuff. 
Virgin, that hear'st the poor suppliant's 
cry. 
Grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 
My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor die." 

Distant and faint were the sounds of the bat- 
tle ; 
Witti the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail, 
Till the shout, and the groan, and the con- 
flict's dread rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamour came loadmi? 
the gale. 
Breathless she gazed through the woodland 
so dreary. 
Slowlv approaching, a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so 
weary. 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his 
mien. 

"Save I bee, fair maid, for our armies are fly- 
ing; 
Save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is 
low; 
Cold on yon heath thy bold Frederick is 
lying, 
Fast through the woodland approaches the 
foe." 

[ The voice of Gertrude sinks by degrees, 
till she hursts into tears. 

Rud }low now, Gertrude? 

Ger. Alas ! may not the fate of poor Eleanor 
at this moment he mine ? 

Rud. Never, mv girl, never ! (Militnry music 
is heard.) Hark ! hark ! to the sounds that fell 
thee so iAH rise and run In the wnidnw. 

Rud. Joy! joy ! they coir.e, and come victo- 
rious. {Thf chorus of the war-sonij is hard 
without ) Wt'lconie ! welcome ! once more 
have my old eyes seen the banners of the 
house of Maltiiigen trampled in the dust — 
Isabella, broach our oldest casks: wine is 
sweet after war. 

Enter Henry, followed by Reynold and 
troopers. 

Rud. Joy to thee, my boy : let me press 
thee to this old heart 

Isa. Bless tliee, my son — (embracs him.) — 
Oh. how maiiv hours of bitlenie-xs are com- 
pensated by this embrace ! Bless thee, my 
Henry ! where hast thou left thy brother? 

Ben Hard at hand : hy this he is crossing 
the drawbridge. Hast thou no greetings for 
me. Gerirude? {Goes to her.) 

Ger. I joy not in battles. 

Rtid. But she had tears for thy danger. 

Hen. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude. See. I 
have brought back thy scarf from no inglo- 
rious field. 

Ger It is bloody !—{5*orfefZ.) 

Rud. Dost start at tiiat, my girl ? Were it 
his own hhiod, as it is that of his foe.s. thou 
siiouldsl glory in it —Go. Reynold, make good 
cheer with thy fellows 

[Exit Reynold a7id Soldiers. 



1 Compa 



•Ith '• Ttie Maid of T( 



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Enter George. pensivHy. 
Geo (goes straight to Ruili^er ) Father, thy 
b'pssin-. 

Rud. ThdU hast it, hoy. 
Isa {rushes to enihrace him — he avoids her.) 
How ? aft 'hou wounded ? 
Gfo. No. 

Rud. Thou lookest deadly p:ile. 
Geo. It is iioihms. 

I.m. Heaven's lilessins? on my sallant George. 
Gen. {nside ) Dares she he.-itow a ble.ssins T 
Oh. .Martin's tale was irenzy ! 

Isn. Smile upon us for once, my smi : darken 
no thv brow on this day of gladness— few aie 
oiir m'omeiilsof joy — sliould imt my sons share 
m them ? 

Geo {iisii/e) She has moments of joy — it 
Wis frenzy then ! 

Isa Gertrude, my love, assist me to disarm 
tlie knight. (She loosens aiul- takes off his 
casque ) 

Gff. There is one. two, three hacks, and 
none lias pierr.ed thti steel. 

Ruil. [,el me see. Let me see. A trusty 
ca>gue ! 

Ger. Else liadst thou gone. 
Isa. [ will reward the armourer with its 
weigrht in sold. 

Geo. [aside) She »«««/ he innocent. 
Gir. And Henry's shield is hanked, too! 
1 et me sliow it fo you, uncle. (She carries 
Henry's to KudiRer.) 

Rud. Do. my love; and come hiiher, Henry, 
thou sluiU tell me how I he d^iy went. 

[Henry «nd Gertinde roncerse apart 

wilh Riidig'-r; Gt-orse tortus Jor- 

toiiidi Isabella coju'S Io him. 

Isfi. Surely. George, some evil has befallen 

thee. Grave thou art ever, bUi so dreadfully 

glo,.mv— 

Geo. Evil, indeed. — {^«</c.) JNow for the 
tiial. 

Isa. Has your loss been Kreat ? 
Geo. No !— Yes \— (Apart ) I cannot do it. 
Isa Perhaps some (iiend lost? 
Geo. It must be. — Mmtin is dead — ( Hf re- 
gards her with apprehension, but steadily, as he 
pronounces these words ) 

Isa (starts, then shows a ghastly expression 
of joy. ) Dead ! 

Geo. [nimost overcome by his feelings ) Guilty! 
Guilty \— (apart.) 

Isa. (without observing his emotion ) Didst 
thou sav dead 1 

Geo. Did 1 — no— 1 only said mortally 
wounded. 

Isii. Woundeil ? only wounded ? Where is 
he ! Let me fly to hm\.— (Going.) 

Gio. (sternly.) Hold, lady!— Speak not so 
loud I — 'I'hou canst not see hiin !— He is a pri- 
soner 

Isa. A prisoner, and wounded ? FIv to his 
deliverance ! — Offer wealth, lands, casiles. — 
all our possessions. h>r his ransom. Never 
shall 1 know peace till the.se wails, or till the 
grave secures him. 

Geo. (apart.) Guilty! Guilty 1 

Enter Petei. 
Pet. Hugo, scjuire to the Count of .Maltin- 
gen, has arrived with a message. 
~ I. I will receive him in the hnll. 

[Exit, leaning on Gertrude and Henry. 



Isn Go. George— see after Martin. 
Geo. (firmly ) No— I have a task to per- 
form: and though the earth shonkl open niul 
devour me alive — I will arcomiili.sh it. But 
tirst — but first — Nature, take thy tribute.— 
(He falls on his mother's neck, and weeps bit- 
terly. ) 

Isa. George ! my son ! for Heaven's sake, 
what dreadful frenzy! 

Geo. (walks two turns across the stage and 
cojnposes himsel.l.) Listen, mnther— 1 knew a 
knisht in Hungary, gallant in ba tie. hospita- 
ble and generous in petice. The king gave 
him l.!S friendship, and the adminisi ration of 
a province; that province was inhsted by 
thieves and murdereis. You mark me ?- 
Isa. .Most heeilfullv. 

Geo 'I he knight was sworn — hound by an 
oath the most dreadtul that can fie taken by 
man — to deal among offenders, evenlii'iided, 
stern ;ind impartial justice. Was it not a 
dreatlful vow ? 

Isa (wiVi an affectation of composure.) So- 
lemn, doubtless, as the oath of every magis- 
trate 

Geo. And inviolable? 
Is'i Surely— inviolable. 
Geo. V\»^U! it happened, that when he rode 
out against the banditti, he made a prisoner. 
And who, think yoii. that prisoner wms / 
Isa. I know not (with increasing teirnr.) 
GfO (tiembling. but proceeiliwj rapvily ) His 
own tvvin-broiher, who sucked the same 
breasts with him, and lay in the bosom ol ttie 
same mother: his brother whom he loved as 
his own soul — what should that knight have 
done unto his brother? 

Isa (almost speechless.) Alas! what did he 
do? 

Gen. He did (turning his head from her, and 
with clasped hands,) what I can never do :— he 
did his duty. 

Isa My son ! my son ! — Mercy ! Mercy ! 
( Clings Io him ) 

Gen Is It tlien true? 
Isa What? 

Geo. What Martin said? (Uahelhi hides her 
fare. ) It is true ! 

Isa (looks up with an air of dvjnity ) Hear. 
Frainerof the laws of natuie! the mulhei is 
judged bv the c.hM — (Turns towards him) 
Yes. it is true — true that, fearful of my o\mi 
life, I secured it by the murder of my lyrant. 
Mistaken coward! I little knew on wh.ct 
terrors I ran, to avoid one moment's agmiy — 
Thou hast ttie secret ! 

Gi-o. Knowest thou to whom thou hast 
told It? 

Isa. To my son. 

Geo. No! No! to an executioner ! 
Isa. He it so — go. proclaim my crime, and 
foiget not my punishment. Forget not tint 
the murderess of her husband has dragged 
out years of hidden remorse, to be brought at 
lust to the scaffold by her own cherished son 
— thou ait silent. 

Gio The language of Nature is no more! 
How shall I learn another? 

Isa. Look upon me. George. Should the 
executioner he abashed before the criminal — 
1 .ok upon me. my son. From my soul do I 
fori-ive thee. 

Geo. Forgive me what? 

Isa. What I hou dost meditate— be vengeance 



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lieavv, hut let it b^ secret— add not the death 
of a father to that of tlie smner ! Oli ! Kiidi- 
ger! Kudiser! innocent cause of all my emit 
and all my woe, how vijt tlion tear thy j^ilver 
locks when thou shall hear tit-r sjuilt whom 
thou hast so often claspeil to thy bosnm — 
hear her infamy proclaimed by the son of thy 
fondest hopes— (Mjcejw.) 

Geo {stitujyling Jor breath) Nature will 
have utterance : mother, dearest mother. I 
will save you or perisli ! {throws himstlj into 
her arms.) Thus fall niv vows. 

Isa. Man thyself! I ask not safety from 
thee. Never shall it be said, that Isabella of 
Aspen turned her son from the path of duiy. 
thong;h his footstei'S must pass over iier man- 
gled corpse Man thvself 

Geo. No! No! The ties of Nature were 
knit by Gild himself. Cursed be the stoic 
pride that would read them asunder, and call 
it viriue! 

Isa. My son ! My son !— How shall I behold 
thee hereafter? 

r Thrte knocks are heard upon the door 
of the iiparlJiwnt 

Geo. Hark I One — two— three. Roderic. 
thou art speedv ! {Apart.) 

Isa. (opens the door ) A parchment stuck to 
the tioor with a poniard ! {Opens it ) Heaven 
and earth! — a summons trom the invisible 
jud es [—{Drops the parchment.) 

Giu {rends with emotion.) 'Isabella of As- 
pen, accused of murder by poison, we conjure 
tliee, bv the cord and by the steel, to appear 
this ni?ht before the avengers of blooil. who 
judse in secret and avenge in secret, line the 
Deity. As thou art innocent or guilty, so be 
thy deliverance.'"— Martin, Mariin, thou hast 
plaved f ilse ! 

Isa. Alas! whither shall I fly? 

Geo. Thou canst not fly ; instant death 
would follow the attempt; a hundred thou- 
sand arms would be raised against thy life; 
everv morsel thou didst taste, every drop 
which thou didst drink, the very breeze of 
heaven that fanned thee, would come loaded 
with destruction. One chance of safety is 
open :— obey the summons, 

Isa And perish. — Ye: why should I slill 
fear death? Be it so. 

Gio. No— I have sworn to save you I will 
noi do the work by halves Does any one save 
Martin know of tlie dreadful deed ? 

Isn None. 

Geo. 'I'hen Ko — assert your innocence, and 
leave the rest lo me. 

ha Wretcli that I am ! How c.in 1 support 
the task vou would impose? 

Geo Think on n.y father Live for him : 
he will need all the comfort thou carisi. tie- 
siow. Let the thought that his destruction is 
involved in thine, amy tliee through the 
dreadful trial. 

Isa. He It so. — For Rudiger I have lived: 
for him 1 will continue to bear the burden of 
existence : but the instanl that my guiii comes 
to his knowledge shall be the last of my life. 
Kie 1 would bear from him one glan<-e of ha- 
tred or of scorn, this dastjer should drink my 
blood, {puis the poniard into her bosom ) 

Gio, hear not He can never know. No 
eviilence shall aiipear agidnst you. 

Isa How shall I obey the suninions, and 
where find the lenihle judgmeiil-seai ! 



Geo Leave that to the judges. Resolve but 
to obey, and a conductor will be 'ound. Go 
to the chapel ; there pray fur your sins and 
for mine. {He leads her out, and returns.) — 
Sms, indeed I T Itreak a dreadful vow, but I 
save the life of a parent; and the penance I 
will do for my perjury shall appal even the 
judges of blood. 

Enter Reynold. 
Key. Sir knight, the messenger of Count 
Roderic desires to speak with you. 
Geo. Admit him. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hti(j. Count Roderic of Maltingen greets 
you He s;iys he will this night hear ilie hat 
flutter and the owlet scream ; and he bids nie 
ask if Ihoii iilso will listen to the music. 

Geo. 1 uiidersiuiid him I will be there. 

Huij. And the couiil says to you, that he will 
not ransom your wounoed squire, thoush you 
would dowinveish Ins best liorse with goiil. 
Hut you may send him a confessor, for the 
count says he will need one. 

Geo. Is he so near ilealh ? 

Huo Not as It seems to me. He is weak 
thniugii loss of blood; but since his wound 
was dressed he can bolu stand and walk. 
Our count has a noiable balsam, which has 
recruited hiin much. 

Geo. Eiiouitli— 1 will send a priest. — (£x?V 
Hugo.) 1 failiom his plot. He would aiai 
another witness lo the tale of Martin s goili. 
Eut no priesl shall appioach liini Ke_\ no d, 
Ihiiikesl thou iiol we could send one ol the 
troopers, dl.seuised as a monk, to aid Martin 



111 



Rpy. Noble sir. the followers of your hniiMi 
are so well known io those of MaUinj;eii, tin.t 
1 fear it is iiiipossilile. 

Geo. Knowest tiiou of no stranger who 
might be employed i His reward shall exceed 
even Ins hope.N. 

Key So please you — I think the minsiiel 
could well execule such a cooiniiSMon : he is 
shrewd anil cunning, and can wrne and read 
like a priest. 

Geo. Call \\\n\. — {Exit ReynoKI ) If this 
fails. I niu.>t employ open force. V\eie M;ii- 
tiii removed, no limgue can assert the biiKniy 
truth. 

Enter Minstrel. 

Geo. Come hither, Minhold. Hast ihou cou- 
rage to undertake a dangerous enlerpiise ? 

Ber. My life, sir Knight, has been one scene 
of danger and of dread. 1 have forgotten how 
lo fear. 

Gto. Thy srieech is above thy seeming. 
Who art thou ! 

Ber. An unfortunate knight, obliged lo 
shroud myself under this disguise. 

Geo. W liai IS the cause ol thy misfortunes? 

Ber. I slew, at a lournanient, a prince, anii 
was laid under the ban of ttie empire. 
I Geo. I have iiiieresi wnh the emperor. 
Swear to perform wiial task Ishidl jmjiose on 
thee, and I will procure the recall ot the ban. 
j Bir. 1 swear. 

Geo. Then lake ihe disguise of a monk, and 

I go with the follower of Count Koderic, as if 

to confess my wounded squire Martin. Gi.e 

' him tliy dress, and remain m piix 



^ 



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7 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN 



stead. Thy captivity shall be short, and T 
pledge my kiiisflilly word 1 vvdl labour to exe- 
cute tiiy priitiii>e, when thou shalt have lei- 
sure to unfold iliy history. 

B'T. I will do as you direct. Is the life of 
your squire m daneer? 

Gm. It IS, unless thou canst accomplish his 
release. 

Btr. I will essay it [Ext7. 

Geo :^uch are tiie mean expedients to which 
George of Aspen must now report. No longer 
cm I debate with Roderic in the field. The 
depraved — the perjured kiii^ht must contenil 
Willi hirn only in the arts tif dissiniulation and 
treachery. Oh, mother! mother! the most 
Infer consequence of thy cinne has been the 
birlii of thy tirsthoin! But I must warn my 
brother of the inipeiidina; storm. Poor Henry, 
how httle can ihv say temper anticipate evil! 
V\ hat, ho tliere ! {Enter an Attenrlant.) Where 
is Baruii Henry ? 

Alt. Noble sir, he r<Kle fortii. after a slight 
} refreshment, to visit the party in the field. 
i Geo. Saddle my steed ; 1 will follow him. 

Att So please you. your noble father has 
twice demanded your presence at the ban- 
quet. 

Geo. It matters not— say that I have ridden 
forth to tlie v\ olfsliill. Where is thy lady ? 

Alt. In the ctiajiel. sir kiiisht. 

Geo. 'lis well — saddle my bay-hoisp — 
(apart) for the last time. lExil. 




ACT IV. -SCENE 1. 

Ttie wood of Grieffjihatis. with the rums of the 
Casile A nenrir view of the C.as'le than in 
Act Second, but slill at some distance. 



Enter Roderic. VVolfstein. and Soldiers, as from 
a reronnoitnny party. 

Wolf. They mean to improve their success, 
and vvill push their advantage far. V\'e mu^t 
retre^it betimes. Count Kuderic. 

Rod. V\e are .safe here for the present 
They make no immediate moiion or' advaiK^e. 
I fau(;y neither George nor Henry are wuh 
tlieir party in the wuod. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hui. Noble sir, how sliall I tell what has 
happened ? 

Riid. What? 

H'uj Martin has escaped. 

R„d. Villain, thy life shall pay it! {Strikes 
at Hugo—?.? held by Wolfstein.) 

Wolf. Hol.l, hold. Count Koderic! Hugo 
may tie blameit'ss. 

Rod. Reckless slave I how came he to 
escape ? 

Hiiii. Under the disguise of a monk's habit. 
wlnMii by your orders we brought to confess 
him. 

Rnd. Has he been long gone? 

Huii. An hour and moie since he pas.sed our 
sen iiieis. di.sgiiiseil as the chaplain of Aspen 
but he wa ked so slowly a ;d feebly, I th;Ilk 
he cannot yet have reached the posts of the 
biieiiiy. 

Rod. Where is the treacherous priest? 

Huij. He waits his doom not far from hence. 
[Exit Hugo. 



Rod Drag him hither. The miscreant that 
snatched the morsel of vengeance from the 
lion of Maltingeii, shall expire under torture. 

Re-enter Hugo, with Bertram and Attendants. 

Rod. Villain ! what tempted thee, tinder 
the garb of a niinisier of religion, to steal a 
criminal from the hand of justice? 

Bcr. I am no villain. Count Kuderic; and I 
only aided the e-^cajie of one wounded wretch 
whom thou didst mean to kill basely. 

Rod. I.iar and slave! thou hast a-sisted a 
murderer, upon whom justice had sacred 
claims. 

Ber. 1 warn thee again, Count, that 1 am 
neither liar nor slave. Shortly 1 hope to tell 
:hee I am once more Ihv equal. 

Rod. ! h.>u ! Ihoii ! — 

Btr. Yes ! the name of Bertram of Ebers- 
doif was once not unknown to thee. 

Rod (iislomshed.) Thou Bertram! the bro- 
ther of AmioIi of tbersdoif, first husband of 
the Baroness Isaliella of Aspen? 

Ber. The same. 

Rod Who. Ill a quarrel at a tournament, 
many yeirs since, slew a hlood-relaiion of 
the emperor, and was laid under the baa? 

Ber I he same. 

Rod. A-iid who has now, in the disguise of 
a priest, aided the escape of Martin, squire to 
George .if Aspen ? 

Bfr. The same — the same. 

Rod Then, by the holy cross of Cologne, 
thou hast set at liberty the murderer of thy 
broilier Arno f ! 

Ber. How! What! I understand thee not ! 

Rod. Miserable plotter ! — .Martin, by his 
own confession, as Wdlfstem heard, avowed 
having aided Isabeda in the niunler of her 
husband 1 had laid sur'li a plan of vengeance 
as should have made all tiermany shuoder. 
.■\nd thou hast counteracted it — thou, the bro- 
iher of the mnrdKied Airiolf! 

B'r. Can tins be so, Woifslein? 

Wait. 1 heard Martin confess the murder. 

Ber. Then am 1 Indeed unlortunate! 

Rod. V\|iat, m the name of evil, brought 
thee here ? 

Ber. 1 am the last of my race. When I was 
outlawed, as thou knowest, the lands of 
Ehersdorf, my rightful inheritance, were de- 
clared forfeited, and the Emperor bestowed 
them upon Rudiger when he myiried Isabella. 
1 attempted to defend my domain, but Kudiger 
-Hell thank him for it — enforced the ban 
against me at the head of his vassals, and I 
was constrained to fly. Since then I have 
warred against the Saracens in Spain and 
Palestine. 

Rod. But why didst thou return to a land 
where death attends thy being discovered ' 

Ber. Impatience urged me to see once moie 
the land of my nativity, and llie tower- "f 
Eiier.sdorf I came there \esterday. under 
the name of the niin-trel .Mmliold. 

Rod. And what prevailed on thee to under- 
take lo deliver Martin T 

Ber. Gtorge. i hough I told not my name, 
eii^a-ed to procnie ihe recall of ilie ban ; be- 
sides, h« told me .Martin's life was in danger, 
and 1 accounted the old villain to be the last. 
remaining follower of our hou.-e. But, as God 
shall judge me, the laie of horror tho'i 
nientiuiied I could not have even suspected. 



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\ 



Report ran, that my brother died of the 
pla?ije. 

Wolf. Raised for the purpose. dntiMless. of 
preveniiii? attendance upon Ids sick-bed, and 
an ins[)eoii()n of his body. 

Btr. My vensearice shall be dreadful as its 
cause ! i lie usurpers of my inheritance, the 
robbers of my honour, the miirdert:rs of my 
brother, shall be cut off. root and branch ! 

Rod. 'I'liou an, then, we'come here; espe- 
cially if thou art still a true brother to our 
invisible order. 

BfT. I am. 

Roil, '{'here is a meetins this ni?ht on the 
bii.'^iness of thy brother's dea'h. Some are 
now come 1 must despatch them in pursuit 
ol' .Martin. 

Enlcr Hu£o. 

Hu(]. 'Che foes advance, sir knisht. 

Rod. Back! back to tlie ruins! Come with 
us, Bertram ; on the road thou shall he:ir the 
dreadful history. \Exe\mt 

From the onpo-itte side enter George. Henry, 
VN'ickeid, Conrad, a7id Soldiers. 

Geo. No news of Martin yet? 

Wic. None, sir knifclit. 

"reo. Nor the miiisirKi ? 

Wic. None. 

Geo. Then he has hetraved me. or is pri- 
soner— misery either way. Begone and search 
the wood, Wickerd. 

[Exeunt Wickerd and followers 

Hen. Still this dreadful gloom on thy brow, 
brother? 

Geo. Ay I what else? 

Hen. Once thou thoiighiest me worthy of 
thy friendship. 

Geo. Henrv. thou art vouns — 

Hen. .Shall [ therefore betray thy confi- 
dence ? 

Geo. No! but thou art gentle and well-na- 
tured. Thy mind cannot even support the 
burden which mine must hear, far less wilt 
thou approve tlie means I sliall use to throw 
it off 

Hen. Try me. 

Geo. 1 mav not. 

Hen. Then thou dost no longer love me. 

Geo. I love thee, and because i love thee, I 
will not involve thee in my distress. 

Hen. I will bear it with thee. 

Geo. Shouldst thou share it, it would he 
doubled to me ! 

Hen Fear not. I will find a remedy. 

Geo. It would cost thee peace of mind, 
here, and hereafter. 

Hen. I take the risk 

Geo. It may not be, Henry. Tliou wouldst 
become the confidant of crimes past— the ac- 
complice of others lo come. 

Hen Shall I guess? 

Geo. I charge thee, no ! 

Hen I must. Thou art one of the secret 



:^ 



Geo. Unhappy boy! what hast thou said ? 

Hen. Is it not so ? 

Gen Dost thou know what the discovery 
has cost thee ? 

Hen 1 care not. • 

Geo. He who discovers any part of our mys- 
tery must himself become one of our num- 
ber 



He7l How so ? 

Geo if be does not consent, his secrecy 
will be speedily ensured by his death. To 
that we are swfirn- take thy choice ! 

Hen Well, are you not banded in secret to 
punish those offenders whom the swoid of 
jusiK'e camiot reach, or who are shielded 
from its stroke by the buckler of power? 

Geo. Such is indeed the purpose of our fra- 
ternity; but the end is pursued through paths 
dark, intricate, and slippery with biooil Who 
IS he that shall tread them with safely? Ac- 
cursed be the hour in which I entered the 
lahyrinlh. and doublv accursed that, in which 
thou too must lose the cheerful sunshine of a 
soul without a mystery! 

Hen. Yet for tliy sake will I be a member. 

G(0. Henry, tliou didst rise this niorn:nK a 
free man. No one could say to ihee. "VMiy 
dost thou so?" Thou layest thee down to- 
night the veriest slave that ever lugged at an 
oar— the slave of men whose actions will iip- 
pear to thee savage and incomprehensible, 
and whom thou must aid against the world, 
upon pen! of thy throat. 

Hen Be it so 1 will share voiir lot. 

Geo. Alas, Henry ! Heaven forbid ! But 
since thou hast by a hasty word fettered thy- 
self, 1 will jivail myself of thy boiiiiage. 
Mount thv fleetest steed, and hie thee this 
very ntgh't to the Puke of Bavaria. He is 
chief and [larairioiint of our cli:ipter Show 
him this signet and this letter; tell him that 
maticrs will be this nighi discus-^ed concern- 
ing the house of Aspen. Bid him sfieed linn 
to the assembly, for he well knows the presi- 
dent is our deadly ibe. He will adiuil thee 
a member of our holy body. 

Hen. Who IS the foe whom you dread ? 

Geo. Young man. the first duly thou must 
learn is implicit and blind obedience. 

Hm. Weil I 1 shall soon return and see thee 
again. 

Greo Return, indeed, thou wilt; but for the 
rest— well! that matters not. 

Hen. 1 go : thou wilt set a watch here ? 

Gen I will (Henry yoitig ) Return, my 
dear Henry: let me embrace thee, shouldst 
thou not see me again. 

Hen. Heaven ! what mean you ? 

Geo. Nothing. The life of mortals is pre- 
carious; and. should we not meet asiiin. take 
my biessmg ami this embrace — and this — 
{embraces hm wiirmly ) And now haste to ihe 
duke. (Exit Henry ) Poor youth, tlioii lillle 
kiiowest wh;it thou hasi undertaken. But if 
•Marl 111 has escaped, and if the duke arrives, 
they will not dare to proceed without proof. 

Re-enler Wickerd and followers. 

Wic We have made a follower of Maltin- 
geii prisoner. Baron George, who reports that 
Martin has escaped. 

Geo. Joy ! joy ! such joy as I can now feel ! 
Set him free for the gocxl news — and. W ickerd. 
keep a good watch in this spot all night. >end 
i>ut scouts to find Martin, lest he should not 
be able to reach Ebersdorf. 

Wic. 1 shall, noble sir. 

[ The kettle drums and trumpet.'; flo 
OS for setting the watch : tht 
closes. 



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THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



698 ^. 



Wf 1 



SCENE II. 

The chapel at Eb/rstlnrf, an ancient Gothic 
huUdtiig. 

Isiibella is discovered ristnafrom brforc the altar, 
on which burn two tapers. 

ha. I cannot pray. Tenor and RUilt h:ive 
Btifled devotion. The heart, tnn.st l)e at ea>-p— 
the hands niUst he pure when they are lifted 
to Heaven. Midnight is the hour of summons : 
it is now near. How can I pr;iy. when I go 
resolved to deny a crime winch every drop of 
my blood cmild not wasli away ! And niy son ! 
Oh ! he will tiill the viclini of my crime ! Ar- 
nr)lfl Arnolf! ihou ait dreadfully avenffed ! 
{Tap at the door.) The footstep of mv dread- 
ful guide. (Tap again.) My courage is no 
more. {Enter Gertrude by the door.) Ger- 
trude ! is it only thou 1 (embraces her.) 

Ger. Dear aunt, leave this awful phice ; it 
chills my very blood. My uncle sent me to 
call you to the hall 

750. Who IS in the hall? 

Ger. Only Heynold and the family, with 
whom my uncle is making merry. 

Isa Sawest thou no strange faces? 

Ger. No; none but friends. 

Isa. Art thou sure of that? Is George 
there T 

Ger. No. nor Henry; both have ridden out. 
1 think they might have staid one dav ai le;ist. 
But come, aunt, I hate this place ; it reminds 
me of my dream 5-ee. yonder was the spot 
where methought they were burying you 
alive, below yon monument (pointmu ) 

Isa. (startnuj ) The monument of my first 
huslvmd. Leave me, leave me, Gertrude. I 
follow in a moment. (Exit Gertrude.) Ay, 
there he lies! forgetful alike of his crimes 
and injuries! Insensible, as if this chapel had 
never ruiig wiiti my shrieUs. or the castle re- 
sounded to his parting groans ! When shall I 
sleep so soundly ? (As she gazes on the monu- 
ment, a figure muffled in btiick. appmrs from be- 
hind it ) Merciful God ! is it a vision, such as 
has haunted my couch? (It approaches: she 
goes on with min<jted terror and resolution.) 
Ghastly phantom, art thou the restless spirit 
of one who died in agony, or art thou the 
mysterious being that must guide me to the 
presence of the avengers of blood ' (Figure 
bends its head and beckons. ) — To-morrow ! To- 
morrow ' 1 cannot follow thee now ! (Figure 
shows a dfKjger Jrom beneath its cloak. ) Com- 
pulsion ! I understand thee: I will follow. 
(S>ie J allows thefiuure a little way ; he turns and 
wraps a. btack veil round her head, and takes her 
hand: then both exeunt behind the monument.) 



SCENE in. 

The Wood of Griefenhaus —A watrh-fire. round 
ichich sit Wickerd, Conrad, attd others, in 
their watch-cloaks. 

Wic The night is bitter cold. 

Con. Ay, but thou hast lined thy doublet 
well with old Hhenish. 

Wic. True; and I'll give you warrant for 
I. {Sings.) 



(RHKIN-WEIN LIED.) 

What makes the troopers' frozen courage 
muster? 
The grapes of juice divine. 
Upon the Khine, upon the Rhine they clus- 
ter: 
Oh, blessed be the Rhine! 

Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit skin, 
SI rs. 
Bedeck your Saracen; 
He'll freeze without what warms our hearts 
within, sirs. 
When the night-frost crusts the fen. 

But on the Rhine, hut on the Rhine they 
cluster. 
The gnipes of juice divine. 
That m;ike our troopers' frozen courage mus- 
ter: 
Oh, blessed be the Rhine! 

Con. Well sung, Wickerd ; thou wert ever 
a jovial soul. 

Enter a trooper or two more. 

Wic. Hast thou made the rounds, Frank ? 

Frank, Yes, up to the hemlock marsh. It 
is a stormy night; the moon shone on the 
Wolfshill. and on the dead bodies with which 
to day s work has covered it. U'e heard I lie 
spirit of the house of .Maltingen wailing over 
the slaughter of its adherents : I durst go no 
farther. 

Wic. Hen-hearted rascal ! The spirit of 
some old raven, who was picking their bones. 

Con Nay. Wickerd; the churchmen say 
there are such things. 

Frank Ay ; and Father Ludovic told us 
last sermon, how the devil twisted the neck 
of ten farmers at Kletterhach, who refused 
to pav Peter's pence 

Wic Yes, some church devil, no doubt. 

Fra7ik Nay, old Reynold says, that m pass- 
ing, by midni-ht, near the old chapel at our 
castle, he saw it all lighted up, and heard a 
chorus of voices sing the funeral service. 

Another Soldier. Father Ludovic heard the 
same 

Wir Hear me, ye hare-llvered boys! Can 
you look death in the lace in battle, .-ind dread 
such nursery bugbears? Old Keynold saw his 
vision in the strengih of the grape. As for 
the chaplain, far be it from me to name the 
spirit which visits him; but I know what I 
know, when I found him confessing Ber- 
trands pretty Agnes in the chestnut grove. 

Con. But. Wickerd, though I have often 
heard of strange tales which I could not 
credit, yet there is one in our f.imily so well 
attested, that I almost believe it. Shall I tell 
it you? 

All Soldiers. Do ! do tell it. gentle Conrad. 

Wic. And I will take t'other sup of Khenish 
to fence against the horrors of the tale. 

Con. It IS about my own uncle and god- 
faiher, Albert of Horsheim. 

Wic. I have seen him — he was a gallant 
warrior. 

Con. Well ! He was long absent in the Bo- 
hemian wars In an expedition he was be- 
nighted, and came to a lone house on the edge 
of a forest : he and his followers knocked r«- 



r 



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694 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



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pp.'iteclly for entrance in vain. Tiiey forced 
the door, but found no inhabitants. 

Frank. And tiiey made sond their quarters T 

Con They did : and Albert retired to rest 
in an upper chamber. Opposite to the bed on 
which he threw nim.self was a large mirror. 
At midnight he whs awaked by deeii groans : 
he cast his eves upon the minor, ami saw 

Frank Sacred Heaven! Heard you no- 
thing] 

Wic. Ay. the wind among the withered 
leaves. Go on, Coniad. Your uncle was a 
wise man. 

Con. That's more than grey hairs can make 
other folks. 

Wic. Ha ! stripling, art thou so malapert T 
Thongh thou art Lord Henry's page. I shall 
teach tliee who commands this party. 

All Soliliers Peace, peace, good Wickerd: 
lot Conrad proceed. 

Con Where was I T 

Frank About ttie mirror. 

Con True. .My uncle beheld in the minor 
the reflection of a tinman face, distorted and 
covered with blood. A voice pronounced ar- 
ticulately. "It is yet lime" As ilie wods 
were spoken, my uncle discerned in the 
ghastlv visaije the features of his own father. 

Soldier Hush! By St P'rancis 1 heard a 
groan (They start up all but Wickerd ) 

Wic. 'I he croaking of a frog, wlio has 
caught cold m Miis bitter night, and sings 
rather more iioaisely than usual. 

Frank. Wickerd. thou art surely no Chris- 
tian. {They sit down, awl close round the fire.) 

Con. Well— my uncle called up his attenil- 
ants, and they searched every nook of ilie 
cliamber, but found nothing. So i ht y covered 
the mirror with a cloth, and Albt-ri was WXl 
alone : but hardly had he closed Ins eyes 
wiien the same voice proclaimed. '• Ii is now 
loo late:" the covering was drawn aside, and 
he saw the figure 

Frank. Merciful Virgin! It comes. (All 
rise. ) 

Wic. Where? what? 

Con. See yon figure coming from the 
thicket! 

Efiler Martin, in the monk^s dress, much disor- 
dered: his face, is very pale and his steps 

slow. 

Wic. (levelling his pike ) Man or devil, which 
thou wilt, thou slialt feel cold iron, if tliou 
budgest a foot nearer. (Martin stops.) Who 
art thou ? What dost thou seek ? 

Mar. To warm myself at your fire. It is 
deadly cold. 

Wic. See there, ye cravens, your appnritioii 
is a poor benighted monk : sit down, father. 
(They place Martin by the fire.) By heaven, it 
is Martin— our Martin! Martin. Iiow fares it 
with thee ? We have sought thee this whole 
night 

Mar. So have many others (vacantly.) 

Con. Yes. thy master. 

Mar. Did you see him too? 

Con. Whom? Baron George? 

Mar. No! my first master, Arnolf of Ebers- 
dorf. 

Wic. He raves. 

Mar. He passed me but now in the wood, 
mounted upon his old black steed ; iis nostrils 
breathed smoke and flame ; neither tree uur 



^ 



rock stopped him. He said. " Martin, thou 
wilt return this n giit to my service!" 

Wic. Wrap thy cloak around hini. Francis; 
he is distracted with cold and pain. Dost 
thou not recollect me. old friend ? 

Mar. Yes. you are the butler at Ebersdorf: 
you have the charge of the large gilded cup, 
emtiossed with the figures of the twelve apos- 
tles It was the favourite goblet of my old 
master. 

Con. By our Lady, Martin, thou must be 
distracted indeed, to think our master woiiid 
intrust Wickerd with the care of i he cellar. 

Mar. I know a face so like the apostaie .Judas 
on that cup. I have seen the likeness when 
1 gazed on a mirror. 

Wic. Try to go to sleep, dear Martin ; it will 
relieve thy brain (Footslf-ps are heard in the 
wood.) To your arms. (Thiy take their arms.) 

Enter two Members of the Invisible Tribunal, 
muffled in their cloaks. 
Con Stand! VV|if)are\ou? 
1 M&m Travellf^is benighted in the wc d 
Wic. Are ye friends to A.'^pen or Maliin- 

gen ? 

1 Mem. VA'e enter not into their quarrel : 
we are friends to the right. 

Wic Then are ye friends to u.s, and wel- 
come to pass the night by our fire. 

2 Mem Thanks. (Ihty approach the fire, 
and reuord Martin very earnestly.) 

Con Hear ye any news abroad ? 

2 Mem. None ; but that oppression and vil- 
lanv are rife and rank as ever. 

Wic. The old coni[>laint. 

\ Mem. No! never did former age equal 
this in wickedne.ss; and yet, as if the daily 
commission of enormities were not enough lo 
blot the sun, every hour discovers crimes 
which have lain concealed for years. 

Con Pity the Holy Tribunal should slum- 
ber in Its office. 

2 Mem. Young man. it slumbers not. When 
criminals are ripe for its vengeance, it falls 
like the bolt of Heaven. 

Mar. (altemjiting to rise.) Let me be gone. 

Con. (detaining him.) Wliitlier now, Mar- 
tin? 

Mar. To mass. 

1 Mem. Even now. we heard a tale of a 
villain, who. ungrateful as the frozen adder, 
slung the bosom that had warmed liim into 
life. 

Mar. Conrad, bear me off; I would be away 
from these men. 

Con. Be at ease, and strive to sleep. 

Mar. Too well I know— 1 shall never sleep 
again. 

2 Mem. Tiie wretch of whom we speak be- 
came, from revenge and lust of gam. the 
murderer of the master whose bread he did 
eat. 

Wic. Out upon the monster! 

1 Mem. For nearly thirty years was he per- 
mitted to cumber the ground. The tniscreant 
thought his crime was concealed ; but the 
earth which groaned under his footsteps— the 
winds which passed over his unhallowed 
head — the stream which he polluted by his 
lips — the fire at which he warmed his bhxid- 
stained hands — every element bore witness to 
his guilt. 

Mur. Conrad, good youth — lead me from 



V 



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THE HOUSE OF ASPEN, 



695 



^ 



lieiicp, and I will show thee where, thirty 
years since, I deposited a niiglity bribe. [Rises. 
Clin. Be pal ieiit. Rood Mariiii. 
Wic. And where was the miscreant seized 1 
[The two Members suddenly lay konds 
on Martin, and draw their daijyers ; 
the Soldiers fpririij to Iheir arms. 
1 Mem. On this very spot. 
Wic. Traitors, unloose your hold ! 
1 A/pm. In the name of the Invisible Judges, 
I cliarse ye. impf-ile us no' in onr d'lty. 

[AU sin/t thdr weapons, and stand mntionless. 
Mar. Help! help! 
1 Mtm. Help hini with your prayers ! 

[He is dragged off. 'JTit scene shuts. 



ACT V. -SCENE I. 

The suhterranem chapel of the Castle of Griifen- 
h'lus. It sefins deserted, and in decay Tfure 
are four entrances, each defemitd by an iron 
portal. At each door stands a warder clothed 
in black, and masked, armed w th a naked 
sword. Durino the whole scene they remain 
Viotionless on ihnr posts. In the centre of the 
chapel 78 the ruinous altar, half sunk in the 
ground, on which tie a large book, a dmi'ier, 
and a coil of ropes, beside two lighted toper.". 
Antique stone benches of different hiiohls 
around the chapel. In the back scene is seen a 
dilapidated entranc. into the sacristy, wh ch is 
quite dark. 

Various Member.^ of the Invisible Tribunal enter 
by the four diff. rent doors of the chape/. Each 
whispers someihinu as he passes the Warder, 
which IS ansioered by an mrlination of the 
head. The costume of tne Members is a lonu 
black robe, capable of mufflina the face : some 
wear it in this mtinneT ; others have their faces 
uncovered, unt/ss on the entrance of a stran- 
ger : they place themselves in profound silence 
upon the stone benches. 

Enter Count Hoderic. dres.ied in a scarlet cloak 
of the same fofni with those ot the other Mem- 
bers. He takes his place on the most elevated 
bench. 

Rod. Warders, secure the doors ! { The doors 
are barred with great care.) Herald, do thy 
duty ! 

[Members all rise — Herald stands by the 
altar. 
Her. Members of the Invisible Tribunal, 
who jnd?e in secret, and avenge in secret, 
like the Deify, are your hearts free from ma- 
lice, and your liands from blood-guiltmess ? 
[All the Members incline their heads 
Rod. God pardon our sins of ignorance, and 
preserve us from those of presumption. 

[A'jain the Members solemnly incline their 

heads. 

Her. 'I'o the east, and to the west, and to 

the north, and to the south, I raise my voice : 

wherever there is treason, wherever there is 

blood-suiltiness, wherever there is sacrilege, 

sorcery, robbery, or perjury, there let this 

curse alisht, and pierce the rnarrow and the 

bone. Kaise, then, your voices, and say with 

me, woe ! woe, unto offenders ! 

All. VVoe ! woe ! [Members sit down. 

Her. He who knoweth of an unpunished 

crime, let him stand forth as bound by his 



oath when his hand was laid upon the ila?^er 
and upon the cord, and call to the assemlily 
for vengeance ! 

Mem. {ri.ses, his face covered.) Vengeance! 
vengeance 1 vengeance 1 

Rod. Upon whom dost thou invoke ven- 
geance ? 

Accuser. Upon a brother of this order, who 
is forsworn and perjured to its laws 

Rod. Relate his crime. 

Accu. This perjured brother was sworn, 
upon the steel and upon the cord, to denounce 
malefactors to the judgment-seat, from tlie 
four quarters of heaven, though it were the 
.spouse of his heart, or the son whom he loVed 
as the apple of Ins eye ; yet did he conceal the 
KUill of one who was dear unto him ; he folded 
np the crime from the knowledge of the tri- 
bunal; he removed the evidence ofguil',and 
wiihdrew the criminal from justice. What 
dofs his perjury deserve ? 

Rod. Accuser, come before the altar; lay 
thy hand upon the dagger and the Cord, and 
swear to the truh of tiiy accusation 

Accu. (his hand on the altar.) I swear! 

Rod. V\ ill tliou lake ui»on thyself the pen- 
alty of perjury, should it be f.iund false ? 

Accu. I will. 

Rod. Bre h^en. what is your .sentence T 

[ The Members conjer a moment in whiS' 
pers — a sil/-7ice. 

Eldest Mem. Our voice is, that the perjured 
brother ;iierils death. 

Rod Accuser, thou hast heard the voice of 
the assembly ; name the criiiiiii.>l. 

Accu. Geoige. B.iron of Aspen. 

[A murmur in the a.isembti/. 

A Mem. (suddenly rising ) I am ready, ac- 
cording to our holy laws, lo swear, by the 
steel and the cord, that George of Aspeii nie- 
ri s not this accusation, and that it is a foul 
calumny. 

Accu. Rash man ! gagest thou an oath so 
lightly? 

Mem. I gage it not lightlv I proffer it in 
the cause of innocence and virtue 

Accu. What if Cieorge of Aspen should not 
himself deny the charge ? 

Mem Then would 1 never trust man again. 

Accu. Hear him. then, bear wiiness against 
himself (throws back his mantle.) 

Rod. Baron George of Aspen! 

Geo. The same — prepared to do penance 
fir the crime of which he stands sell-ac- 
cused 

Rod. Still, canst thou disclose the name of 
1 the criminal whom thou hast rescue<l from 
justice ; on that condition alone, thy brethreu 
! iiiav save thy life. 

j Gio Thinkest thou I would betray for the 
I safety of my life, a secret 1 have preserved at 
the breach of my word ?— No ! I Imve weighed 
I the value of my obligation — I will not ilis- 
cliarge It — but most willingly will I pay ilie 
penalty ! 

Rod. Retire, George of Aspen, till the as- 
sembly pronounce judgment. 

Geo Welcome be your sentence — I am 
weary of your yoke of iron. A light beams 
on my soul. Woe to those who seek jiislice 
in the dark haunts of mystery and of cruehy ! 
She dwells in the bioad blaze of the sun, ami 
Mercy is ever by her side. Woe to those who 
would advance the general weal bv tramuhug 




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upon the social affections! tliey aspii-e lo l)e 
niKie than men ^ they shall hecctnie worse 
than tigers. I go : better for me yuur altars 
should be stJiined with my blood, ilian my 
soul blackened with yoiir criiiies. 

[Exit George, by the ruinous door in 
the back scene, into the sncrisly. 
Rod. Brethren, sworn Upon the steel and 
upon the cold, to Judge and to avenge in se- 
cret, without favour and wiihoilt pity, what is 
your jndameni upon George of Aspen, self- j 
accused of perjury, and resistance to the laws I 
of our fraternity. I 

[Ijontj and earnest murmurs in the assembly. 
Rod. Speak your doom. 
Eldest Mem. George of Aspen has declared 
hini'-elf perjured ; —the penally of perjury is 
de;.tli! 

Rod. Father of the secret judges — Eldest 
attmng those who avenge in secret — take to 
thee the steel and the cord ; — let the guilty 
no longer cumher the land. 

Eldest Mem. I am fourscore and eight years 
old. My eyes are dim. and my hand is feeble ; 
soon shalll l)e called before the throne of my 
Creator;— How shall I stand there, stained 
with the blood of such a man! 

Rod. How wilt thou stand before tliat 
throne, loaded with the guilt of a broken 
oath ? The blood of the criminal be upon us 
and ours ! 

Eldest Mem. So be it, in the name of God ! 
[He takes the dagger from the altar, 
goes slowly towards the back scene, 
and reluctantly enters the sacristy. 
Eldest Judge {from behind the scene ) Dost 
thou forgive me ? 

Geo, (behind.) I do! (He ts heard to fall 
heavily. ) 

[Re-enter the old judge from thesacristy. 
He lays on Ike altar the bloody dag- 
ger. 
Rod. Hast thou done thy duty T 
Eldest Mem. 1 have. (He faints ) 
Rod. He swoons. Reiimve him. 

[He is assist! d off the stage. During 
this four memhers enter the sarristy, 
and bring out a bier covered With a 
poll, which they place on the steps of 
the altar. A deep silence. 
Rod. Judges of evil, dooming in secret, and 
avenging in secret, lik 



Enter Isabella, the veil still wrapped around her 

head, lid by her conductor. All the members 

■muffle their faces. 

Rod. iJiicoVer her eves 

[The veil is removed. Isabella looks 
wildly round. 

Rod Knowest tliou, lady, where thou art ? 

Isa. I guess. 

Rod. Say thy gupss. 

ha. Befiiie the AVensers of blood. 

Rod. Knowest thoU why thou art called to 
their presence ? 

Isn. No. 

Rod. Speak, accuser. 

Ber. 1 impeach thee. Isabella of Aspen, be- 
fore this awful assembly, of having murdered, 
privily and bv poison. Arntdf of Ehersdorf thy 
first Husband. 

Rod. Canst thou swear to the accusation 7 

Ber. (his hand on the altar.) I lay my hand 
on the steel and the cord, and swear. 

Rod. Isabella of Aspen, thou hast heard thy 
accusation. What canst thou answer? 

tsa. I hat the o;ith of an accuser is no proof 
of guilt? 

Rod. Hast thou more to say ? 

ha T have. 

Rod. Speak on. 

ha Judges invisible to the sun, and seen 
only by the stars of midnight ! 1 stand before 
you', accused of an enorrtious, daring, and 
premeditated crime. I was married to Ar- 
nolf when I was only eighteen years old. 
Arnolf was wary and jealous ; ever suspecting 
me without a cause, unless it was because he 
had injured me. How then should 1 plan and 
perpetrate such a deed ? The lamb turns not 
against the wolf, though a prisoner in his den. 

Rod. Have you finished ? 

/?a. A moment. Years after years have 
ehipsed without a whisper of this foul suspi- 
cion. Arnolf left a brother ! though common 
fame had been silent, natural affection wtiuid 
have been heard .-igainst me --why spoke he 
not my accusation ? Or has my conduct justi- 
fied tliis horrible charge? No! awful judges, 
I mav answer, 1 have foimded cloisters. I have 
endowed hospitals. The goods that Heaven 
bestowed on nie I have not held back from 
the needy. I appeal to you, judges of evil, 
the Deity : God keep | can these proofs of innocence be downweigh- 
iid your hatids from ' ed by the assertion of an unknown and dis- 
guised, perchance a malignant accuser? 



your thoughts from evil 

goilt. ' ,._. . 

Ber. I raise my voite in this assembly, and Ber. No longer will I wear that disguise 
cry. Vengeance ! vengeance ! vengeance ! I [throws back his mantle.) Dost thou know mo 

Rod. Enough has this night been done— (^e ' now ? 
rises and brings Bertram forward.) Think I ha. V'es; I know thee for a wandering' 
what thou doest— George hiis fallen— it were minstrel, relieved by the charity of my hus- 
munler to slay both mother and son. 1 band. 

Ber. George of Aspen was thy victim — a! Ber. No. traitress! know me for Bertram 
sacrifice to thy hatred and envy. I claim of Ebersdorf, brother to him thou didst mur- 
mine, sacred to justice and to my murdered der. Call her accomjilice, Martin. Ha ! turnest 
brother. Resume thy place !— thou canst not thou pale ? 
stop the rock thou hast put in motion. j ha. May 1 have some water ? — (/lpa>7.) 

Rod. (resumes his seat.) Up(m whom callest ; Sacred Heaven! his vindictive look is so 



K 



hou for vengeance 

Ber Upon Isabella of Asfien. 

Rod. She has been summoned 

Herald. Isabella of Aspen, accused of mur- 
der by poison, I charge thee to appear, and 
stand upon thy defence 



[ Water is brought. 
Martin died in the hands of our 



like— 

A Mem. 
brethren. 
Rod Dost thou know the a(T,user. lady? 
ha (reassiimino fortitude.) Let not the sink- 
ing of nature under this dreadful trial be im- 
[Three knocks are heard at one of the puted to the con.sciousness of guilt. T do 
doors— it is ovencd by the warder. ' know the accuser— know him to be outlawed 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN 



697 




for honii'-iile. and iiriJer the ban of the em- 
pire : his tfs iinoiiv cannot be received. 

Ehitsl JiuLje Sue siivs irnlv. 

Ber. (to l>( deri'^.) I'lien I call upon thee 
and ^\ il iani of VVolfrteiu to l)ear witness to 
wb:it yo 1 know. 

Rf)d. WoltVtein is not in tho assembly, and 
mv place prevents me irom b in,' a witn ss. 

Ber. I'heii I wdl call jtnoiher: nieauWni e 
let t le accused be re imved 

Rod. Retire, lady, ['sabella is led to the sa- 
cristy. 

Isa. {in qoina off) The ground is slippery.— 
Heavens ! it is floated with l)li>od ! 

[Exit into the sacristy. 

Rod {apart to Bertram.) Whom dost thou 
mean to Ciill ? [Bertram whispers. 

Rod Tiiis soes bevond ine. {Aflet a mn- 
mcnt's Ihnuijht.) But he it so. Maltingen shall 
beiiold Aspen humbled in the dust. {Alowl) 
llieihreii, the accuser calls for a witness who 
remains without: admit him. 

[AH muffle their faces. 

Enter i?iidiser, his eyes bound or covered, lean- 
ing upon two m-mhers ; they place a stool for 

him, and unbind his eyes. 

Rod Knowest thou where thou art, and 
belore whom ? 

Rud I know not, and I care not Two 
sirauscers summoned me from my castle to 
assist, they said, at a great act of justice. I 
ascended the litter they brought, and 1 am 
here. 

Rod. It regards the punishment of perj'iry 
and the discovery of murder. Art thou wi 
liiig to as-ist us ? 

Rud. .Most willing, as is my duty. 

Rod. What if the crime rei'ard thy friend ? 

Riul. 1 will hold him no longer so. 

Rod. What if thine own blood T 

Rud. 1 would let it out with my poniard 

Rod. 'Ilieu canst thou not blame us fur this 
deed of justice. Eiemove the pall. {The pall 
IS lifted, beneath which is discovered the boi/y of 
Gforge. pale and bloody. Uudi^er stagyers lo- 
warih it. ) 

Rud My George! my George! Not slain 
manly in battle, but murdered by legal assas- 
sins. Much much may I mourn thee, my be- 
loved boy ; but not new— not now : never will 
1 shed a tear for thy death till I have cleared 
thy fame.— Hear me. ye midnight murderers, 
he' was innocent {raising his yo!C(?)— ujiright as 
the truth itself. Let the man who dares gain- 
say me lift that gage If the Almigtity does 
not strengllien these frail limbs, to make jrood 
a father's quarrel. I have a son left, who will 
vindicate the honour of Aspen, or lay his 
bloody body beside his brother's. 

Kod. Hash and insensate ! Hear first the 
cause. Hear the dishonour of thy house. 

Isa. {from the sacristy.) Never shall he hear 
it till the author is no more! (Rudigera/- 
templs to rush towards the sacristy, but is pre- 
vented. Isabella enters wounded, and throws 
herself on George's body.) 

Isa. Murdered for me — for ine ! my dear, 
dear son ! 

Rud. {still held) Cowardly villains, let me 
loose ! .Maltingen, this is thy doing ! Thy 
face thou wouldst disguise, thy deeds thou 
canst noil / defy thee to instant and mortal 
combat ! 



m 



Isa {looking up) No! no! endanger not 
thy life! Myself! myself! I could not bear 

t.iou shouldst know Oh ! {Dies ) 

Rud Oh! let me go— let me but try to stop 
her blood, and I will forgive all. 

Rod. Drag him off and detain him. The 
voice of lamentaiion must not disturb the 
stern deliiieration of justice. 

Rud. BloodtioUdd of Maltingen ! Well be- 
seems tiee thy base revenge! The marks of 
my son's lance are still on thy craven crest ! 
Vengeance on i he band of ye ! 

(Rudiu'er M dragged off to the sacristy. 
Rod. Brethren, we stand discovered ! VV hat 
i> to be done to him who shall descry our 
mystery ? 

EUifst Judge. He must become a brother of 
oiir order, or die I 

Rod. This man will never join us! He 
cannot jiut hi> iMiid into ours. whu;h are 
sained with tlie blood of his wife and son: 
he iiiu-it therefore die! {Murmurs in the as- 
sembly.) Brehreii ! I wonder not at yuiir re- 
lictance; but the" man is [owerful, lias 
friends and allies to buckler his cause. It is 
over wiih us, and witli our order, unless the 
laws are obeyed (Fainter murmurs ) Besides, 
h.iVe we not sworn a ileadly ua'h to execute 
these statutes? (.4 dead silence ) T.ike lo tiiee 
tiie sieel and the cord (to tiie eldest fudge.) 

Eldest Judge He has ilone no evil — he was 
the companion o' my batil — I wili nui ! 

Rod. {to another.) Do thou— and succeed to 
the rank of turn who has disobeyed. Ke- 
meiiiber \ our oath ! (Metnbir takes the dagger, 
and goes irresolutely .forward ; looks into the 
sacns'y, and comes back. ) 

Mem He has fainted — fainted in anguish 
for his wile and his son; the bloody ground is 
sirewed wiih his white hairs, torn by those 
hands that liave fought for Christendom. I 
will no; be your butcher. — ( Throws down the 
dagger. ) 

Ber. Irresolute and perjured ! the robber of 
mv inheritance, the author of my exile, shall 
die! 

Rod. Thanks. Bertram. Execu'e the doom 
—secure the safety of the holy tribunal ! 

[Bertram seizes the dagger, and is about 
to rush inio tfie sacristy, when three 
loud knocks are heard at the door. 
All. Hold ! Hold ! 

[The Duke of Bavaria, attended by 
many members of the Inmnble Tri- 
bunal, enters, dressed m a scarlet 
manlle trimmed wiih ermine, and 
wearing a ducal crown. — He carries 
a rod in his hand. — Allrise —A mur- 
mur among the members, who whisper 
to each other, " The Duke," " The 
Chief," JfC. 
Rod The Duke of Bavaria! I am lost. 
Duke {sees the bodies.) I am too late — the 
victims have fallen. 

Hen. (who enters with the Duke.) Gracious 
Heaven ! O George! 

Rud. {from the sacristy.) Henry — it is ihy 
voice — save me ! 

[Henry rushes into the sacristy. 
Duke. Roderic of Maltingen. descend from 
the seat which thou hast dishonoured — (Ro- 
deric leaves his place, which the Duke occupies.) 
—Thou standest accused of having perverieil 
the laws of our order ; for that, being a mor- 



A 



^ 698 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



rt 



tal enemy to the House of Aspen, Ihoii hast 
ahuseil thy sacred authority to pander to thy 
private revenge • and to this Woifstein has 
been witness. 

Rod. Chief anions oiir circles, I have but 
acted accordins to our laws. 

Dxikc. Thou hast indeed observed the letter 
of our statutes, and woe am I that they do 
warrant this nisht's bloody work I I cannot 
do unto thee as 1 would, but what I can I will. 
Thou hast not indeed transgressed our law, 
but thou hast wrested and abused it : kneel 
down, therefore, and place thy hands betwixt 
nnrie ( Koderic kneels as directed. ) I degrade 
thee from ihy sacred office {spreads his hands, 
as fvshmg Koderic from him.) If after two 
days thou darest to pollute Bavarian ground 
by thy footsteps, he it at the peril of the steel 
and the cord (Koderic rises.) I dissolve this 
meeting (all rise.) Judges and condemners 
of others, God teach you knowledge of your- 
selves! IaU bend their heads— Duke breaks his 
rod. and comes forward.) 

Rod. Lord Duke, thou hast charged me with 
treacliery — thou art my liege lord — but who 
else dares maintain the accusation, lies in his 
throat. 

Hen. (rushing from the sacristy ) Villain 1 I 
accept thy challenge I 



Rod. Vain boy ! my lance shall chastise 
thee in the lists— there lies my gage. 

Duke. Henry, on thy allegiance, touch it 
not. (7b Koderic; Lists shalt thou never 
more enter; lance shalt thou never more 
wield (draws his sword.) With this sword 
wast thou dubbed a knight; with this sword 
I dishonour thee — I thy prince — (strikes him 
slightly with the flat of the sword)— I take from 
thee the degree of knight, the dignity of chi- 
valry. Thou art no longer a free German 
noble ; thou art honourless and rightless ; the 
funeral obsequies shall be performed for thee 
as for one dead to knightly honour and to fair 
fame; thy spurs shall be hacked from thy 
heels ; thy arms baffled and reversed by the 
common executioner. Go, fraudful and dis- 
honoured, hide thy shame in a foreign land! 
(Roderic shows a dumb expression of rage.) 
Lay hands on Bertram of Ebersdorf ; as I live, 
he shall pay the forfeiture of his outlawry. 
Henry, aid us to remove thy father from this 
charnal-house. Never shall he know the 
dreadful secret. Be it mine to soothe his 
sorrows, and to restore the honour of tne 
House of Aspen. 

< Curiam slowly falls. ) 




k 



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y^i 



Ol.*?"?— It 



